Page 43 of Unlocking Melodies

“Please tell me you're not actually hiding in a small town having some sort of billionaire crisis,” he said by way of greeting.

“I'm not hiding.” The lie felt weak even to me. “I'm exploring regional investment opportunities.”

“Right. And those opportunities have nothing to do with a certain musician who just happened to lose his memory?”

I watched the sunrise start to paint the stables gold, thinking about Jimmy's hands on piano keys, playing our unfinished piece like his heart remembered even if his mind didn't.

“He played tonight,” I said finally. “Our showcase piece.”

Dane’s silence held years of understanding. He'd been there at Rosewood, had watched the whole story unfold. “How bad?”

“Perfect. Like he never forgot.” I ran a hand through my hair, not caring about the products I was ruining. “He doesn't remember writing it with me, but his hands remember every note.”

“And you're sitting in your car watching sunrise at his workplace because...”

“How did you–“

“Because I know you, you idiot. You've probably spent the night driving past every place he frequents, torturing yourself with what-ifs while pretending it's all part of some strategic business plan.”

Sometimes having friends who knew you too well was incredibly inconvenient.

“Dane, my father's coming.”

“Ah.” The single syllable held volumes. “And you're worried about history repeating itself?”

“He never recovered from what I did last time. What my father's threats made me do.” The words felt raw in the pre-dawn air. “And now he doesn't even remember why I left. How am I supposed to protect him from something he can't remember to be afraid of?”

“Has it occurred to you,” Dane said carefully, “that maybe this time you could try something different? Like, oh, I don't know, actually talking to him?”

“It's not that simple.”

“It never is with you.” His sigh crackled through the speaker. “Look, eight years ago, you chose running away to protect him. How'd that work out?”

The question hit like a board meeting ambush. Through my windshield, I could see Melody in her paddock, probably waiting for Jimmy's morning visit. Everything about this town seemed designed to remind me of him – of who he was now, of who we'd been then, of all the ways I'd tried to keep him safe by staying away.

“I can't lose him again,” I admitted quietly.

“Then maybe try not running this time.” Dane’s voice softened. “You're not that scared kid anymore, Ethan. You've built an empire. Maybe it's time to use that power to protect what matters instead of hiding from it.”

The sun was fully up now, turning the ranch into something from a tourism brochure. Soon Jimmy would arrive for his morning routine – checking on Melody, probably bringing those ridiculous chips he still loved, making this place feel more like home than any of my penthouse offices ever had.

“When did you get so wise?” I asked Dane.

“Someone has to balance out your dramatic tendencies.” I could hear his smile. “Though I have to say, hiding in a small town while your father plots your corporate downfall is very on-brand for you.”

“I'm not hiding.”

“Sure, Mr. Regional Investment Opportunities. Keep telling yourself that.” He paused. “Just... don't run this time, okay? Some things are worth fighting for.”

After we hung up, I sat watching the ranch wake up. My phone kept buzzing with crisis updates from Mia, each one a reminder of the world I was supposed to be managing. The empire I'd built, the legacy I'd protected, the careful walls I'd constructed between past and present.

But Dane was right. Running hadn't worked last time. Maybe it was time to try something different.

Movement caught my eye – Jimmy's truck pulling into the ranch, right on schedule. Even from here, I could see him pause by the piano room's window, his hand reaching out like he was remembering last night's performance. The gesture made something in my chest crack open, eight years of careful distance crumbling in the morning light.

My father was coming, the corporate world was probably imploding, and the man I'd left to protect couldn't remember why I'd left in the first place. But maybe that was the point. Maybe this time, we could write a different ending.

A knock on my window nearly made me drop my phone. Caleb stood there, holding what appeared to be real coffee in an actual ceramic mug, because apparently my caffeine dependency was now part of the town's collective knowledge base.

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