Page 91 of Three Months Yesterday

My eyes meet Aaron, not an ounce of uncertainty in my mind or body. “After this album and tour, I’m slowing down. Taking a real break.”

“Beckett—”

“I’m not discussing it.”

“You can’t just⁠—”

“I can, and I am. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.” I keep my voice level. I’m not angry—not anymore. I know what I want and I’m not willing to compromise that. “I’ve done a lot with my career. More than enough, I think. I want to focus on something else for a while.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. I see the way he tries to mask the panic in his eyes, but it doesn’t work. “There’s still more music for you to write. More songs for you to share with the world. You’re not done. You can’t be done.”

“You’re right. I’m not done.” I place my hands on the table and push my seat back, standing tall. “I’m not giving up my career. I’m just taking a step back, slowing down. Living life.”

“Beckett…” The word is so soft I’m not sure he meant to say it.

I hold his gaze, making sure he hears my words. “If you’re not careful, you’ll lose me altogether.”

His mouth opens and closes. I watch him weigh his options, thinking through the arguments, and then I watch him decide not to voice them.

I give him a quick nod before walking out. The elevator ride down is quiet, and when I step through the revolving doors into the January cold, a hat pulled low over my head and my sunglasses reflecting the building around me, I feel lighter than I have in a long time.

I’m soaking in the feeling when someone walks into me.

“Sorry,” I’m quick to say, knowing I wasn’t paying attention to anything around me.

“Nope, my fault,” a familiar voice says.

Wyatt Hawthorne is standing on the sidewalk in a wool coat, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, looking at me like I’m the last person he expected to see on a Monday afternoon in the city.

“Wyatt. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He grins, pocketing his phone. “When’d you leave town?”

“I got here this morning. Meeting with the label,” I say, gesturing at the building behind me. I shake my head, still feeling the residual irritation and wanting to be out of this city. “I want to get home as soon as possible.”

Wyatt lifts a brow, something like surprise filling his eyes. “Home?”

I frown, confused by the question, then realize what I said.

Wyatt laughs, a short delighted sound. “Stonebridge is home now, is it?”

I stand with that for a second, turning it over in my head, and decide I like the sound of that—a lot. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You guess?” There’s no heat behind the question, just simple curiosity.

“It’s the only place that’s felt like home since I lost my parents.” The words come out before I’ve decided to say them, honest and unguarded in a way I haven’t been with anyone other than Ryan and Madison. But it feels right that I’m giving up a piece of myself to one of her brothers.

Wyatt doesn’t flinch. He just nods like he understands, like it makes sense to him in a way I don’t fully understand.

“What are you doing in the city?” I repeat my question from before, both trying to move the conversation past my confession and because I’m genuinely curious.

“I flew a client in this morning. I had something else scheduled for this afternoon, but it got cancelled. I’m officially free for the rest of the week. I’m actually trying to decide what to do with the unexpected time off.” He takes a sip of coffee and freezes with the cup raised to his mouth, his eyes studying me over the lid.

Before I can say anything, he straightens like an idea just landed.

“I’ll fly you home first thing tomorrow morning.”

I waver. There has to be a commercial flight I can take this afternoon. I could be home in just a few hours. But then I think about Ian’s face when I tell him my plans, and I know he won’t be having it. Flying with Wyatt will make him feel better than any other way of getting home.