Page 26 of Pure Bred

“Look, I don’t know what the answer is,” he says. “But I’m convinced there is one. We just haven’t thought of it yet. Come on, man. Let’s figure this out.”

10

SIERRA

Istand in the brightly lit recording booth, the familiar weight of headphones pressing against my ears. The instrumental track begins to play, a gorgeous melody that should stir something within me. But as I open my mouth to sing, the words feel empty, each note falling flat.

“Cut,” says the frustrated voice of my producer through the speakers. “Sierra, what’s going on? Let’s take it from the top.”

I nod, forcing a smile I don’t feel. The music starts again, and I close my eyes, trying to summon the emotion this song deserves. But all I can see is Logan’s face, his blue eyes filled with hope as he talked about our future.

My voice cracks on the high note, and I stop, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I need a minute.”

As I step back from the microphone, my mind drifts back to my last conversation with Logan. His words echo in my head, painting a vivid picture of a life I never thought I could have. A cozy home on the ranch, the sound of children’s laughter,and my husband’s protectively loving arms around me each and every day.

The longing in my chest is so intense it’s almost painful. I want that life so much. But alongside that desire is a gnawing fear. Choosing that life means walking away from this one—the stages, the tours, the connection with fans. It’s not about the fame or the money; it never has been. It’s deeper than that.

I lean against the wall, closing my eyes. The thought of never performing again makes me feel like I’m suffocating. Singing isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. It’s how I process my emotions, how I connect with the world. The idea of giving that up terrifies me to my core.

But the ache for Logan, for the life we could have together, is just as strong. I’m torn between two halves of myself, unable to see how they could possibly fit together.

I step out of the recording booth, feeling a little shaky. The producer and sound engineers eye me with concern, and I feel a wave of guilt wash over me.

“I’m so sorry, everyone,” I say. “I can’t do this today. I need to reschedule the session.”

The producer stares at me. “Sierra, we’ve got a tight deadline.”

“I know,” I say, hating how unprofessional I’m being. “I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up, I promise. I just can’t do this right now.”

I grab my things and hurry out of the studio, ignoring the confused murmurs behind me. Once I’m in the hallway, I lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. This isn’t like me. I’ve always been able to compartmentalize, to push through no matter what.

But this is the one thing that I can’t push through.

With trembling fingers, I pull out my phone and scroll to my manager’s number. She’s going to be furious about the rescheduling, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.

The phone rings twice before I hear her crisp, professional voice. “Sierra?”

I take a deep breath. “Camille, I need to talk to you.”

An hour later, I’m throwing clothes haphazardly into a weekend bag, my hands shaking with adrenaline and nerves. I zip it up, grab my phone, and race out the door. My driver is waiting right outside, eyebrows raised at my frantic state.

The entire flight to Montana, my heart thunders away in my chest. I can’t sit still, pacing the length of the private jet as I rehearse what I want to say to Logan. The words tumble over each other in my head, a jumbled mess of emotions and promises.

As soon as we touch down, I’m out of my seat, barely waiting for the stairs to lower before I’m racing down them. A rental car is waiting for me, and I throw my bag in the back, my palms damp as I start the engine.

The drive to the ranch feels endless. My stomach is in knots, anticipation and fear warring within me.

What if I’m too late?

What if he’s changed his mind?

Finally, I’m turning onto the familiar dirt road leading to the ranch. My heart is in my throat as I park in front of Logan’s home—a place I want to bemyhome, too, although I’m terrified now that it won’t turn out that way.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart as I approach Logan’s door. The sound of my knock on the door echoes into the quiet Montana evening.

The door swings open, and there he is. Logan’s eyes widen in surprise, his mouth falling open. “Sierra? What are you?—”

My gaze drops to the floor beside him, where a packed duffel bag sits. Before I can process what that means, Logan speaks again.

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