Page 48 of Roaring Fork Rockstar

Dr. Patel sighed. “Without specifics, it’s difficult to say. But persistent, unexplained fevers, especially when accompanied by other symptoms, like fatigue or unusual bruising, can sometimes indicate more concerning conditions.”

“Like leukemia?” I asked bluntly, the word sitting like a stone in my stomach.

“That would be one possibility, yes. But I’d caution against jumping to conclusions without proper testing.”

“Again, hypothetically speaking, what would the treatment look like for something like that? For a child?”

“Protocols vary depending on the specific diagnosis,” he explained. “But many childhood cancers respond well these days. We’ve made significant advances in finding cures.”

“And the costs?” I asked, thinking of Keltie working late nights at the Goat.

“Substantial,” he admitted. “But there are resources. Insurance, of course, and organizations like the Miracles ofHope Children’s Charity here in Crested Butte that specifically helps local families with medical expenses.”

The mention of the charity—the very one named in my codicil—sent a chill down my spine. I thanked Dr. Patel for his time and hung up, my mind racing.

Was it possible? Could there be a connection between the trust’s requirement that I donate to this specific charity and Luna’s condition? It seemed far-fetched, yet the coincidence felt too specific to ignore.

By the timeI needed to head to the Goat for my required performance, my head was pounding with worry and information overload from spending hours researching childhood illnesses.

I arrived early, needing to see Keltie, to reassure myself that everything was all right despite what my premonition had shown me.

The bar was quiet when I walked in, typical for the day after Christmas. A few regulars occupied tables near the windows, nursing beers and watching the last of the daylight fade behind the mountains. Keltie stood behind the bar, arranging glasses.

“You’re early,” she said, turning at the sound of the bell. Her smile when she saw me eased the tightness in my chest. She wore her usual flannel shirt and jeans, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, the pendant I’d given her visible at her throat.

“Couldn’t stay away,” I admitted, setting my guitar case on a nearby stool. “How’s Luna?”

“Still over the moon about Christmas,” Keltie replied, her eyes softening. “By now, I’m sure she’s shown Mrs. Lopez all her gifts twenty times.”

I chuckled, picturing Luna’s enthusiasm.

“Thank you again, Holt. For everything.”

I moved closer, lowering my voice. “No need to thank me. It was the best Christmas I’ve had in years.”

“Same here.”

The bar was empty enough for me to speak freely. “Ben Rice called. Invited me to check out his recording studio tomorrow.”

Keltie’s head shot up; surprise and pleasure crossed her face. “Holt, that’s great!”

“I mean, it’s nothing more than a tour,” I cautioned, not wanting to oversell it. “Although he did mention recording an EP while I’m stuck here.”

“Stuck here,” she repeated.

“Poor choice of words,” I said quickly. “Trust me, there are worse places to be required to stay.”

Her smile warmed her eyes. “I’m glad you think so.”

I motioned toward the small stage. “Mind if I play something new? Something I’ve been working on today?”

“The stage is all yours,” she said, gesturing with a sweeping hand.

I retrieved my guitar and settled onto the stool, adjusting the microphone, though I didn’t plan to sing the lyrics yet. They weren’t quite finished, and this song felt different—meant for Luna’s ears first, or at least for Keltie’s, before anyone else heard it.

My fingers found the notes of the gentle tune without conscious thought. The melody was hopeful and sweet, with a chorus that lilted upward like a child’s laughter. I kept my eyes on my hands, but I could feel Keltie watching me.

When I finished, I looked up to find her standing motionless, clutching a towel to her chest, her eyes suspiciously bright.

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