Page 33

33

FAITH

T he bus hisses to a stop at the next sleepy town. I look out the window, heart thudding, as the door creaks open and no one moves.

But I do.

I stand.

Step off.

And just like that, I decide I’m not going home.

The sun is starting to dip, and the air smells like diesel and honeysuckle. There’s an old bench outside the depot, half-shaded. I sit, open The Alchemist , and flip back to the page with Hunter’s note still tucked inside.

For when you forget what you’re made of. You’re a dreamer, Faith. You were never meant to stay caged.

God.

I reread that line three times.

Then I do something I haven’t done in years: I act on instinct.

I walk up to the little kiosk and say, “Hi. What’s your next bus to Nashville?”

The guy behind the glass looks up, surprised. “Nashville?”

“Yeah. Music City. That one.”

He types for a moment. “Leaves in forty minutes.”

I book it. One-way. No idea where I’m staying.

Then I call April.

“Faith?” she says, confused. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Actually... I think I’m finally doing something for me.”

“Okay... what’s going on?”

“Wanna go to Nashville tonight?”

Pause. “Uh. That’s like a four-hour drive for me.”

“So?” I say, smiling for the first time all day. “You scared?”

Another beat. Then she exhales, long and sharp.

“Screw it. I’m in.”

* * *

The singer steps off the stage to a chorus of applause, her voice still echoing in the corners of the bar like a ghost that doesn’t want to leave.

She’s in her late 30s maybe, glowing with sweat and something deeper. Freedom, maybe. Fulfillment. That glow you can’t fake.

April’s nudging me. “Go tell her how good she was.”

“I’m not?—”

“She was amazing. And you were crying. So. Go.”

I slide off the barstool, heart hammering, and head toward her as she sips water near the side exit.

“Hey,” I start, feeling stupid already. “I just wanted to say…your set was incredible.”

She smiles, warm and easy. “Thank you. You visiting?”

I nod. “Yeah. From a town so small it barely registers on a map.”

“Ah, one of those.” She chuckles. “I know that life.”

“Really?”

“Born and raised in a three-church, two-bar county in east Tennessee,” she says, tossing her towel over her shoulder. “My family practically threw a funeral when I moved here.”

That makes me laugh, but it also sort of…breaks something loose inside me.

“What changed?”

She shrugs. “I did what I had to do. Kept showing up. Kept singing. Kept being the kind of woman I could respect—even when no one else did.”

“But didn’t it hurt? Losing that connection?”

“Oh, it did. But then something weird happened.” She leans in slightly, like she’s letting me in on a secret. “They got used to it. Eventually, they even started bragging about me. My mama tells people I’m the crazy singer in the family like it’s a badge of honor now.”

I blink, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yup. But here’s the thing.” Her eyes meet mine. “That moment you stop trying to make everyone else comfortable? That’s the moment you grow into yourself. And ironically? That’s the moment they start respecting you, too.”

I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until I finally let it go. Her words settle deep, somewhere under my ribs.

“Thanks,” I murmur. “I needed to hear that.”

She winks. “Yeah. I figured. You got something on your mind?”

“Yeah. It’s this guy…”

Her smile shifts—less performer, more woman-to-woman now. “What about him?”

“It’s just…good. Too good.”

She tilts her head. “So what’s the catch?”

“That’s the thing,” I say, arms folding protectively across my chest. “I keep looking for one. Because how could it be real, right? He’s sexy. Like, unreasonably sexy. Funny, smart, thoughtful…he listens. He remembers the tiniest details. He looks at me like I matter. Like I’m art. And the sex?” I glance around like the word might get me kicked out. “Don’t even get me started.”

She laughs, nodding like she knows exactly what I mean. “So you’re scared.”

“Petrified,” I admit. “I’ve never trusted my own judgment, and this guy? He lied to me. About who he was. He was—he is —the son of the man my dad hates. The man I was raised to hate. And I told myself it was just a summer thing. Friends with benefits. A hot phase to move on from.”

“But now it doesn’t feel like a phase.”

“No. Now it feels like the whole damn blueprint,” I say softly, eyes stinging.

She nods, her expression turning more serious. “Let me ask you something. Does he make you feel seen?”

“Yes.”

“Safe?”

I nod.

“Does he challenge you to be more honest?”

I think about our last fight. About him calling me out, not in anger, but out of care. “Yeah. He does.”

She grins. “Then don’t run from that just because it’s unfamiliar. Sometimes the things that scare the shit out of us are the ones worth keeping.”

I press a hand to my chest like I’m trying to hold the truth there.

“Thanks,” I say again. But this time, my voice doesn’t waver.

“Go find him,” she says, patting my arm. “Unless you’re gonna sit around here all night listening to more sad country songs.”

I smile, heart thudding.

* * *

We end up on a rooftop downtown with plastic cups of something strong—bourbon and ginger maybe. I’m warm in the chest, light in the head, and a little too honest.

The skyline twinkles like it knows secrets I don’t. The streets below pulse with music and heat, like the city’s breathing in time with us.

April leans back on her elbows beside me, her heels kicked off, her braid starting to unravel. “Okay, Nash is a vibe. You were right. I’m a little tired from the four hour drive, but seems like everything is open good and late here.”

“It’s a vibe all right.”

“So. How are you feeling?” She asks.

I grin, swirling what’s left in my cup. “It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself in a while that didn’t come with a voice in my head saying ‘what will they think.’”

April glances over. “And what do you think?”

“I think I feel free,” I admit. “And sad. And also like I’m waking up from something.”

“Sounds about right.”

We sit in silence for a beat. The wind dances through the air, brushing my bare arms, catching on the soft edges of my blouse. Then I say it, barely above a whisper:

“I think I love him.”

April doesn’t react dramatically. She just exhales, almost like she’d been waiting for me to say it.

“Then go love him,” she says. “Stop trying to logic your way out of it. You’re not scared of him, Faith. You’re scared that he might be everything you’ve ever wanted—and that if you let yourself want it, it might vanish.”

I stare out at the skyline again, at the shimmer of lights stretched over a city that’s teaching me more about myself in one night than Vansborough has in years.

“I want to be brave,” I say.

April clinks her plastic cup against mine. “You already are.”

“But April.”

“Yeah?’

“What if I tell him I love him, and he breaks my heart?”

April lifts a light smile. “Then he breaks it. But at least you know where you stand. And you don’t have to spend the rest of your life wondering.”

And in that moment—with bourbon in my blood, the stars above, and a friend beside me—I decide.

I know exactly what I’m going to do.