Chapter 19

After the party, Dahlia asks me to go over what her family needs to do with the barn animals while we are away. Although Rafael considered hiring someone for the task so as not to inconvenience anyone, they refused to let him, claiming that the animals are part of the family.

Dahlia already knows Penelope, the racehorse who was almost put down because of an injury, so I skip over introductions and review her caretaking needs. Penelope is the only animal I didn’t rename, mainly because she hated everything I came up with.

I’ve since come to learn that horses are rather opinionated animals.

We walk to the next set of stalls, and I motion toward the dark brown goat. “So, Jack D is afraid of loud noises. If he hears one, he might faint.”

Dahlia’s eyes widen with horror.

“It’s not as scary as it sounds.” I point out the two other goats. “Johnnie W and Jimmy B don’t like to be kept apart, so make sure you let them sleep in the same stall, or else they’ll keep all the other animals awake with their headbutting.”

The three goats have only been here for a month, but they’ve made their presence known since the day Rafael saved them from an abusive owner who left them for dead inside their cages.

She stifles a laugh. “How do you tell them apart?”

“Johnnie over there has had a few too many knocks to the head, so Jimmy keeps close and takes care of him. They both have matching white spots on their left and right legs, while Jack has a white spot between his horns.”

“Did Rafa name them?”

“I took creative liberties since he was still calling them goats one, two, and three.”

She snorts. “Are you a big fan of whiskey?”

My nose wrinkles. “Not really, but my stepdad is.”

Dahlia is then formally introduced to Jose, Patron, and Julio, the three potbellied pigs Rafael adopted right after I started working here. The day he rescued them was the first night I was trusted alone with Nico since he needed to travel a few towns over to save the pigs and Bacardi, the smallest sheep to ever exist.

“What’s her story?” She kneels in front of the shy sheep.

“Wool farm incident gone wrong.” My chest throbs at the various scars littering her body.

Dahlia’s bottom lip wobbles. “Remind me to never buy anything with wool again.”

I offer her a small, reassuring smile. “Rafael is working on shutting the place down and finding new homes for the other sheep, but he’s run into a few legal issues.”

She rises from the floor and picks at a few pieces of hay that stuck to her clothes. “I’m surprised he finds the time to do all this with his work schedule.”

“It’s important to him,” I reply.

Her eyes soften around the edges. “I know. He’s always been this way ever since we were kids and he wanted to save all the stray cats around town.”

“He did?”

“Oh yeah. Josefina hated it.”

“Why?”

“She calls them an invasive species.”

My nose twitches with distaste. “Really?”

“Yeah, but that didn’t stop Rafa from feeding the cats when she was sleeping.”

A laugh slips out. “Sounds like his fascination with strays started at a young age.”

She glances down at Bacardi. “I think he sees himself in them.”

My heart acts up again, missing a beat. “How?”

“That’s not my story to tell.” She moves along to the next stall and changes the subject, acting like she didn’t peel back one of Rafael’s many layers.

I always knew Rafael had a soft spot for his animals—that much became obvious when a part of my job description included taking care of them—but I never thought to consider why my boss was adamant about adopting so many abused animals. I stupidly assumed it was because he saw a documentary or something equally moving, but Dahlia’s statement hints at something deeper.

Something I wish to uncover, if only to get a better understanding of the mysterious man who keeps his soft heart hidden behind a thick block of ice.

I think he sees himself in them.

Everyone knows Rafael was adopted by Julian’s parents, but the reason why they did it isn’t public knowledge. Sure, people made their own assumptions about his upbringing, but I never paid much attention to town gossip. As it was, teenage me could barely be in the same room as him without blushing, let alone listen to stories about him without giving away my crush.

I’ve come a long way since those shy, awkward days, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to a man with a tragic backstory and a love for broken, discarded things.

Sundays aren’t usually my free day, but Rafael gave me the day off anyway since I had already agreed to grab coffee with Cole. He offered to order for me at the Angry Rooster Café, so I walk past the counter and search the entire shop for him, only to come up empty.

I pull out my phone and text him.

ME

Hey. Are you here yet?

His reply is instant.

COLE

I slipped out the back exit.

ME

Please tell me there is a good reason you’re hanging around the dumpsters.

COLE

Someone recognized me, and I panicked.

COLE

I swear.

I release a relieved breath and head toward the back. While I haven’t spent much time around famous people since Ava gained popularity after she kicked me to the curb, I can only imagine how overwhelming it must feel, especially for someone like Cole, who became famous before he was ever born.

I open the back door and find the musician leaning against a wall with a ball cap drawn low over his face and a pair of sunglasses that hide his eyes.

He holds up a second cup for me. “You asked for a dirty chai, right?”

“Thanks.” I happily grab the iced drink from him and take a big gulp. “You know, if you didn’t want to be recognized, I would have suggested meeting somewhere else.”

He makes a face. “I thought people wouldn’t take notice.”

I can’t help laughing. “Are you joking?”

“My agent told me no one would care about who I am here.”

I stare at him without blinking. “Are you even aware of how famous you are?”

Cole, despite having famous rock stars for parents, has built a name for himself in the indie-folk genre. His music is slightly different from Ava’s, although they are often included in the same playlists and end up competing for awards at shows. If it hadn’t been for Ava’s album, Cole would have most likely won Album of the Year himself.

“Hard to forget,” he grumbles.

“Must suck sometimes,” I say.

“Yeah, it does, but then I remember the good things that come with a job like mine.”

“Like what?”

“Connecting with people through my songs. Making them feel seen and heard with my lyrics.”

“That’s the best part.” My lips curve of their own accord.

His smile is nothing but friendly. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Yeah.” I focus on a spot in the distance.

“So…” Here we go. “I know you said you don’t write songs anymore.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is there any way I could convince you to try?”

I had a feeling that was why he wanted to meet, but a small part of me had hoped I could avoid the topic for a little while longer.

“I haven’t written a song since…” Finishing my sentence proves impossible.

“Silver Scars” was the last song I wrote before Ava’s music producer and new boyfriend at the time, Darius Larkin, ruined my career. It was the only one I wrote that was inspired by myself, which was one of the reasons I asked Ava and Darius to clear all evidence of it from their computers.

I didn’t want people around the world to know how I viewed myself or the story behind my scars. Couldn’t bear the idea of someone else singing about them either, even if that person happened to be my best friend at the time.

“Silver Scars” was and will always be my story, and no amount of pleading on Ava’s part could convince me to let her keep it, so at least I can sleep better at night knowing the song was wiped from their hard drive.

I can’t make out Cole’s eyes through the dark shades, but I feel them traveling over my face.

“I’m not sure if you heard about this, but I recently lost my cowriter.”

I place my hand over my heart. “Something happened to Phoebe?” Everyone who loves Cole’s music knows about Phoebe, his lyrical cowriter and longtime girlfriend. They were always seen as a powerhouse in the industry.

His plastic coffee cup bends under the pressure of his grasp. “We decided to part ways.”

“What? Why? She was amazing!”

His bitter laugh sends a chill down my spine. “Yeah, I thought the same thing until she fell into bed with someone else.”

My mouth falls open. “She cheated on you?”

Everyone with internet access knew about Cole and Phoebe’s romance and how much Cole loved her. The man glowed whenever she was brought up during interviews, so if she cheated…

“Damn,” I mutter to myself. No wonder he donated their guitar to the thrift shop.

He takes a long sip from his straw. “Yup.”

“I can’t believe it.” I chose to ignore the recent gossip headlines trying to paint Cole as a serial cheater who caused the demise of his relationship because I thought they were trying to stir up unnecessary drama.

Turns out Phoebe was the one having an affair, not him.

“The positive pregnancy test cleared things up rather quickly for me.”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “You’re having a kid?”

“Fuck no. I was busy finishing up the American leg of my tour.”

“Shit.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry enough to help me write a song?”

I laugh at his boldness. “No, but good try.”

“How about money?”

“I already have a job.” The excuse is weak, especially since I could write songs and still remain Nico’s nanny, but that doesn’t mean I should.

Some dreams are meant to stay broken, and this is one of them.

“Is this because Ava Rhodes stole your songs?” he asks without any hesitation.

I wince. “I never said that.”

“I know, but I did some digging around yesterday and found out a few things.”

I shoot him a look. “That’s a big claim you’re making.”

His right brow arches. “Yet you’re not denying it.”

Words escape me, so I remain quiet.

He pushes his sunglasses up so I can get a better look at his eyes. “I could get you in contact with the right person who can help you get the credit you deserve.”

The world freezes as I repeat his words in my head. “That’s crazy.”

“Maybe, but it’s also right.”

I’ve tried to contact a few lawyers before, but everyone had the same response.

I’m not the right fit for this case.

After the third time being turned down, I’ve started to lose hope about ever receiving credit or royalties for my songs. Now, if Cole can help connect me to someone, it’s at least worth following up on, even if it leads to another dead end.

“What kind of person?” I ask.

“The best lawyer in the industry, who would have no issue going after someone as popular as her.”

“I didn’t think it was possible.”

“It could be.”

“But let me guess—you’ll only help me if I help you.” A hint of bitterness comes out, surprising us both.

He shakes his head. “Contrary to what people might say about me, I’m not an asshole. If you want the lawyer’s contact information, then I’ll pass it along. No strings attached.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Prove it.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and taps at the screen. Ten seconds later, my phone buzzes with a new message. I double-check the text just in case.

“Still don’t trust me?” He smirks.

My grip on my phone tightens. “I’ve been burned once before.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks.” I fight to get the word out with how tight my throat feels.

“No problem. It’s the least I could do after you agreed to meet me and hear me out. If you change your mind about writing the song, shoot me a text.” He tips his chin in my direction before taking off toward Main Street, leaving me with a heavy feeling in my chest that doesn’t go away.

Willow bolts from her couch. “What do you mean Cole Griffin offered you a job and you said no? Are you crazy?”

“She’s just boring like the rest of this town.” Lorenzo looks up from his cell phone for the first time all afternoon, finally gracing us with his attention. Having him present for this conversation wasn’t my smartest decision, but I’m desperate for someone else’s opinion. Willow and my parents are the only people I’ve told about Ava’s betrayal.

I flip him off. With a shrug, he returns to tapping at his phone screen, ignoring Willow shooting daggers at him. I thought he might be able to offer insight into my issue with Ava, but clearly that isn’t the case.

Willow’s gaze softens when it swings toward me. “You have to call him and ask if the offer is still on the table. Like right now before he changes his mind or finds someone else.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Truth is, the more I consider Cole’s offer, the more I want to accept it…or at least I do until fear comes knocking again, reminding me all about my past.

“I haven’t written a full song in a year,” I say instead.

“You haven’t had a good reason to,” she replies.

“What if I was a one-hit wonder?”

“Technically, you had fourteen hits and three songs that went triple platinum, so that’s not possible,” Lorenzo says without looking up.

Willow’s mouth falls open. “How do you know that?”

He shakes his phone. “The internet.”

I drop onto the worn leather sofa with a huff. “Okay, but there’s no guarantee I can successfully do that all again.”

Willow’s eyes soften. “You’ll never know unless you try.”

“I—”

Lorenzo’s smile comes off as rehearsed and never reaches his cold, dead eyes. “Do you want my opinion?”

Willow and I both say no at the same time, which earns us a scowl.

“I’m trying to be nice,” he says with a flat tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

My nose twitches. “Well, please stop. It’s not natural coming from you.”

I haven’t known Lorenzo for long, but I know he doesn’t dish out advice because he’s a nice guy. He barely tolerates Willow and me, even going out of his way to remind us that we aren’t friends, although he could’ve fooled me with how much he hangs out around here.

At first, I was worried he might be interested in Willow, but it didn’t take me long to realize their dynamic is far from romantic. He treats her like an annoying little sister, and she calls him her long-lost fourth brother.

Lorenzo is clearly lonely and looking for companionship, and it’s absolutely eating him up inside to know he found it with us.

His eyes narrow. “You just want me to shut up because Willow is too nice to call you out on your bullshit.”

It feels like he struck me. “Excuse me?”

“I think saying no to Cole is easy. Probably the easiest thing you’ve ever done besides running away from LA, if we’re being honest.”

Willow’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Let’s not jump to—”

I interrupt her by telling him, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you’re not as complex and layered as you make yourself out to be, although you artistic types sure love to portray yourselves like that.” He picks a piece of invisible lint off his trousers and flicks it away. “Makes for better music, I assume.”

My blood boils beneath my skin. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I prefer that over being a coward.”

I jump to my feet and point a finger in his direction. “I am not a coward.”

“Then why did you tell him no?”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Because I’m scared!”

He makes a satisfied sound and returns to tapping his phone screen, pretending he didn’t just antagonize me into admitting the truth aloud.

As much as I hate Lorenzo for pushing me the way he did, he is right. I am a coward. A coward who is terrified of putting herself out there and getting burned again.

“It’s okay to be afraid.” Willow’s soft voice penetrates the chill surrounding me. “After Darius took advantage of you—no, after he assaulted you—you have every right to be scared of returning to that scene.”

Lorenzo’s nostrils flare. “He did what?”

“We’re not talking about that,” I say with a strong tone, leaving no room for discussion.

Willow silently mouths sorry before speaking. “Cole seems like a good guy.”

My head hangs. “So did Darius.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrow, but thankfully, he refrains from asking any follow-up questions about him.

“But now you know better. You know what signs to watch out for, and you have the power to walk away at any moment.”

I sigh. “I don’t know.”

Willow pulls me into a hug. “Don’t let your fear of the past stop you from the future you want.”

“It’s not like I want to be afraid.”

“No one does.”

“But I keep thinking… What if I suck?”

Willow releases me with a scoff. “Like you could ever write a bad song.”

I shoot her a look.

She huffs. “We’re not counting high school here.”

“Cole could hate whatever I write.”

Willow’s smile is small but sure. “Well, you’ll never know unless you try.”