Page 22 of Unlocking Melodies

“He walked himself here.” Liam's voice broke on the words. “To the ranch. Bleeding, barely conscious, but he made it to our gates.”

In my head, I saw it too clearly though I wish I hadn’t. Jimmy had been alone, hurting, seeking sanctuary in the one place he felt safe. While I'd been what? Reviewing quarterly projections? Adding to my empire of empty achievements?

“Ramirez is in custody now,” Liam continued, his voice hard. “But the damage...” He gestured vaguely, encompassingeverything - Jimmy's lost memories, our shared past, eight years of careful distance shattered by violence.

“You know what the worst part is?” His tone shifted, bitter coffee and old wounds. “The day before, he was finally talking about you. About Rosewood. Said he felt like something big was about to change. Like the universe was shifting.”

A laugh that might have been a sob tore from my chest. “Eight years.” The words came out raw, stripped of corporate polish. “I stayed away for eight years to protect him, and I couldn't even-“

I couldn't finish. Didn't need to. Eight years of carefully constructed walls crumbled in the morning mist, leaving me exposed in a way I hadn't allowed since that last night at Rosewood.

“Your father.” It wasn't a question. Liam had always been too perceptive for his own good.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Understanding passed between us - not forgiveness, not yet, but something closer to recognition. The weight of choices made under pressure, of love twisted by fear and power.

“He threatened to ruin Jimmy's career.” The words fell like stones in the quiet morning. “Said he'd make sure no one in the industry would touch him. That the Cole name could open doors or close them forever.”

“And you believed him.”

“I believed in his power to destroy things. I'd seen him do it before.” My laugh held no humor. “Turns out I didn't need his help ruining Jimmy's life.”

“Hey.” Liam's voice turned sharp. “You didn't do this. Ramirez did.”

“Didn't I?” I looked at my hands - manicured, soft, useless. “I left him. Made him think- God, the last thing he remembered of me was betrayal. And now he doesn't even have that.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with eight years of might-have-beens.

“He kept your piano pieces,” Liam said finally. “Every single one. Hidden in a box he thought no one knew about. Even after everything.”

Something in my chest cracked open - hope or pain or both. “Does he still...?”

“I don’t really know if he still does.” Liam's voice was gentle but firm. “But he does remember music. It's the only thing that stayed. Maybe that means something.”

“I don't know how to fix this,” I admitted. Eight years of running multibillion-dollar companies, and I had no solution for the one thing that mattered.

“Maybe,” Liam said carefully, “you don't fix it. Maybe you just... be here. For once.”

The words hung in the morning air, a challenge and an olive branch all at once. Behind us, the ranch was waking up - horses nickering, doors opening, another day starting in a world I'd walked away from.

I told myself I had legitimate reasons for going back to The Watering Hole. Work to do. Emails to send. Perfectly logical explanations that had nothing to do with the fact that Jimmy's first shift back had started at six.

I waited until seven, because showing up the moment he started would have been obvious. Pathetic. Another fifteen minutes because the parking lot was too full - a lie I told myself while gripping my steering wheel, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

At seven-twenty, I finally walked in, laptop bag a shield against the curious looks from locals. Nina's eyes tracked me as I moved through the crowd, her expression caught between hostility and something that might have been pity.

The corner booth at The Watering Hole offered a perfect view of everything - strategic positioning was apparently a habit I couldn't break even here. My laptop screen cast a corporate glow in the dim bar light, but I hadn't typed a word in twenty minutes.

Not when Jimmy was right there.

He moved through the space like someone trying to remember a dance they'd once known by heart. Each gesture was a little too careful, each smile a little too practiced. When regulars called out greetings, he responded with that new polite distance that felt like a knife to my chest.

Nina hovered nearby, jumping in whenever Jimmy hesitated too long over a drink order or forgotten regular's name. The care she took made me simultaneously grateful and jealous - she'd been there for him when I wasn't. Still was.

Every time he passed close to my booth, my entire body tensed like a tuning fork being struck. The scent of his coffee (still the same cheap brand he'd always loved, despite running a bar) mixed with the ambient sounds of glasses clinking and casual conversation. A scene I'd imagined a thousand times over eight years, but never like this.

“Can I get you anything else?”

It took everything I had not to flinch at his voice - polite, professional, empty of all the warmth and humor that used to fill it when he spoke to me.

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