Page 25 of Unfinished Noise

Spencer dropped his bag beside a fallen log and motioned Jamie over. No people, no traffic, no noise except the wind and the occasional creak of branches. The spot was meant for secrets, or for messing up without anyone watching. Jamie settled onto the log, the wood warmed from the sun, and lifted the guitar into his lap. The neck fit against his hand as if it belonged there, and for a moment he forgot about shows, schedules, and whatever waited outside the trees.

It was him, Spencer, and the quiet. And Jamie didn’t want to leave it anytime soon.

Spencer showed him chords, patient and focused, explaining finger placement and strumming patterns. Jamie listened, tried, and adjusted. And then, without thinking, he shifted into a couple of chords he already knew.

Spencer froze. “Wait. You know that?”

Jamie shrugged, a little sheepish. “I messed around with a friend’s guitar once.”

Spencer stared at him as if Jamie had revealed he could speak fluent alien. Then he laughed, loud and proud. “You little shit. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Jamie was pleased with the surprise in Spencer’s voice. It wasn’t about the chords—it was the way Spencer looked at him, like he was capable of more than he let on. And honestly, Jamie liked that feeling. He liked it a lot.

“Can I keep my guitar in your old case?”

“Yes, you can switch them out later.”

A sharp red glow pulsed from Spencer’s phone, cutting through the quiet like someone flicked on a neon sign in the middle of the woods. It broke the spell instantly—the warm hush of trees, the soft buzz of guitar strings, the easy closeness between them. Spencer checked the screen, shoulders dropping as whatever message he read dragged him back into band mode. When he looked at Jamie, the shift was already there in his face—half apology, half the usual “duty calls” expression he wore whenever the outside world barged in.

Jamie said nothing, but losing that moment sat heavy in his chest. He liked it here. Like the way Spencer’s voice softened when he explained finger placement. Like the way the sunlight caught on the edge of Spencer’s smile. And now it was gone, replaced by the familiar pull of schedules and shows and everything that wasn’t the two of them.

“Hey, we need to leave. Gotta get ready for tonight’s show. Then tomorrow we’re off to Fresno.”

Jamie nodded, even though his stomach dipped. He didn’t want to leave yet. He liked the way the sunlight hit Spencer’s hair out here, liked the quiet, liked the way Spencer’s voice softened when he explained chords. But he didn’t say any of that. He packed up the guitar and followed Spencer back toward the entrance.

They stood by the road until Nathan’s van rolled up, gravel crunching under the tires. Jamie climbed to the back with Spencer, leaving Alfie in the front seat. The air inside was notably different like someone had turned down the world’s volume knob. No one said anything at first. Alfie’s posture stiffened with his shoulders locking in place. Nathan’s jaw worked as if he were chewing on something he didn’t want to spit out. Even Spencer kept flicking glances toward the front, like he was waiting for a storm he already knew was coming.

Jamie didn’t need anyone to explain it; the tension sat between all of them like a third passenger. It pressed against his ribs, made him sit a little straighter, made him wish he knew what had happened so he could fix it—or at least soften it. But he stayed quiet, watching the way Alfie’s fingers twitched against his knee, the way Nathan gripped the steering wheel a little too hard, the way Spencer’s knee brushed his like a silent reassurance.

“Alfie is staying at the hotel,” Nathan announced, eyes still on the road. “He doesn’t want to go to the show.”

Jamie leaned forward a little. “Do you want me to keep you company?” The words were out before he checked with Spencer, which was rare for him. He usually waited, making sure Spencer was okay with whatever he offered.

Alfie turned around, and Jamie’s chest squeezed at the sight of him—red eyes, strained expression, like he’d been holding something in for way too long. “Only if you want to.”

Jamie looked at Spencer, needing that silent permission. Spencer met his eyes and nodded once. It wasn’t approval—it was understanding. Spencer knew Jamie couldn’t ignore someone hurting, especially not Alfie.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Jamie asked quietly.

“Alfie needs you tonight,” Spencer said. “And if you guys want to show up later, call an Uber.”

Something warm settled in his chest—gratitude, maybe. Spencer wasn’t okay with it, but he trusted Jamie with it. Trusted him with Alfie.

“I’ll stay with you,” Jamie told Alfie, and he meant it. He didn’t know what Alfie needed yet, but he’d figure it out. He always did.

And as the van rolled on, Jamie rested his hand lightly on the guitar case beside him, thinking about how fast the day had shifted—from sunlight and chords to silence and red eyes. But he wasn’t scared of the shift. He hoped he could be what Alfie needed tonight.

Chapter Ten

Spencer

Spencer showered fast, the kind of rushed scrub he did when his brain was already three steps ahead. By the time he stepped out, towel around his waist, the hotel room had turned into a little studio.

Jamie sat cross‑legged on the carpet with a canvas propped against the side of the bed. Alfie hovered nearby, flipping through a sketchbook but not drawing—more like pretending to be fine. Jamie didn’t seem to notice; he was too locked in on the painting.

And Spencer couldn’t help pausing.

Jamie was working on Saddle Creek Ranch again.