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“Okay,” Coen says, coming over and bending to kiss my head. “Jamie can take you. There’s a Walmart not too far.”

“Perfect.”

I’m out the door, striding down the hall. Jamie comes after me, eating up the distance with long legs, but I’m bolting so quickly, I’m outside by the time he catches up.

“Hey,” he barks.

I skid to a halt, turning. “Can you take me to the airport?”

“What? Why?”

I take a heaving breath. “I’m not running. I need a breath. I need space to think.”

Tears finally escape and slip down my face.

“My mom’s in New York,” I manage. “I just want to see her.”

He takes his keys out but doesn’t move. “Did me saying he hasn’t written like that in ten years freak you out?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It kinda did.”

Neither of us say a word. It’s not just about the music. It’s that we both know Coen was lost in a wave of exhaustion, taken by a tide that pulled him under. And we both know he’s rising to the surface, that I’m the reason for it. But I don’t know what it all means for me, for the future. Jamie nods, striding to the car. We both get in, and I sink back in the passenger side.

“I’m not gonna lie about where you’re going,” Jamie says. “He’s probably gonna come right after you.”

“That’s fine,” I whisper, shutting my eyes.

He puts on his sunglasses and accelerates. We’re back on the road and flying toward the freeway. My stomach grows colder the further we get from the studio.

I’m a coward.

Either that, or I’m only human.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

COEN

Mason shows up about thirty minutes after Sabrina and Jamie leave. If he weren’t already on his way, I’d ask to reschedule. There was something about the way she walked out of the studio that I don’t like. Her head was down, like she was trying to conceal her face. Did Jamie say something to her?

Is he trying to scare her off?

I don’t have time to kick it around, because someone opens the door and knocks.

“Hey,” Mason calls.

I stride down the hallway. Mason is young, about twenty-two, with a lot of potential. He’s got the folk thing down. Sad eyes, messy hair, a flannel on at all times. There’s a wave of indie folk coming in the next few years, a kind of throwback era I predict is going to take off in the newer generation. I have no doubt Mason is going to be one of the top names.

“Hey, nice to see you again,” I say, shaking his head.

“Thanks for saving my ass,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, leading the way back to the studio. “I don’t mind. I get it. We’ve almost all been there.”

“I swear I didn’t rip his shit off.”

“I know. There’s only so many ways to write a song. Eventually, you're gonna get the same thing, especially with how concentrated the influences are. Everyone’s hearing the same things online. It’s normal.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, sinking down on the couch. “I think for the next album, I’m gonna have my agent take my phone the entire time I'm in the studio. No influences, nothing.”