Page 72 of Grumpy Bear

Coleman gave a soft snort.

I was grateful for a moment of humor that wasn’t about us. “Scared the shit out of Karen Walker. She’s probably still barking.”

He shook his head, doing a decent impression of the fond amusement he had whenever we talked about Jim.

I didn’t tell Coleman that Jim also insisted on hugging my neck and telling me if it were up to him, he’d keep me here to play only for them. Jim had a very different way of expressing himself, and even if Coleman felt the same way, I wasn’t comfortable putting words in his mouth or putting him on the spot.

“Jim gave me cash for my wages, and I, um…” This was where I needed to tell him the hard part, and hoped he’d help me figure out what came next. Negotiate the us. “I threw away what was left of my tent.”

“Okay.” Coleman’s smile left his eyes first. “Are you not staying to help with the clean up?” He struggled to keep his expression neutral, but I saw the realization creeping in, that we weren’t going to have another night.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. Brad offered me a ride to Atlanta, and he wants to get back, and…”

Coleman took a deep breath, standing taller and squaring his shoulders. Watching him prepare himself for disappointment killed me. His voice was monotone. “You’re heading out now.”

I wanted to say I don’t want to. I wish I had another night. I still want to talk, but I felt like if I rushed into a bunch of regrets, it would only make it worse. “Yeah.”

Coleman nodded slowly, crossing his arms and biting his lower lip.

When he didn’t say anything, I dropped to one knee, opened the latches of my guitar case, and removed the Hummingbird. I held it out to him.

He didn’t take it. He stared at it like he didn’t want to touch it. Finally, he gestured vaguely toward the bed.

It was already neatly made with no obvious sign of our long night together. I laid the guitar down as carefully as I could, wincing at the faint dissonant sound the strings made as I let it go. I turned to find him scratching the back of his neck, not watching me. I went to the corner where my own guitar was propped in front of the fan, filled with rice. I couldn’t exactly dump it out here on his floor, so I packed it away as it was. I’d empty it in the woods.

“What are you going to do about playing?” He frowned, concerned.

I released a slow breath. I didn’t want him to worry about me. “I’ll figure something out. Borrow a guitar from somebody. I mean, it’s a music show, right?”

He nodded once. “Right.”

This conversation was more uncomfortable than I’d imagined. I picked up my case and reluctantly grabbed my backpack from behind the door. “Listen, Coleman…”

He started shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he was considering bolting so he wouldn’t have to listen.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for everything this weekend. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you and Jim and Austin. And if you hadn’t been so generous letting me play Wayne’s guitar last night…” There was too much to say. If I kept going, I’d be babbling for hours. “This has all been really miraculous.” God, that word sounded corny, even if it was true.

His smile was tight. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”

I pushed on, hoping there might still be a little bit of that miracle in effect. “I was hoping we could keep in touch. Maybe text or—”

“What about your phone?” He sounded numb.

“Well, now that I have a little bit of money, I’ll get it turned back on. If I make the show, there’ll be these qualifying rounds that are filmed. I think I get paid for any episodes I appear on, even if I don’t make it that far in the competition.”

“Okay. Cool. Jim’ll have your number on the paperwork you filled out.”

Was he promising he would call or text? It gave me a tiny bit of hope that maybe traces of the magic we’d generated still lingered in the cabin. “I was thinking I’d love to come back.”

He gave me a small, sad smile.

My heart started to pound with fear. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s just… if you get on the show, if you win, aren’t you gonna end up either back in LA or Nashville again?”

“I’m trying not to plan that far ahead.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” His tone was pleading. “You should plan on winning the whole fucking thing.”