Broken Strings

Twenty-Three

Brock

Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth – Henry David Thomas

The song was nearly finished, so much so that Bailey had brought in a technician for the booth and her house band so they could record. They started with the rhythm section so Brock sat with Bailey and Caroline, listening as the drums and the bass played the whole song through. Bailey, Brock soon realized, was somewhat of a perfectionist when it came to the music she created. The laid-back carefree attitude was quickly replaced by a determine and seasoned musician who knew exactly what she wanted.

Brock had to admit, it was interesting to watch Bailey work. For while she joked around with her bandmates and Caroline, she wasn't afraid to give direction so that the sound in her head was realized.

That was his first clue, once he'd hopped into the booth hours after they'd begun to record his part, that she was annoyed with him. She gave him more notes than any of the others, sometimes having to repeat herself two or even three times. Brock hated himself a little for not getting it right, especially because he couldn't seem to get his head in the game. It wandered across the rolling hills and land that lined Oklahoma though his mind wasn't really that far away.

In fact, it stretched only as far as the neighbouring ranch.

He had not heard from Travis in the hours that had passed since Brock had so stupidly kissed the man. Not a single text or call or sighting – though if Brock were being honest, it was wishful thinking that made him hope that Travis would show up here while he was working with Bailey.

But perhaps Travis had no inclination to see him. Perhaps last night was the last time he'd ever lay eyes on the cowboy.

And for some reason, that thought made Brock entirely sick to his stomach.

"Let's try that bit again, Brock," Bailey said through the intercom. He sent her a thumb's up and repeated the line into the mic. When the music cut, he watched as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she whispered something to Caroline, the edge of her grimace just barely peeking out from behind her fingers. "One more time."

It took another two times before she was satisfied and then she announced suddenly that he could take fifteen minutes as they worked through a technical issue. Since the technician she'd brought seemed surprised at the announcement, Brock surmised that the break was meant for him. To get his head on straight and come back better.

Brock quickly departed for the door, desperate for fresh air to clear his brain. He reached for his phone and thought about calling his mom as he rounded into the hallway and raced for the front door and sunshine beyond. She was the one he always liked to turn to in a crisis. Of all his family members, she was the boulder in a hurricane, immoveable and strong. Nothing really ever shook her.

He punched in her contact information, his finger hovering over the call button, as he shoved the screen door open.

"Hey," a deep voice said and Brock's phone slipped from his hand, falling with a clatter onto the wooden planks of the porch. He glanced up, stunned to see Travis Grant standing on the lawn.

Travis' hands were shoved into his pockets and he rocked back onto his heels. Brock couldn't read the expression upon his face but there was something that made him take a small step forward. Made him forget the phone that had clattered to the ground and the call he'd been about to make.

Made him forget everything, in fact, except for this man.

"Hi," Brock said and swallowed. "I, um, I need to apolog—"