Page 57 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

I laugh, shaking my head. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Come see me,” he says.

After we end the call, I stare at my phone. This is the call I’ve secretly been hoping for, but I don’t feel all that confident about things. But I need to see things for myself. And if there is truly nothing between him and Liz, I plan on letting Liz know exactly what I think about her cruel joke.

I check my email and see the flight information. It makes me smile to know he was so confident I would take his ticket. It’s first-class again. I text Lisa to ask if she can cover my shift tomorrow and the next day. I assume I’ll be back within a couple of days.

I go into my room and take some time picking out my outfits. I don’t know what he wants me there for, but I pack an actual suitcase with a few of my best outfits.

Hours later, I walk through the airport and head toward baggage claim. I spot Jack before he sees me—baseball cap pulled low, shoulders hunched, fingers flying across his phone screen. When he looks up, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, you.” He pulls me into a hug that lasts a second too short, his phone buzzing between us.

I breathe in his cologne—something new, something expensive that doesn’t suit him. “Missed you.”

“Yeah.” He steps back, already glancing at his screen. “Me too. Shit—hold on.”

The phone goes to his ear. “Liz, I told you—no, the setlist is fine—”

I stand there, holding my carry-on, as he argues about song order for his upcoming tour. When he finally hangs up, he rubs his temples.

“Sorry. Tour stuff.” He grabs my bag.

“I have a suitcase this time,” I say.

We walk to baggage claim together, but he’s not really there. He’s on the phone talking to someone about a guitar he wants. I step forward and claim my suitcase from the conveyor belt. Jack is still on the phone as we walk out to the waiting car.

I’m already regretting my decision to come. I feel like I’m in the way. He’s clearly got a lot going on. Why did he want me here if he’s going to be on the phone the whole time?

I dismiss the thought. He’s busy. He’s got a lot on his plate.

He ends his call. “Sorry. That’s it.”

“No problem.”

“You hungry?” he asks. “I found this really cool place I think you’re going to love. We can drop off your bags and go get an early dinner.”

“Sounds good.” I smile.

We head to the penthouse first. It feels familiar, but something’s off. Jack’s energy is different—distracted, restless. He tosses my suitcase onto the bed and starts pacing, checking his phone every few seconds.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, trying to get his attention.

He looks up startled, like he’d forgotten I was there. “Oh, right. Dinner. Yeah, let’s go.”

Dinner is at some trendy gastropub where the burgers cost twenty-eight dollars and come on slate slabs instead of plates. Jack checks his phone six times before the appetizers arrive.

“The label wants me to add more pop covers,” he says. “Pop. Are you kidding me? I told them if they want fucking Ed Sheeran, they can hire fucking Ed Sheeran, you know?”

He’s been talking about his upcoming tour since we got into the car. I don’t think if even realizes he’s talking in circles. The guy is a basket case.

I push a truffle fry around my plate. “Jack.”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

He does, finally, and what I see steals my breath. He’s got dark circles under bloodshot eyes. There’s a tenseness in his jaw that I haven’t seen before. The boy who once serenaded me with off-key Johnny Cash covers is gone, replaced by this wired, restless stranger.