Chapter 17 - Chase Me, Cowboy

My heart pounds. My finger hovers over the contact in my phone. I’m at the kitchen counter, and Jamie is dead asleep in the bedroom. The storm has died out, and the sky is clear now.

I need some advice.

Swallowing, I hit my sister’s name. It rings a couple times, then she picks up. It sounds like she’s in the middle of making dinner, which would make sense. It’s late here, and she’s a few hours behind, I think. I’m not good with time zones, honestly. They confuse me more than analog clocks and figuring out which way is north without a map. Clearly Dad’s Boy Scout ways never wore off on me.

“Hey,” Sabrina says. “How’s Mom?”

“She’s good.” I turn in a circle, brushing my hair back. “So I am not actually there right now. But I was…and she’s good. But I am…not there now.”

I hear something shuffle, then it’s clear she takes the phone off speaker. Footsteps patter up the stairs.

“Where are you? You in trouble?”

“Nope, I’m good,” I say, cringing. “Okay, I need to tell you something, but please don’t be mad.”

“I won’t.” Her bedroom door clicks shut.

“So last year, when Jamie and Coen came back to the ranch after your road trip to Nashville. I kind of…hooked up with Jamie,” I force out.

“Oh God.”

Why does that sound like she’s sighing in relief?

“I thought something was actually wrong,” she says. “We already knew you and Jamie spent all week fucking.”

It’s my turn to be mortified.

“What? Who told you?”

“Coen and I sleep right down the hall from you,” she says. “You weren’t really all that quiet.”

I set my phone down and hit the speaker button. It’s not like Jamie can hear me from the bedroom, anyway. It takes a second to sort through my emotions. On one hand, I’m blushing to the roots of my hair because, all this time, I thought nobody knew a thing. On the other, it’s nice that they both know and haven’t said anything negative about it.

At least…not yet.

“So, Coen knows?” I say finally.

“Jamie told him.”

“What?”

My stomach dips. How could Jamie have told him and failed to mention that for the last two days? Here I was thinking I was flying full incognito with my entire family.

“I mean…you guys aren’t together, so it’s not like Jamie has a responsibility to tell you everything,” she reminds me gently.

“No, but he could have.”

There’s a short silence.

“Are you with him right now?” Realization dawns in her voice.

“Yeah, he texted me out of the blue and asked me to spend the day with him. Mom was away at work, so I said yes. He flew me out to his house in Maine.”

“Oh? So how is it?”

I pick up the phone and do a loop of the living room. It’s dark inside, so I can see the stars glimmering over the ocean.

“It’s beautiful. He has a really nice place out here,” I say. “It’s right on the coast. I’ve never seen the ocean like this.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t talking about the house.”

“Oh, you mean his dick? Well, he convinced me to stay another day, so you can probably guess.”

We both laugh, and it feels so good. Things haven’t been the way they were in a long time. I’ve been disconnected, a third wheel spinning aimlessly. It seems like her life is moving on without me, and we don’t connect as well as we did when we were little. But right now, it feels a little bit like old times.

“How’re things back at the ranch?” I ask.

“Good. I bought a couple horses at auction last week. Coen’s working on his book. The dogs are all doing their thing, like they usually do. And Dad’s doing well at Aunt Eugenia’s. He’s gonna come down next week for a bit, but he said he needs to get back to his water aerobics or something, so he can’t stay long. It’s either that or book club. Did you know he’s hosting one now?”

I smile, leaning my head on the window frame.

“It sounds like everyone is happy,” I manage.

“We are,” she says.

Neither of us speaks for a minute. I clear my throat, but before I can say anything, she interjects.

“You should stay,” she says. “And figure this out.”

“Stay?”

“With Jamie.”

I swallow past the lump. “He has a lot of work. And I don’t think there’s anything to figure out, honestly.”

“Serena,” she says gently. “You’re really hung up on this guy.”

My stomach turns, because I know she’s right. And I know I haven’t hidden that very well. I was always sharp and talkative, but in the last year, I’ve pulled deep into my shell. There’s no sense in denying that. I just thought nobody knew why I was fading a little. Plus, it’s embarrassing to be this obsessed with a man who isn’t even my boyfriend.

“I’m not saying marry him,” she tells me. “I’m saying, figure it out so you can get on with your life.”

“I’m trying.”

I want to talk about everything else, about him saying he thinks I have talent, but I don’t feel comfortable. Being part of the music industry tore up Coen; it ruined his mental and physical health. He’s on hiatus right now, but if I’m being honest, I’m not sure he ever intends to return. He was a ghost with a thousand-yard stare when he showed up at the ranch. Now, he’s a new man. After seeing that, there’s no way Sabrina is going to approve of me giving music a try.

I swallow again. I can’t keep this lump down.

No, everyone is right. I should fuck him out of my system and go home.

“I’m gonna get to bed,” I say.

“You call me if you need anything,” she says firmly.

“I will,” I promise.

The silence is loud. My stomach is a hollow, and something in my heart aches the way it always has when I stood on the porch and looked out over the horizon. Surely this isn’t all there is for me? Maybe I’m being unreasonable in wanting more.

I wander to the music alcove and close the door. Sinking down at the piano, I set aside my phone and begin softly playing a pop song I heard on the radio. It’s slow, but it rises in intensity as it goes. I sing the words with my eyes shut, letting my memory take the lead, and only stumbling over a few notes.

The hollow in me eases.

Even if I never do anything but use music to cope, that could be enough.

My fingers go still. I open my eyes.

I wonder what it would feel like to do that on a stage. It would feel like flying, or the way it feels when Jamie kisses me. The back of my neck prickles. Quickly, I turn, and my stomach drops. Speak of the devil. Jamie is in the doorway, arms crossed. His lids are low, eyes unreadable. I want to be angry that he listened, but deep down, I wanted him to hear it. I was just too scared to ask.

He clears his throat.

“You’re very good,” he says finally.

I smile sadly. “Not good enough for anyone to sign.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Grabbing my phone, I get up and slip past him. His arm shoots out, and he turns me to face him. Up close, I finally see his emotions. They’re hot, like our tempers clashing, and they send a shiver down my spine.

“You would be a brilliant fit for my agency,” he says.

My brow arches. “You’d never sign me.”

He shakes his head. “I can either sign you or fuck you. Doing both would be real fucking unethical.”

“So send me somewhere else,” I spit out.

That makes us both stop. He’s one of the best agents in the world. Getting him would assure me a country or country-pop career, but here I am, throwing that away because I’d rather sleep with him. His lips part. The silence stretches on.

“That’s not what I meant,” I stammer.

“What did you mean?” His voice rasps.

“Nothing. I’m gonna go to the guest bedroom.”

Turning on my heel, I let out a sharp gasp when his arm loops around me. The floor falls away abruptly. My head spins. He’s putting me over his shoulder. I don’t have the wherewithal to do more than yelp as he carries me up the stairs. It’s dizzying to be hanging upside down, moving as fast as he does on those long legs.

“You put me down,” I manage, as we step into the bedroom.

His hand comes down on my ass, bare except for my cotton panties.

“No,” he says flatly.

He tosses me on the bed on my back.

“I didn’t ask for an existential crisis, baby, I asked for pussy,” he says, shoving me up on the pillows.

“Oh, I get it. You just want to fuck, not actually use your head—”

“I’ve been using my head all day,” he says, shoving it between my thighs and looking up from between them.

“I meant to think.”

He dips his head, kissing my clit. “Why should I think when I could eat instead?”

I roll my eyes, but halfheartedly. The contact of his lips empties my own head. He studies me, then swipes his tongue over my pussy. My hips rise off the bed. Fuck me, he’s so good at that. It silences me right away, save a moan I can’t bite back.

Maybe I give up this whole idea of being in his industry. Then I won’t have to face any of these heavy questions. It’s possible I could be satisfied with being the person he comes back to after a long week on the road. I close my eyes and wind my hand in his hair. He’s really good with his tongue—and his fingers—and his dick, but I don’t know if that’s enough to fill the space in me that needs to be my own person.

It’s a difficult spot to be in; one I never thought I would have to deal with. I’m no closer to any answers than I was before tonight. I’m not sure I will ever be with him. He’s really fucking hard to understand.

But then, I’m not any better.