“My name is Jax Jamieson. I’m eighteen years old.”

The camera jerks like he knocked it as he picks up his guitar.

I notice, but like the people responsible for the last eighty million online video views, I don’t care.

I watch the boy in the dark, his fingers plucking the guitar, picking up speed. Hear his voice that begins over the top, playing between the notes of the strings. Soaking into them like rain into the hungry ground.

Which version hits me harder? The one almost my age, desperate and raw, or the one ten years later? The one who’s seen everything, built the armor—and cynicism—that comes with being in the spotlight?

“Mace orders lobster at every diner. It’s going to bite him in the ass one day.”

I snap the laptop closed as Lita shifts into the booth next to me. I pop out my earbuds and wrap the cord before setting them on my computer.

I glance a few booths down at where Jax, Kyle, Brick, and Mace are going over details for tonight with Nina. Kyle’s half listening, simultaneously engaged in a discussion with the waitress about what looks like the plastic straws. Mace enthusiastically devours whatever’s on his plate. Brick throws a french fry at Nina as if he’s ten years old and learning to flirt. She turns her head, the picture of the equanimity preached in the books she reads in the stolen moments between tour stops. The potato bounces off her blue ponytail and falls into the booth.

Jax stares out the window, one arm slung over the back of the booth, as though he’s contemplating the universe.

“You’re in the doghouse.” Lita’s grin fades as she looks between Jax and me.

I snap out of it, shaking my head. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

Texas is the kind of hot that makes you wonder what you did to deserve it. I swipe at a chunk of hair that’s fallen out of my ponytail and stuck to my forehead.

Jax hasn’t texted me since he walked out of the bar. My two messages to him have gone unanswered.

He’s acting as though I betrayed him by playing his song. I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling of my hotel room and feeling as though I’d violated some code.

“Well, you were great. Really. Check this out.” She pops up a video of my performance and hands me earbuds. “To be safe.”

It’s weird to see myself on stage, but it’s pretty good. I pick at my salad as I watch and listen.

“It’s okay,” I say, pulling out the headphones.

“You’re good, new girl. I see you working on that program. I’ve watched a lot of new people on tour. You’re like the lifers. You keep going back for more. What’re you doing after?”

“Back to Philly. Finish up my project. Then senior year starts in September.”

“Until then?”

I shrug.

“We’re going to Nashville. Playing honky-tonks for a few months. You should come with. We’d have fun together.”

“I need to make some money.”

“Can you bartend? A friend owns one of the honky-tonks. There’s always a wait list to serve, but I could put in a good word. You’d get killer tips.”

My eyebrows rise.

The idea’s crazy, but it pulls at my mind as I shift out of the booth and start toward the counter. The coffee’s actually pretty good, and—

I squeak as I collide with a wall emerging from the bathroom.

I know it’s him before I look up into those eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

He bends to grab his wallet. He’s wearing the Astros hat again, and under that, his jaw works.

“Can I help y’all?”

We both turn toward the waitress at the counter.

“Yeah. Can I get a coffee to go?” I ask.

“And I’m going to pick up the bill,” Jax mutters.

The waitress smiles. “Which bill?”

“All of them.”

“No,” I interrupt. “I’ll pay for mine.”

“I said I’ll take them all,” Jax says, his voice hardening.

“And I said thank you but no.”

Jax drops a black card on the counter, and that, apparently, is the end of the discussion.

The waitress grabs the card and hits a few buttons on the register. “Shoot. Out of paper. One sec.”

She retreats to a back room, and I’m stuck standing next to him.

It's hard to remind myself he's irrational when he’s doing such a seriously decent thing. “Jax. About last night—”

“Don’t.” The syllable is flat against the backdrop of laughter and music in the diner. “And don’t do that female thing where you make this a thing. This isn’t a thing.”

“Yeah, arguing in front of everyone makes it look like it’s not a thing.”

His exhale sounds like a punishment.

“Jax. I sang your song because I love it.”

“I told you what it meant to me.”

“So you don’t want anyone to play it ever because it hurts you? Because you were out of control? Newsflash. We all have moments like that, Jax. Not all of them have eighty million witnesses, that’s all. Maybe your pain can help someone else cope with theirs.”

The waitress returns and runs Jax’s card. “Wow, I thought you looked familiar. Can I get an autograph?”

“On the bill or for you?” The grin he flashes has the waitress blinking at him.

“Both, I guess.”

The reversal shouldn't hurt me, but it does. His easy smile for the waitress digs into my side like a piece of glass I can't get out. It's all I can do to wait for my coffee.

Jax signs something for her then strides out the door.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” she murmurs as she hands me my cup.

“Yeah. He is.”

I glance at the floor. There’s a scrap of paper on it, and I think it’s his receipt until I unfold it.