Chapter 46 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I can’t catch my breath when he’s done. He gets up to grab a warm washcloth and cleans up his mess like a gentleman. Then, I stretch out on my side, facing him.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“There’s a diner a little ways back. I passed it when I drove here,” he says.

I frown. “How did you get here? Where’s your truck?”

“Gate was locked, so I parked outside and walked.”

“That’s dedication.”

He smiles, brushing back a wisp of hair. “Nah, not really. Not when you were on the other side.”

I touch his face, the raspy stubble of his jaw. “You can be so nice, you just hide it so well.”

“Yeah, tell that to the client I fired yesterday. I’m sure he’d disagree.”

I frown. “Why’d you do that?”

He sighs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm behind his head. “Because I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’m all out of patience with assholes. It doesn’t cost a damn thing to act right.”

I laugh, thinking about that, and how I kinda love it when he’s stern. Snuggling into his side, I rest my palm on his naked chest, stroking the hair.

“You surprised me,” I whisper.

“Hmm? How’s that?”

“You’re a good man.” I don’t know how else to say it.

He’s quiet for a long time. Absently, he runs his touch down my side and back up. With him, I’m at peace. I’m home, even if I don’t know what that looks like.

“So how do you like MET?” he asks finally.

“I like them a lot.”

“Good enough to sign a contract?”

Pushing myself upright, I sit with my chin tucked on my bent knees. “Do you think I should?”

“If Jenna and Rita both think you have it, you probably do. If you have it and want to pursue it, MET’s a good choice.”

“I know, but…what about the other stuff we talked about? You said it was a hard industry for a lot of people. I saw what it did to Coen.”

He turns his head to the side, looking at me with unreadable eyes.

“I’m not your agent, but if you’ll have me, I’ve got your back,” he says. “I’ll walk with you and keep you safe.”

My chest aches, in the best way. Leaning in, I kiss him slowly and only pull back to rest my cheek on his bare chest. He strokes my hair. We stay like this for a long time, until the sun is halfway across the sky. I’m sleepy, worn out from everything. Not just him, but the entire week. The constant up-and-down of everything being new. The anxiety of not knowing what this means for my future and if it’ll change it for the better or for the worse.

“Rita wants me to do a small tour after I release an album,” I say. “Not mine, but as an opener.”

“I think that’d be a good way to get your feet wet.”

“I know you’re busy,” I say, not holding my breath, “but if you want to go with me, maybe, that would be nice.”

His grip tightens. “I’ll make it work.”

“Really?” I lift my head.

He touches my cheek. “Yeah, baby. Whatever makes you smile.”

God, he can be so sweet. It’s hard to believe he’s the same man I hooked up with a year ago, except he still fucks as good. I run my fingers through his hair, and the strangest feeling washes over me, starting in my chest and ringing through my mind. We’re at the start of something important. Maybe something people will talk about for a while.

The start of a really damn good story, I can feel it.

“They’re gonna fucking love you,” he says.

“Not everyone. I see the snarky comments.”

“Yeah, well, they can go to hell. Having people hate you for no goddamn reason is part of the business. You’ll get used to it, and you’ll have me here.”

We fall quiet, thinking.

“You ready to head into town now, get something to eat?” I ask finally.

“Yeah, starving.”

He gets up and showers. I pick out some clothes and shower when he’s done, knowing if I hop in with him, we won’t make it to lunch. It reminds me of being in Maine, except life is so much better now. It astounds me how quickly things can change. If I’m being honest, I think I’m in shock over it. In my head, I had a loose ten-to-twenty-year plan to getting an agency. Then, it happened all at once.

I’m so damn lucky I met him first.

We don’t talk a lot about work or music. I have the farmhouse to myself today, so we walk down the path, and I pick up the bits of shattered mug and put them in his truck on the other side of the gate. Then all the way into town, I sit by his side, his hand on my thigh, and think about him being mine. There’s a lot to think about, a lot to do. That’s alright, we can handle it as it comes.

Right now, I’m happy.

We talk about a whole lot of nothing. He’s so relaxed and open, willing to answer my questions about life on the road. There’s something so nostalgic listening to him recount the glory days with Coen. I wonder if he knows if Coen looks back on those times fondly or if he’s still hauling around all that guilt. It’s not my place to ask, I don’t think. He’s close with Coen, and if they need to talk privately, they will.

That night, I take a deep breath and call Sabrina, with Jamie at my side.

The phone buzzes. We wait.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” I whisper.

We’re sitting on the bed, me in his lap.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he says.

“Coen might be upset. After everything he went through.”

Jamie thinks about it, brow creased. “If he’s mad at anyone, it’ll be me. And I can handle that.”

“Hey!” Sabrina’s cheery voice breaks up our conversation. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” I say. “Is Coen there, too?”

“Uh…he’s right here. I’ll put you on speaker,” she says. “It’s late here, time difference and all. What’s going on?”

“Hey,” says Jamie.

Silence.

“The fuck are you doing with Serena?” Coen asks, more surprised than anything else.

“I’m making sure she’s doing alright.”

“Oh, bet you are, motherfucker.”

Their voices are light, but I sense a little…undercurrent. A “hey, watch yourself here because this is my family now” kind of vibe.

“He’s helping me,” I say, swallowing down my fear. My ears roar. The back of my neck burns. Why is it so hard to just explain what I did? I pause for a second, then start talking.

I tell them everything, minus the dirty things. How I decided to start putting stuff online and blocked Sabrina—Coen is strictly off social media—and how it took off a lot faster than I anticipated. I explain about “Chase Me, Cowboy,” and how it took off enough to get the inquiry from MET. That’s when I can feel their silence, like a palpable figure in the room with us. Finally, I get to the part where Jamie came to the farmhouse, then I get tangled up and trail off because…that’s the end, for now.

There’s a stunned silence.

“So are you two…together?” Sabrina asks finally.

“Yes,” Jamie interjects firmly.

“Why didn’t you tell us about the music stuff, Serena?” she asks.

Is she disappointed? Guilty, I sort through my emotions.

“I guess I didn’t want anyone to see me fail,” I say. “Plus, it’s really embarrassing to post online.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” she says. “But still, that’s a lot going on.”

Silence… God, it’s agonizing.

“You alright, Coen?” Jamie asks.

He clears his throat. “Reckon you two should catch a plane out of here when you have a chance. Sounds like we should talk.”

My heart sinks. He’s angry, I can tell.

“Okay,” I say quickly. “I have another day here at the studio, then we can come back.”

Jamie holds out his hand for the phone. “Mind if I take that for a second?”

Cowed, I hand it over, and he rises, leaving the room. I don’t know why, but I feel like I did something wrong and I’m in trouble. It’s putting a huge damper on my good mood, sending me spiraling. Is there something Coen knows? Is Jamie wrong about his assessment? Am I going to fuck up my sister’s relationship?

I take a deep breath.

Damn, I haven’t spiraled like this in a while.

Leaning against the headboard, I try to sit perfectly still, the way I did when I was little and Dad was upset over something. He was never an angry man, but on the rare occasion he did get riled up, it felt like the world was ending, even though he never stayed angry long. Still, I go from being on top of the world to the verge of tears.

I get up, pacing across the room to the window.

Jamie stands in the yard, phone to his ear. This reminds me of when Coen took Dad out to talk over their differences. Dad wasn’t a fan of Coen at first; he didn’t trust him. When they showed up after their unsanctioned trip to Nashville, Dad and Coen went into the yard and talked for a long time. I have no idea what Coen said, but after that, everything was pretty smooth.

They’re both smart: Coen and Jamie. If anyone can figure this out, it’s them.

I sniff, swiping my face. I don’t know why I’m teary. My chest is shaky, like I just got jump-scared, and I don’t like it. Jamie swipes the phone and comes back, the front door banging, but not in an angry way. Footfalls move up the steps, and he appears in the doorway.

“Hey, baby, you okay?” he says.

I want to nod, but I can’t, so I shrug, helpless. He comes to the edge of the bed and takes my hand.

“Hey, everything is gonna be just fine,” he says evenly.

“Is Coen upset because of what happened to him?” I whisper. “Or something else?”

He thinks. “I think Coen is cautious, but I told him the truth.”

“What is the truth?” My voice wavers.

He takes his shoes off and pulls me into his arms, sinking back against the headboard.

“That you’ll be just fine because I’ll be there for all of it,” he says, voice rumbling in the most comforting way. “And we’re going home the day after tomorrow.”

“Home?”

“The ranch.”

Exhausted, I rest my cheek on his shoulder. I was hoping they’d have a better reaction to my news, but it was a net negative. At least Coen didn’t try to chase Jamie away, which is what I expected. That’s what Dad will do, probably. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

We fall asleep, all tangled up. I wake late with a twinge in the side of my neck and the faint smell of buttered toast in the air. Peeling myself up, I get through the shower, pull on a hoodie and leggings, and head to the kitchen. Jenna is perched on the counter, a steaming mug of tea in hand. Jamie and Rita are at the table with coffee. They’re all in a lively conversation, like old friends.

“Hey, baby,” Jamie says, glancing up.

Suddenly shy, I come to his side. “Sorry, I should have texted that Jamie was here.”

Jenna waves a hand, black nails glittering. “Don’t worry about it. We know Jamie around here.”

“Can I get you a coffee?” Rita says, rising.

“Oh, I can get it.”

“Nonsense. Sit,” she says in her curt voice.

In a few minutes, we’re all back at the table. This time, I have a plate of buttered toast and a cup of strong, sugary coffee.

“How’s Madi?” Jenna asks brightly.

“She’s good,” says Jamie carefully. He glances at me. “We don’t bring up Madi; she picked between our agencies. Jenna’s a bit sore.”

“What was meant to be will be,” says Rita, her phone going off. She sorts through her purse while it blares a Springsteen song until she finally locates it, putting it to her ear and making her way from the room.

“Got somewhere important to be?” Jamie asks, glancing at Jenna.

“Big client meeting.”

“You need to leave? I can lock up the studio for you. I’m staying until we fly back to Wyoming tomorrow.”

She shakes her head. “It’s more Rita’s client than mine.”

“I’m your client,” I break in. “Right? That’s how it works?”

“Correct,” says Jenna from behind the steam from her mug. “You’re with MET, but you are my client.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought.”

“Jenna’s a good fit for you,” remarks Jamie, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his knee. I love seeing him relaxed like this, all splayed out, without his usual tenseness. “You two are gonna do big things.”

“I agree,” Jenna hops down. “Speaking of, do you two want to go to the studio and play a bit?”

“That’s fine,” I say, rising and reaching for my toast. “Let’s go.”

We all head out the side door. The lawn is frosty, sun dappling the tree line and sending long shadows across the deep green beneath our feet. My toes are cold in my sneakers by the time Jamie holds open the studio door for us. Inside, it’s warm, and everything has that distinctive studio smell. It’s a scent that I’m growing fond of—paper, dust, instruments, and a little bit of pine.

We head down the hall to the main room. The ceilings are tall, walls pale wood, and the floor is covered in dark green rugs. The recording space sits to the side, behind glass. Up ahead is a baby grand, not unlike the one in Jamie’s house in Maine.

God, it feels like so long since that day.

“You want to play something?” Jenna asks.

I glance up, unsure if she’s speaking to me. Her eyes are fixed on Jamie.

“Nah, I’m okay,” he says.

Jenna jerks her head toward the guitar rack. “Come on.”

He gives in, crossing to the bench beside the window seat. I see him in profile, and he’s so handsome it hurts my heart. Behind him is the pond, all glassy like an icy oil painting. Right away, I know I want him with me if I come out here to record for Jenna. He fits right in somehow. Quietly, he selects one of the guitars: a simple acoustic Yamaha that reminds me of something my dad would play when I was little.

He rests it on his knee, fingers finding the tuning pegs. It’s so clear that, despite him not being a musician professionally, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come here, baby,” he says, jerking his head.

I go, sinking down beside him. It’s cold here by the window, but I don’t mind.

“Find that song you just posted, let me listen.”

A little embarrassed, I obey, handing the phone over. He puts it to his ear and starts messing with the guitar, plucking out the chords. I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised by how fast he picks it up.

“Did you ever play with Coen? When he was touring his own music?” I ask.

He shakes his head, passing my phone back.

“Nah, I don’t do that,” he says, eyes soft. “It’s not for me.”

I smile, understanding what he’s saying. Deep down, I think I was meant to do this, to put these hard-to-speak words, these messy feelings, these perfectly, horribly human emotions to music. To help make sense of the world as I move through it. And he was made to pave the way for musicians. It’s what he’s good at, what he loves.

“Can you sing that song for me?” he asks.

If it were anyone but him, I would say no. But because I love him and he’s the safest person I’ll ever sing in front of, I say yes.

“Good girl,” he says, almost inaudible because Jenna stands on the other side of the room.

He starts playing. I know the song by heart; I wrote it, after all. When I come in with the vocals, they’re raspy, but I lock in by the first chorus. He follows me effortlessly, even when I lag a little as Jenna comes to sit closer. Normally, I would feel embarrassed, performing in front of people, but this time, I’m not. I made the right choice with both Jamie and Jenna. I can feel it in my bones.

The song ends. I clear my throat and meet Jamie’s warm gaze.

“You sound pretty damn good,” he says.

“Very good,” Jenna says briskly. “We need to keep that sound when we record that.”

She keeps talking, rising to clip around in her Oxford heels. I’m trying to listen, but all I can think about is how he held me last night and how he held me today. First in his arms, then in his safety.

Tomorrow might be a difficult day. Hell, it might get worse when we finally tell my parents.

But I trust him. I trust myself, too.

If I’m going to do this, I’m all in if he’ll just keep holding me tight.