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“Oh.” Hunter lets out a sigh, visibly looking relieved. “I just figured he was throwin’ one of them tantrums about how he can’t rope or whatever, but he’s just as good as any of us. Well, except me—I’m the best.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes.
“Thanks, Hunter.”
“Yep, anytime.” He sticks a toothpick in his mouth and pats the horse’s butt as he squeezes past to continue down the barn aisle.
So much for clearing my head.
Chapter Seventeen
Wade
The good news is, Dad is finally home from the hospital and is recovering well. He’s settling in nicely and taking it slow. And luckily, even though he doesn’t like to be waited on, he’s accepting our help ... sorta.
The bad news is, Roger has been calling me non-stop ever since he saw the trending photo of Callie and me. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to put that conversation off.
And what’s worse is, I don’t even know what’s going on between Callie and I, because whatever time she needed is taking a lot longer than just an afternoon—or even a day.
It’s been two days now since she rode off on me.
I’m giving her the space she asked for, but things are just ... weird.
We’ve talked only briefly in passing. She told me she’s been spending a lot of time writing though, so I guess that’s a good thing. Now if I could just do the same.
I let out a long sigh as I listen to Roger’s fifteenth voicemail. I should have known he’d see the pictures of Callie and me on social media and jump at the chance to use this situation for his own gain. He thinks I took his advice and is “eager to discuss next steps for positive PR opportunities.”
I delete the message and drop my phone onto the bed. I’ve definitely made a mess of things, and I don’t have any idea of how to fix it. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten myself into trouble, but in the past, I’ve always had Roger there to clean up after me.
I don’t think there’s an easy way out of this one.
I stand up and walk over to the wall of guitars in my childhood bedroom. Music has always been therapeutic for me, so I know it will help clear my head. I select a beautiful acoustic guitar with a mahogany body and maple fretboard and head downstairs to my favorite chair in the living room. It’s nothing special really, just a charcoal colored armchair, but I always felt most comfortable sitting in it while playing my guitar growing up—so it became my favorite chair.
As I sit down and make myself comfortable, I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic. I’ve written so many songs from this chair, including my first single.
It’s my lucky chair.
I put on my guitar strap and adjust it until it fits comfortably on my shoulders before strumming a few chords and tuning the guitar—its bright sound is perfect. Maybe I’ll finally put pen to paper and get some lyrics done for my new album.
Though, I have had a few lines reeling in my mind since the day we arrived here.
Just as I start to get into the zone, a voice interrupts my flow. “Son, come on in here and play me one of them new songs of yours.” Dad grunts, sitting in his office chair. “I can’t do nothin’ outside or in the office, so I figure I might as well listen to whatever it is you got to show me.” Part of me wants to tell him no, but the other part of me remembers the overwhelming feelings of regret I had walking down the hallway of the hospital.
I need to cherish my family more.
I gather up my things and make my way into his office, sitting in the chair across from him that’s typically reserved for clients.
“I don’t have any new songs, Dad.” I sigh, plucking on the guitar. “I haven’t been able to write in months. Well, I do have one that I started writing the day I got here, but it’s not done enough to make much of it. I guess I just hit a lull.”
“Yeah, it happens.” Dad shrugs, leaning back against the back of his desk chair, taking a deep breath. “I always wanted to play guitar, but I never could. I think your mom can play just about anything in the book, but me—I can’t even carry a tune.”
“Meh, it’s not that great,” I say, glancing down at my fingers. “It’s no different than any other hobby.”
“That ain’t true. You’ve made yourself a good living off of music, and you ain’t ever needed a cent from me. You made it all on your own—that’s somethin’ to be proud of Wade—you did it all on your own.”
I’m a bit taken aback by the words coming out of his mouth. For the longest time, I was convinced there was nothing I could do that would make him proud.
“I think that heart attack is making you soft.” I chuckle, glancing up just in time to see his famous eye roll. He shakes his head.
“You’re worse than your mom,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “You know I’m gonna be back out there workin’ in no time. I don’t need all this ridiculous down time.”
