Page 171 of Burn the Wild

“Coward,” I tease. Smothering a smile, I glance over at the fan. “He really loves autographs. Make sure he signs everything you own.”

Ford laughs and snatches the Sharpie from the guy’s hands. With a flourish, he signs the back of the guy’s T-shirt. His sneakers. Ball cap. Even his beer glass. “Go to school, use protection, don’t fear tomorrow,” he drawls, before sending him on his way.

I can’t help but laugh. “Wise words.”

The strum of a guitar has me looking over at the stage.

Ford studies me curiously. “You miss singing?”

“I do. I really do. But not the crowds or the money. I miss…that.” I nod at the person on stage. “Intimate audience. Small stage. Doing it for me.”

“You should go play.”

“What?” My eyes widen when he stands. “No. Ford—”

I try to grab the hem of his shirt, but he’s too quick. I watch in horror as he strides over to the singer on stage. They duck their heads and confer, then Ford slaps a wad of cash into his hand. He heads back to me.

“You’re up.”

I blink at the people craning on their high tops. “I don’t believe you.”

His grin gets wider. “You scared, Birdie?”

“No, I’m—”

“If anyone recognizes you, they’ll think you’re staying here. Not in Resurrection.”

I arch a brow. “Very sly of you.”

He just grins. “My plan all along.”

I roll my eyes.

Ford follows me and helps me onto the stage, which is a small platform covered in peanuts. As I settle on a rickety bar stool, Ford places the borrowed guitar in my hands.

He gives me a charming smile. “You got this. You doyou.”

I swallow and lean into the mic. “I’m just a simple Georgia girl telling a simple story,” I say to the crowd. “But I hope you like it.”

My heart pounds. Ford’s right. It’s me and the music. I can be myself now.

I think of those yellow sticky notes.

I think of this summer.

I think of Ford.

I close my eyes and sing the song I’ve been writing ever since I arrived in Resurrection. It’s messy, but it has good bones.

Goose bumps skate across my arms. My voice lifts, and I open my eyes, focusing on the twangy hum of the six-string. Ford leans in to watch me, his amber eyes bright and intense.

Gavin would call this burning my life down, but it’s the opposite. It’s clawing my way out of the darkness to find the light. To find a place—or a person—who is mine. Who makes me happy.

Ford is a gift. He’s healed my damaged soul, my broken and wild heart. In three months, he gave me the life I’ve always dreamed up.

And I want to keep it.

I’m ready to choose him.

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