Chapter 22 - Chase Me, Cowboy

The house is so empty it makes me sick.

The minute I get back from dropping her at the airport, I start doing laundry and packing my bags for Texas. One thing I know how to do well is use work to block out my problems.

I can’t focus on anything but what it felt like to have her with me and how it feels in contrast, having her gone. Her things are on my sink still, not much, just a hairband and an empty vial of perfume. I keep those, putting them in the cabinet. Maybe she’ll come back and get them, but I’m kind of having my doubts. She was pretty closed off when she climbed out of the car.

For a second, when I fucked her in the kitchen, I pretended this wasn’t coming to a screeching halt. Now, I stand in the rubble. In the dust. And I wonder why, at the end of everything good, there’s always me in an empty room and someone else jetting off without me. Whether it’s clients, friends, lovers, they all go on without me while I clean up the debris left behind. That’s alright; I am a professional fixer. It’s just part of what I do.

Something about her leaving hurts more than usual. It cuts deep, a knife in a puncture wound.

I pack my shit up, get in the car, and go to the airport. I don’t know how to do anything else, and at least I’m not alone. Instead, I’m walking in a crowd of blurred people; I’m smiling like a robot as I flash my ticket and settle into the last seat on the plane. When it rises, I lean my head on the wall and watch the patchwork quilt of land fall away beneath my feet. My fingers rest on my phone. I might be hoping it buzzes, but it doesn’t. Not when we land in Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for the plane to deboard.

I take it out and log into my burner account on Instagram, typing in her name. Unbeknownst to everyone, I look at her page pretty often. She has a lot of followers for someone who posts only selfies and bikini pictures, but that might be part of it. She’s gorgeous and knows all her angles.

She last posted twenty-five minutes ago. A matcha latte in her hand with the plane window in the background.

It’s sweet. Nobody would know I had her bent over the counter just a few hours ago. My dick twitches, and I snap the phone shut and reach for my bag. It’s time to pull it together and get into work mode because I have a meeting with Madi in four hours, and that means I’ll have to go up against her father, Noah. He’s the world’s biggest asshole, so I’ll need to give this my attention.

I leave the airport, calling a car.

The dust is bad today. I have to admit, for all my growing up on a ranch, I’m not really a Texas man. I prefer the high green hills of the east or the far-off mountains of Wyoming. The desert makes me nervous, with all its dry exposure and pale sunsets. I can handle myself down here, even have a good time, but it’s not my first choice. However, I have a lot of clients, given the main industry I represent, so I’ve learned to love parts of it.

Anywhere on Earth, there’s something to appreciate. Traveling forever taught me that.

A car pulls up, the driver lifting his hand. I slide into the back seat.

“Heading to the Westbend Hotel?” he drawls.

“Yep, that’s right.” I push my bag to the other side and shut the door.

“In town for vacation?”

“Work.”

We pull out onto the road, and I listen, responding absently as he chats about the city and what’s happening. I always appreciate when the drivers are kind, but I’ve had these conversations so many times, it’s a disjointed experience sometimes. Like running through a script. Sometimes they ask the same questions word for word, and I wonder if I’m living in a simulation.

The conversation goes on until we pull up to the hotel. It doesn’t take long to navigate the busy street and get inside, checking in without a hitch. Maybe it’s a good sign. Maybe this visit will be smoother than last time.

I flinch slightly as I head down the hall. Last time I spoke with Noah, I bit the side of my tongue so hard I went in the bathroom and spat blood in the sink. I don’t have an anger problem; I have a problem with assholes. It’s hard, standing back and watching people get taken advantage of, especially at the start of their careers. And especially women.

I’ve seen it happen too many times.

I know the red flags by now.

Once in the hotel room, I get in the shower and stare at the glossy white wall. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be in such a bad way after decompressing on the plane, but no such luck. Serena’s face swims in my mind. Soft, relaxed, lashes on her cheeks as she sleeps. The other night, I woke up a few times while she was out cold and watched her sleep, on her side with the sheet falling off her curves.

I’m hard again.

Is this how it’s going to go from now on?

Frustrated, I jerk off quickly to get it out of my system and get out. I have a pair of chinos and a button-down that will do for informal work meetings like this. Throwing them on, I grab my wallet and head down to the lobby to take an Uber to the car rental place so I have something to drive while I’m here. Then, I hit the road.

The Banker family lives in one of those big houses in an area where the neighborhoods shot up overnight during the oil boom. Everything is opulent, but cookie-cutter. Like God hit copy-paste a hundred times without changing a thing. Every one has a perfectly square lawn, mowed in a patchwork pattern, a pale brick house, a white paved drive, and a pool in the backyard. There’s no variation, even in the color of the front doors. I check house numbers as I go until I get to 40402 and pull into the drive behind Noah’s enormous truck.

I cut the engine.

Goddamn, I hate this guy.

Four German shepherds jet out of the garage as I step from the SUV. It’s been a while, but they still remember me. The biggest one nudges my hand, licking it, and jumps up. He’s about to my elbow, standing. I tousle his ears and shove him off, circling around their hustling bodies, and head into the open garage.

The door hangs ajar, looking into the enormous open first floor. I tap on the door and wait. Nobody answers. It appears the living room is empty, as well as the second hallway leading to the den. On my phone, I scroll through my contacts until I get to Noah’s number.

“Hey.”

I look up, eyes settling on Madi. She’s standing in the living room, just outside the bathroom door. Her hands are tucked in her back pockets, like she’s apprehensive.

“Hey,” I call. “Here for the meeting.”

“Hey, come on in,” she says, entering the kitchen and offering me a smile. That looks a little more like her; she had me nervous for a second.

I step in, and she shuts the front door. There are faint dark shadows beneath her hazel eyes, but otherwise, she seems alright. She’s the opposite of Serena in looks: pale olive skin and a lot of dark hair that falls to her waist. However, they’re the same in the sense that people stop to look twice, immediately aware there’s something a little different present.

“You want some coffee?” she asks, smiling.

Her smile is tired. I nod and pull out a chair, sinking down. Making sure I’m coming across casual, I stretch my legs out and keep an eye on her as she makes a cup of coffee. Her hands are steady, she’s moving normally, just tired, I guess. When she brings it over, she sits at the table with me.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

Her lids flutter. “Good.”

“You can tell me.”

She smiles again, wanly. “I’m pretty worn down. Dad and I were in LA for a while on a branding shoot.”

“The shoe brand?”

She nods. “Normally, it wouldn’t tire me out that much, but this new diet the nutritionist has me on makes me want to sleep all the time.”

My ears tingle. “What diet?”

“Low carb.” She shrugs. “It’s a lot of protein bars, chicken, steak. It’s supposed to get me ready for the tour.”

“What did you eat this morning?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay casual.

“Egg whites, two strips of bacon.”

Alright, that’s not all that bad, but she could do with a healthy fat. “Next time, eat one of those single-serving packs of guac, alright?”

“I don’t know whether that’s on the plan.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a big fuck. Eat it anyway.”

She laughs, head falling back. “Would you like it if I just sent you the meal plan, for your approval?”

Her tone is joking, but I nod. “Yeah, I would.”

She sobers. “I’m really fine, Jamie. I can tell you’re worried about something.”

My throat tightens as a vision of another client, not too unlike Madi, flashes through my head. Wrecked by PTSD, sleeping on my couch with Marion dropping by every day, forcing her to eat. Being on the road, touring hard, and doing it with people who lose everything if their client can’t get up on stage is a different level of pressure. It makes the strongest person buckle and end up wrapped up on a couch, eyes dead and locked on nothing through a window.

That was a long winter. I’d rather not do that again.

“You need me to step in on anything, you call me,” I say firmly. “I mean that, anyplace, anytime.”

With her, I do mean it. Some of my other clients can wait, but Madi has the highest need right now. So she gets priority.

“I appreciate that,” she says, giving me a smile.

“Where’s the boyfriend?” I ask, glancing around.

Her face falls. “Uh…we broke up.”

“Why?” I frown.

She picks at the sleeves of her sweater. “I’m gone all the time. He didn’t like it…so we broke up.”

“Damn,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs, giving me a brave smile that feels a bit like a kick to the gut. “It’s fine. Anyway, Dad is gonna be here any minute.”

Speak of the devil—outside, a door slams. I look through the glass panes on the door to the broad figure striding up the drive, phone in hand. He’s a tall, belligerent man who always talks like a drill sergeant and only makes eye contact with people who can make him money. It’s disheartening, considering when I met him, at the start of Madi’s career, he was softer and quieter. Money does strange things to good people, I’ve learned that the hard way.

He walks in, pocketing his phone. “Hey, Jamie.”

“Hey.” I stand up and shake his hand.

“Are the producers coming in today?” He goes to the fridge and pops open a bottle of water.

“No, tomorrow.”

He drains the bottle in one go and crushes it in his hand. “So why are you here today?”

I gesture at Madi, sitting silently with her arms crossed. There’s a faint crease between her brows. “Came to check on my client.”

“She’s fine,” he says, gesturing.

“I can make that judgment for myself,” I retort.

He pauses, eyes narrowing. Tension ripples, then he shrugs. “Suit yourself, I’m gonna head out to the gym. Be here and be square in the morning; we’re planning the tour.”

He tosses the bottle over Madi’s head and into the trash, claps her once on the shoulder, and disappears up the stairs. His footsteps echo until they die out. Madi meets my eyes and gives me a rueful smile.

“You hungry?” I ask.

She shrugs.

“Let’s go eat lunch,” I say, getting up and reaching for my keys. “Fuck eggs white, I’m starving.”

We head out to the mall and park outside a fast-food joint. Once she has a chicken sandwich in her, she’s a lot more animated. I ask all the right questions, and pretty soon, she’s opening up about the brand deals and the tour. It turns out, she’s more inclined to do a Canadian tour this time, wrap up with some dates in New York, and go home for at least a season. I think that’s a good idea. Clearly, Noah has other plans, but I can deal with that tomorrow.

She talks, getting everything off her chest. I make mental notes for later.

I get back to the hotel early. After dropping Madi off at her home, I have a video meeting in my room. We’ve got a music video shoot coming up, and Marion can’t make it. It’s my client anyway, but she expressed wanting to be there for it. The client is a bit upset, but I smooth things over and assure him I’ll be present.

It’s late when I’m done with work. I order food, but don’t feel like eating.

Instead, I take out my phone and navigate to Serena’s Instagram account. She posted a photo of herself in a mirror, wearing one of the hoodies I bought her. The song on the image is a Springsteen one. It starts playing softly when I tap the photo. A pit forms in my stomach, a little sad, a little lonely.

Me and my dad used to listen to this one a lot. When I drove out to meet my aunt in California, it was playing from an ancient tape in the car stereo. God, that was a million years ago when I was a wrangler from Wyoming, with a blank slate ahead of him.

That was when cowboy music was just that. Now, when I turn on the radio, I know every name, every producer, every record company. The thing I loved so much is just work now, and I’m burned out on it. But as I look at Serena, I’m transported back to when everything was new and exciting.

And I have the deep urge to chase that, to chase it all the way to her.

My chest hurts a little bit. I turn the phone off and go to sleep.