Stevie had gone upstairs as Jake closed up the downstairs.
She ducked into the bathroom first. She didn't like the disconnect between them. Jake felt...distant. She hadn't wanted it, but Zack's appearance had changed everything. Reality had intruded on her interlude.
When she'd finished washing her face, she crossed the hall to the guest room.
An acoustic guitar rested across the corner of the bed. And a sticky note was propped next to it.
It's Courtney's. Thought you might want to borrow it. Jake's masculine scrawl was distinctive, and she imagined it across his students' papers.
She sat on the bed, almost afraid to touch the instrument.
She stared at it for a long time, barely breathing.
She reached out and tweaked one string. It sounded horrible. Out of tune.
She ran the tip of her finger over the curved body. It was cool and smooth to the touch.
What had Jake been thinking when he'd brought this in and left it? She'd just told him that she couldn't write. Had he meant it as a challenge?
He'd offered her such comfort over the last days, she couldn't imagine that he'd brought it in here to hurt her.
She picked it up. Pain arced through her chest.
Breathing through her mouth, she tried to fight through it. She didn't have to play anything. Didn't have to feel the music, feel the pain.
She could tune it, though.
Her fingers fumbled with the tuning key. She gritted her teeth as the first rough chord emanated from the guitar.
First string. Second string. Sixth string.
The fingers of her right hand played along the strings without plucking any of them.
She pulled one note. It sounded clear and pure in the empty room.
And her heart broke all over again.
After several moments, she scrambled off the bed and grabbed her duffel bag off the floor. She'd gotten in the habit of never leaving home without a blank notepad and pencil, and she dug for them, finally coming up with both.
She settled back on the bed, her back against the pillows and headboard, the guitar across her lap.
She let her fingers play over the strings, not truly picking out notes that went together. She turned her face up to the ceiling as tears streamed from the sides of her eyes and down below her ears.
As she let the music stream through her, she allowed her silent pictures of Sienna to run through her in slow motion, along with the music notes.
And then she started writing. Softly, aware that Lily slept just down the hall.
It had been a gamble, putting Courtney's old guitar in Stevie's room. Like skipping the approximations and trying the full set of equations first.
But it seemed to have paid off.
Jake sat in the dark hallway, his back to the wall. Stevie's music flowed through the crack beneath the door. The notes began melancholy and slow. Then changed to fast and almost angry. That lasted for awhile.
And then, finally, the music changed to something soft and almost haunting.
At one point, she replayed the same series of notes over and over. Slowly, and then with pauses in between the different parts, as if she was writing it down.
He sat listening, heart pounding as hard as it had been earlier. Empty.
She was doing it. She was facing her demons, facing down the grief.
And she was winning.
Her healing wouldn't be linear. He knew there would likely be days—often surprising her—where the grief would hit her and maybe even knock her down.
But she was taking the first steps to memorialize Sienna.
And that meant that she wouldn't need him anymore.
In the morning, Jake woke to a soft knock at his bedroom door. He forced his sand-filled eyes open—he'd listened to Stevie playing guitar until the wee hours of the morning.
It was still dark outside.
He forced his feet to the floor and stumbled to the door. Stevie stood in the hallway, her hair rumpled but still wearing the same clothes from last night.
She appeared tired, but her face was alight.
"I know it's a lot to ask," she whispered. "But I need to go to Nashville today—and I wondered if you'd go with me. I want to visit Sienna's grave."
"Of course I will."