Page 99

My head never lets up. All night, I toss and turn, thinking about our time in the cabin.

It was different. Not because either of us made a choice, but because something else made the choice for us.

I’ve never felt like this before. Hopelessly smitten. Unable to find my way out.

So I write about it. A few weeks after coming home, I stay up late and pour everything into my notebook, crossing out and adding in, then bringing it to the keyboard. I’m aware, in the back of my brain, that this is different. This song comes from a much deeper place than I’ve ever tapped into before. It’s pure longing, frustration, and rawness. Right on the page, all beneath the title scrawled in bold.

“Chase Me, Cowboy.”

I go to bed, eyes stinging.

The next day, everyone is gone, so I put up my camera and record it. I try to hit post on it, but it takes several tries before I can do it. Then, a little sick to my stomach, I curl up on my side and go to sleep, even though it’s the middle of the day. For the first time since leaving him, I get some rest. Far more rest than I mean to.

I wake to a soft knock on my door. Splitting my eyelids, I’m met with a sharp glare of light from the window.

Is it…morning?

I push myself up and swing my legs off the bed. My phone sits unplugged from the charger on the nightstand. Frowning, I grab it and hit the button. Dead. I plug it back in and go to the door, pulling it ajar.

Sabrina leans in, brow furrowed. “You okay? You slept ages, it’s almost ten.”

“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing my eye with my knuckle. “Sorry, I just slept bad the night before. Needed to catch up.”

She studies me, like she’s going to say something, then shrugs.

“Okay, come down whenever you feel like breakfast.”

“Yeah, one second. I should shower.”

She nods, and I shut the door. The heaviness in my chest from yesterday has lessened. That’s a good sign, hopefully. Today, I plan to turn my brain off and find something to occupy myself with. Maybe I’ll start working on an album, just writing it, and see if I can figure out what to do from there. Even if it comes to nothing, it’s better than making no progress at all.

I shower, scrubbing down and washing my hair. Then I pull on one of my sweatsuits from Maine and go to check my phone.

It takes a second to turn it on. When it opens, I check my texts. Nothing. Then, I open my social media.

My entire body tingles and locks.

What the fuck?

There are thousands of notifications, far more than I’ve ever gotten. Pulse racing, I click to my profile, and my eyes fall on the video I posted last night.

Thirty-two million views.

What the fuck? No, no, no, I need to delete it.

I’m going to be sick. Pacing, my thumb hovers over the video. Do I even want to check the comments? I have to know what people are saying, because if the song is shit and I’m going viral for the wrong reasons, I need to take it down. Bracing myself, I click it and hit the comments.

You need this on Spotify ASAP.

Obsessed with this, get it on Spotify.

Please get this on Spotify right now.

Do you have more originals?

Album when?

My heart is in my throat, pounding away. My ears roar. There are negative ones, of course, comments just put there because somebody felt like an asshole. And the inevitable people critiquing my technique. But overall, they’re glowing, they’re demanding more.