Page 9

BLAZE

My phone vibrates for the fifth time in twenty minutes. I don't need to look at it to know it's Vince, my manager, blowing up my notifications with tour dates, venue capacities, and projected ticket sales. The numbers are big. Career-defining big.

I stare out at Shane's horses grazing peacefully in the morning sun, completely unbothered by my existential crisis.

"You gonna answer that?" Shane asks, leaning against the porch railing, coffee mug in hand.

"Eventually."

"Important?"

"Tour offer." The words feel strange coming out of my mouth. "Fifteen cities with Highway 55. Starting next week."

Shane nods slowly. "Sounds like what you've been waiting for."

"Yeah." I should be elated. This is exactly what I came to Mustang Mountain to prepare for--a career resurrection. So why does the thought of leaving feel like someone's slowly pulling my organs out through my throat?

Grace's words from last night echo into my head : If you're leaving, better you go now.

Her eyes had been so clear, so resigned. Like she'd known all along this moment would come.

My phone buzzes again. Vince again. Silencing it, I slide it into my pocket.

"Funny thing about getting what you want," Shane says, staring out at his land. "Sometimes you realize it's not what you need."

I could sell out arenas. I could disappear into another string of cities, hotel rooms, and backstage passes. I could slide back into the comfortable anonymity of being recognized by everyone but known by no one.

But none of it would mean a damn thing without her.

"I need to think," I mutter, standing up.

"Don't think too long," Shane replies. "Some choices don't wait around."

Main Street is busier than I've ever seen it. Cars with unfamiliar license plates line both sides of the road, and people with professional cameras mill about, snapping photos of storefronts, locals, and the surrounding mountains.

I pull my hat lower and duck into the Mercantile, where Ruby greets me with a harried expression.

"There he is," she says, waving me over to the counter. "The man who put Mustang Mountain on the map."

"What's happening out there?"

"What's happening is our little road mishap went viral." She slides her tablet across the counter. "rock star Stranded in Mountain Town," "Road Sabotage Traps Famous Musician," "Singer Finds Refuge in Dying Community."

"Jesus," I mutter, scrolling through the headlines.

"The phone's been ringing off the hook. Three different news stations want interviews. The mayor's secretary is about to have a stroke trying to coordinate with state officials about the road situation."

"I'm sorry, Ruby. I didn't--"

"Don't apologize." She takes the tablet back. "This is the most attention this town has gotten since the eighties. Road crews have been working around the clock, and there is now one lane open on the road to get in and out."

Well, that explains how all the reporters got here.

"How’s Orville?" I ask.

"Stable. He kicked me out of his room this morning when he heard the road was open, and told me to come check on everyone. He's had so many visitors, so I doubt he notices I'm even gone," Ruby says with a forced smile.

The bell above the door jingles, and Shane walks in, nodding at us both.

"Quite the circus out there," he says.

Ruby gestures for us to follow her to the back room, away from curious ears. Once the door closes behind us, she turns to me, eyes intense.

"You have a voice, Blaze. People listen when you speak. You can use it to help us."

I blink. "Help how?"

"The state's been ignoring our infrastructure problems for years," Shane explains. "The road issue was just bad luck. We’ve been worried about landslides for years. The hillsides need to be reinforced, and we need another way in and out of town."

"And now everyone's paying attention," Ruby adds. "But they'll forget as soon as you leave."

Shane crosses his arms. "You walk now, you'll regret it. You stay, you'll matter here."

The weight of their words settles on me. For years, I've sung to faceless crowds, written songs that meant everything to me and nothing to those around me but a paycheck. I've been important without being essential.

"What are you suggesting?" I ask.

Ruby's eyes light up. "A benefit concert. Right here in Mustang Mountain."

"Use your platform," Shane adds. "Make some noise they can't ignore."

I think about Grace, about her fierce protection of this town and its people. About how she's poured her life into keeping it alive.

"If I'm leaving," I hear myself say, "it won't be before doing one good goddamn thing first."

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know I don't want to leave at all.

* * *

Two days later, Main Street has been transformed. A makeshift stage stands in the town park, built by Shane and a crew of local men. String lights crisscross overhead, and the entire town seems to have turned out, along with a healthy crowd of media and curious outsiders.

My phone has been blowing up non-stop. Vince is alternating between threats and pleas. The label executives want to know what the hell I'm doing. But for the first time in years, I'm not thinking about them.

I scan the crowd from behind the stage, looking for her. Grace stands at the back, arms crossed, expression guarded. She's watching me like I'm a storm about to change direction.

Maybe I am.

"You ready?" Ruby asks, handing me a bottle of water.

"As I'll ever be."

The crowd hushes as I step onto the stage. The setting sun casts everything in gold, and for a moment, I'm struck by the beauty of it all. These people, this town, nestled in the mountains, and the woman who showed me what it means to belong somewhere.

Clearing my throat, I adjust the microphone.

"I'm not much for speeches," I begin, and a light chuckle ripples through the crowd. "When I came to Mustang Mountain, I was running from my life. Running from fame that felt hollow, and from music that had lost its meaning."

The audience is quiet now, listening.

"I stayed because I found something worth running to. This town matters. These people matter." My eyes find Grace across the crowd. "And so does this woman, Grace."

I see her stiffen, her eyes widening.

"She taught me that real strength isn't about standing alone. It's about standing together. It's about fighting for your home, for your people."

When I pick up my guitar, the familiar weight centers me.

"This first song is for Grace, and for Mustang Mountain. For teaching me what it means to find home."

The first chord rings out, clear and true. I've been writing this song in pieces since I arrived, but it only came together last night. It's about mountains and mercy, about finding yourself in the place you least expected, about love that feels like coming home.

I pour everything into it. All the confusion, the longing, the certainty that's finally settled in my chest. When I look up, Grace has moved closer, her eyes never leaving mine.

As the last note fades, the crowd erupts. But I only see her, the slight tremble of her lip, the way she quickly wipes at her eyes.

I play for another hour, mixing my old hits with new songs written here in Mustang Mountain. The energy is electric, the crowd singing along to words they know and swaying to ones they don't. By the time I finish, my voice is raw and my fingers ache, but I feel more alive than I have in years.

As I thank the crowd, I spot a familiar figure pushing through toward the stage. Vince, my manager, his designer suit looking comically out of place among flannel shirts and work boots.

Great. Just what I need.

"That was cute," Vince says, cornering me behind the stage as people begin to disperse. "Really, the whole small-town savior angle is gold. We can work it into the tour narrative."

"Vince--"

"I've got a car waiting. We'll drive to Bozeman tonight, catch the the first flight out to LA. Dates start next week, and we need to get you into rehearsals."

I stare at him, this man who's guided my career for a decade, who's seen me through highs and lows. He's good at what he does. What he’s never been good at is hearing no.

"I'm not going," I say.

He laughs. "Funny. Now seriously, we need to--"

"Not going. Not now." I take a breath. "Maybe not ever."

His smile freezes, then fades. "Have you lost your mind? This tour is everything we've been working toward. The label's finally back on board. The press is eating up this whole stranded rock star narrative."

"I've found something better than a career, Vince. I found home."

His eyes narrow. "It's the woman, isn't it? The one you dedicated the song to?" He shakes his head. "Jesus, Blaze. You can bring her with you if you want. But you walk away now, you'll tank your career. Everything we've built, gone."

I think about all the nights I've spent in empty hotel rooms, all the faces that blur together, all the songs that stopped meaning anything. Then I think about Grace's laugh, about mornings at the Merc, and about the way this town has crept inside me.

"Some things matter more."

Vince stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. "You're making a mistake."

"Maybe." I smile. "But it's mine to make."

* * *

It's past midnight when I pull up to Grace's house. A single light burns in the living room window. For a moment, I just sit in my truck, gathering courage.

What if she sends me away? What if I'm too late?

The porch steps creak under my weight. Before I can knock, the door opens, and she’s standing there. My heart clenches at the sight. She’s never looked more beautiful with her eyes searching mine and her hair loose around her shoulders.

"It's late," she says softly.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"The concert was good. You'll be all over the news tomorrow."

"I don't care about the news."

She leans against the doorframe. "Did your manager find you?"

"Yeah."

"When do you leave?"

I step closer. "I don't."

Her breath catches. "What?"

"For the first time in years, I feel like I belong somewhere." My voice is barely above a whisper. "I feel like I belong with you."

She shakes her head, but I can see the hope fighting against doubt in her eyes. "You can't just--"

"I can. I am." I take her hand, half expecting her to pull away. She doesn't. "I've spent my life writing songs about things I've never felt. Until now. Until you."

"Blaze--"

"I love you, Grace. I love this town. I love who I am when I'm here."

Her resistance crumbles, and suddenly she's in my arms, her lips finding mine. This kiss is different from our first. There’s no fear, no walls, just us meeting as equals.

When we finally break apart, she rests her forehead against mine. "I didn't want you to prove it with words," she whispers. "I needed you to prove it with this."

I brush a strand of hair from her face. "Then I will. Every damn day."

She pulls me inside, closing the door on the world. For now, it's just us, finding our way toward something real.

Later, as we lie together on her couch, her head on my chest, I hear her phone buzz. She reaches for it, frowning at the screen.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Just Olivia. Something about her grandmother sending a strange message." She sets the phone down. "I'll check on her tomorrow."

Pulling her closer, I breathe in the scent of her hair. I thought music was my life. Turns out life is making music where it matters. And that's right here. With her.