You'd Be Mine(72)

“How old are you, really?” Jason asks.

“Nineteen last month.”

He freezes in his search and turns to me slowly. “No shit?”

I stand up and pour myself a cup of coffee, black. I need caffeine for this. “No shit.”

“When’d you get a dog?”

“September. Found him at a shelter, abandoned by his last owners. Figured he was alone and I was alone in this big old farmhouse. Plenty of acres for him to get into trouble. I couldn’t say no.”

Jason nods and accepts the cup from me. “What about Lora?”

I lean a hip against the counter. “What about her?”

“Are you still together?”

I put down my cup and cross my arms. “Not that we ever really were together, but no. I haven’t seen her since she left me those pills and told me to get a life.”

“I didn’t know. Sorry.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s this about exactly? Did you seriously drive all this way to vet me before the CMAs?”

Jason folds his giant gangly legs into a seat at my table, cradling the mug in his hands. “Something like that. Fitz said you were planning to present for BNA and was saying something to Annie about a duet.”

I grimace. “I told him not to do that. I don’t want to rain on her night.” Just this weekend I watched her perform her latest single on SNL to thunderous applause. The clip had millions of views on YouTube by the next morning. She’s doing just as incredible as we all knew she would. Better than. “I’m wary about playing Clay Coolidge music. That’s none of her concern.”

“Yeah. I’m picking up on that. Listen. You know I’m not Clay Coolidge’s biggest fan, but I saw your performance at the bar, and it was like nothing I’d ever seen you do before. The fact of the matter is he’s the famous one. You’re gonna have to meet in the middle. Reconcile that shit, or whatever. Show the world that Clay grew up and found his roots. Reinvention ain’t new. Annie’s been doing it all year. At any rate”—he straightens—“she insists on it.”

My gut drops. “She does?” Of course she does.

Jason shakes his head, grinning fondly. “You know Annie. Bleeding heart, at least when it comes to you. So yeah. You probably already have an email from her about song collaborations.”

“So you came down here to make sure I wasn’t going to mess her around?”

“More like I wanted to see how you were dealing.”

I raise one brow over my cup.

He shrugs, sheepish. “I know. I barely believe it myself. But as your onetime partner in literal crime, I wanted to see for myself that you were good.”

“I am. Better than good.”

“But lonely?”

I grimace, uncomfortable.

“Dude. Annie’s my best friend, so I can say this with complete certainty. She’s a once-in-a-lifetime girl. I haven’t forgotten your drug-induced confessions of love, so I know you agree with me.”

I clear my throat, straightening. I hadn’t remembered saying any of those things at the time, but Fitz set me straight months ago. Still, the reminder stings. Of the confession and the pills. “Yeah, well, I’m fine. We both know I wasn’t right for Annie. Look at how she’s done since I left. Up for two CMAs. Her album’s gone gold. I would have been a stone around her neck.”

Jason studies me, putting down his cup and scooting back his chair. “Maybe. Maybe not. You do seem to be doing better, though.”

“I am. Picked up a couple of woodworking classes last semester at the local college. Playing my own music at Petey’s bar every weekend. I’m sober. I’ve got Brinks to keep me company. It’s not a lot, but it’s been good for me to be out of the spotlight and figure some things out.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Nashville?”

Jason nods.

“I miss the high of performing my songs to thousands, yeah. And I miss singing with Annie.”

Jason moves to the door, shrugging a heavy Carhartt coat over his shoulders. “That’s all I needed to know, then. We’ll see you in Vegas?”

“Sounds like. Hey, you leaving town right away?”

Jason shakes his head. “I don’t have to. We have a few days off.”

“How would you like to slum it with me tonight? Play backup? I could use a drummer to change it up.”

Jason flashes a white smile. “What time?”

“Be there at 8:30 to set up.” I point to a pile of dirty dishes. “Looks like Fitz is still around, so I’ll recruit him, too.”

“I’ll be there.” He stops the door before it slams shut behind him and sticks his head back in. “I’m happy for you, Jefferson. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

The door closes, and I hear his tires roll down the gravel drive before I sink back against the counter. I stand there, staring an indeterminate amount of time before Brinks shakes me out of my stupor with his whining to be let out. I shoo him out the door before trudging up the stairs to get cleaned up. I’ve been wanting to play more originals at the bar—from both Clay and Jefferson.

I think today is a good day to start. I’ve been hiding long enough.