Page 13 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)

Valerie

“Expected,” Knox replies. “We’ll get more information soon. I’m lookin’ into it.”

I look between then, take note of how casual this seems to them despite acting as my bodyguards. “So, what are you two? Technically, I mean.”

Gilden glances up. “Technically?”

“Yeah. Like, are you spies? Mercenaries? Something else? What’s your job title?”

“Babysitters,” Knox replies, clearly just trying to be an asshole.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay, Thing Two.”

Gilden shoots a look at Knox, as if in warning about his attitude. “I’m a specialist. Knox is the security expert.”

“Interesting titles. Kind of seems like more than that considering you showed up, swept me away on a plane, and now you have someone funneling you information about the super secret shadow organization that wants to kill me,” I point out.

“Yeah,” Knox says. “Babysitters. Like I said.”

I turn in my chair and glare at him. “You really need to work on your people skills, Thing two.”

He raises his brow. “My people skills are fine. It’s the people who are the problem.”

I glance at Gilden. “Is it you who’s been lying to him about his people skills?”

“Definitely not,” he laughs. “I tell him he’s an asshole all the time. It was probably his mother.”

“You leave my mother out of this conversation,” Knox grunts, but doesn’t add anything else, shutting down the conversation.

Those people skills are clearly rusty. You can’t tell me anything different.

“So. . .” I start, staring at Gilden as he flicks through his phone. “. . .how long do we stay here before this all blows over?”

Knox doesn’t answer, of course. Gilden shrugs hesitantly. “Don’t know the answer to that, cher . Best just to wait, yeah?”

I sigh and finish off the coffee. “Am I allowed out on the front porch?”

He nods. “We’re high enough in the mountains, I don’t think anyone will see or hear anything. You wanna go out on the porch and scream, should be fine. Maybe warn us though. Knox is afraid of them wendigos.”

“Wendigos don’t exist,” Knox grunts, but he doesn’t exactly say he isn’t afraid of them. Interesting.

There was a guitar in my room when we arrived.

Specifically, one of my old guitars, the one my mama gave me with the little sparrow painted on it that the label had insisted I leave behind since it’s not “stage worthy,” for whatever reason they created.

Hank must have made sure it would be here for me when I got here, the old sap.

He knew I’d turn to music right now, and I’ve never been more grateful for the man who’s been like a father to me for so long.

That’s what I take onto the porch with me. I don’t need to scream at the mountains. I need to sing to them.

My fingers dance along the strings, pleased to find the guitar still perfectly tuned. At first, I just strum notes, letting the vibrations fill the air around me, but at some point, I can’t help but start humming. That hum turns to words before I’m conscious of making the decision.

“ Where the river knows me, and the wind says my name,

I’m just a girl with a song and a heart full of flame.

The sparrows sing songs that echo in place

And I don’t need nothing but these stars and this space.

‘Cause out here, I’m wild and free,

In the arms of the land that remembers me.”

The words echo around me and fade, leaving me to stare at the dark trees. The night critters sing back to me, the sounds feeling more like home than they ever have. Out here, the air is clear, clean. I’ve spent too long away from the mountains. I’ve missed this.

“That was my favorite song when you were first breaking out.”

I jump and nearly throw my guitar. I hadn’t even realized the Cajun was behind me until he talked.

“For fuck’s sake!” I shriek, staring at him with wide eyes. “Make a noise next time or somethin’.”

“Sorry, cher ,” he apologizes before coming to sit beside me. “I didn’t want you to stop.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “Why don’t you play that song on stage anymore?”

I shrug. “Not allowed to.”

“What? Why?” he asks, frowning.

“The label doesn’t think it would resonate with people. They said it’s too raw and unprofessional.”

“That’s a damn crawfish tale if I ever heard one! It’s literal poetry,” he growls, and it makes me smile despite the sad topic. “What about that Jiminy Cricket song? I liked that one, too.”

I shake my head. “The songs I play on stage are the only ones I’m allowed to sing. I can’t even write my own music anymore. They won’t let me. They just refuse every song I write.”

Gilden frowns. “Now that’s a whole mess’a coillonnerie right there.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. It’s not great.”

“So that explains the change in your sound. Not that your new stuff isn’t good. It’s catchy. It’s just not. . . it lacks. . .”

“Soul,” I finish for him. “Yeah, I know.” I set the guitar down and sit back. “Doesn’t matter anyways. I just fucked all that up with this stunt. I should have cut the feed when I realized something was off. I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, mon rossignol . Ain’t nothin’ finished ‘til you say it is,” he encourages.

“Besides your fans are goin’ wild right now.

Viral videos trying to figure out if you’re okay, other ones diving deep into the conspiracies surrounding the 27 Foundation.

Cher , you set them loose. They’re rabid, regular ole crime stoppers. ”

My eyes widen. “What? Show me.”

So, he does. Video after video about me, things exploding and going viral, snippets of the livestream interlaced with theories and information.

They’re doing the work I can’t do for me.

They’re pulling proof themselves, doing their own investigations with or without the authorities.

Surprised, I flip through more and more, and there’s no shortage of them.

It’s insane how many there are. #ProtectValerie is literally trending.

“See, mon rossignol . They’re rallying behind you.” Gilden shrugs. “I may be optimistic, but it doesn’t seem like you’re losing anything. At least, not yet.”