Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Mom, in what world do you imagine I’m going to be able to verify those rumors?”
“I don’t know, honey. He’s a rock-and-roll god. Who knows what is going to happen?”
And that, really, was the crux of her stress. She didn’t know what was going to happen. And she’d spent the last three-and-half years trying—and in a lot of cases succeeding—in knowing what was going to happen. In some circles she might be called a control freak.
So much so, she hadn’t been off this mountaintop in the Catskills for quite a long time.
After Evan died, she’d moved back to her parents’ farm with Bea.
She worked doing the fundraising for Haven House, the charity Jonah started on the property adjacent to the farm. Helen literally walked to work. And her social life was over at the Riverview Inn, the inn her uncles, Gabe and Max, had built and still managed, which was twenty minutes away.
She wasn’t, like…a shut-in. That would be ridiculous. But between having Bea and then the pandemic, she, well, she didn’t go much farther than from the farm to Haven House. And Haven House to the Riverview Inn.
Which, frankly, was more ground, and more room, than lots of people’d had in the pandemic.
But still.
“Helen,” Mom said. “Jonah is waiting, and the man is going to lose his cool.”
“Right.” Because if Helen loved Band of Outlaws, Jonah was borderline obsessed. And this was a fantastic opportunity—not just for her and for Haven House fundraising, it was a big deal to her beloved stepfather.
Life is hard; you don’t have to make it harder—that was something her cousin Josie had said to her when she’d been freaking out about moving back in with her parents. And it had become her mantra, of sorts.
Who cared if she was cool? Who cared if she threw up on Micah Sullivan’s shoes? This was about Haven House and Jonah. Not her.
“Okay, we’ll be back later, Mom.”
“Have fun,” Daphne said, and Helen turned and hit the screen door. She practically ran down the steps across the dirt driveway to Jonah’s truck. She jumped into the passenger seat and clipped on her seat belt.
“Helen?” Jonah said. And she looked over at her stepdad with his more salt than pepper hair and his eyes that always saw everything. “You ready?”
“So ready.”
Jonah hit Play on his phone and peeled out of the driveway, dirt obscuring the view of the farm and Haven House behind them.
They took the back roads as far as they could and Helen didn’t say a word when he got up on the highway. She slipped her sunglasses down over her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the seat belt.
And she was fine. Totally fine.
She turned up the volume on the radio and Micah Sullivan’s voice—that magical combination of gravelly and smooth—filled the cab of the truck.
“Is that too loud?” she yelled at Jonah.
“Just right,” he yelled back.
Band of Outlaws lived in that sweet spot between rock and country, but Micah’s voice conveyed so much emotion that he got asked to be on all kinds of duets. He did one with Ariana Grande that had just won a Grammy. And during the worst of the pandemic he’d done all kinds of unexpected duets on social media. Country stars, rap stars, hip hop, k-pop, even one with Bangledeshi pop star Runa Laila. And he would do guitar lessons every morning, teaching Band of Outlaws songs in his sun-splashed bedroom with his hair a mess, a cup of coffee steaming on the table beside him.
Rumpled and notoriously unsmiling with the unmade bed behind him, it was a whole mood. And Helen didn’t play guitar but she tuned into that live stream every morning.
It was…he was…a real lifeline during those dark days.
A hot, sexy, rock-and-roll dream-come-true lifeline.
He’d written the new album during the pandemic and now the band was about to go on tour.
The song switched and Jonah turned it down. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“You and me both, Jonah.”
“Did he say how he heard of Haven House?”
She shook her head. A month ago she’d gotten an email from what seemed like Micah Sullivan’s personal email, saying he would like to donate money to Haven House and asking if he had the right person.
At first she’d thought it was a scam, but after a moment’s quiet freak-out, she’d replied, that yes, she was the right person, but was this THE Micah Sullivan? He’d replied with the amount he’d like to donate—which gave her another freak-out—that he would like it to be anonymous and that his manager would be in touch with information so she could come and watch the band rehearse in White Plains for their upcoming tour.
Just so you know I’m real. That’s what he’d said. Just so you know I’m real.
And then a personal check had arrived for one hundred thousand dollars, signed by Micah.