Page 59 of Someone To Claim
She gives me a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “I made it very clear that I wasn’t interested in visits from any guitar-wielding volunteers.”
“You wound me, Sunshine.” I press an open palm to my chest. “You were that determined not to see me?”
She presses her lips together like she’s fighting a smile. “At the time, yes.”
Okay. I like the sound of that. “But not now?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“And we’re picking up yourwardat the airport.”
I snort out a laugh that morphs into a groan. I called Cody last night from the hotel, and he told me in no uncertain terms that he was done with Whisper Falls, although he conceded that Kate is a great cook. I also forced myself to listen to multiple voicemails from his manager and my producer friend demanding to know why I’d pawned off their golden goose. Cody was supposed to keep that part under wraps.
I booked him a flight into Reno and told him we’d be working on songs for the new album in Tahoe. He liked that idea. Tahoe has enough of a cool factor to appeal to his ego. And then Iconvinced Sloane to let me rent a three-bedroom house on the south shore, in the vicinity of where Kristen Quinn seems to be currently stationed at her wellness retreat. Which, if I had to guess, means she’s napping and drinking overpriced smoothies while workshopping motivational quotes that belong on throw pillows at HomeGoods.
Bringing Cody here is a complication I don’t want, but the house keeps me in Sloane’s orbit, and I’ll put up with whatever it takes for that.
I want to ask more about her treatment, about the timeline and the odds and the plan. I’m a person who needs plans the same way I need oxygen. But when I glance over, her eyes have drifted closed, and there’s a tiny bit of drool pooling in the corner of her mouth.
She really cannot stay awake in a moving vehicle.
Knowing that about her makes me smile. I want to know every small, ordinary thing about this woman. Things that only matter when you’re gone for someone the way I’m gone for her.
She sleeps most of the rest of the drive, waking up as I take the exit for the Reno airport, and blinking at the flat Nevada landscape like she’s not sure what planet she’s on.
“We’re here already?”
“You slept for four hundred miles, Sunshine.”
“That’s a personal record.” She stretches her arms overhead, yawning.
Cody is waiting outside baggage claim with a baseball cap pulled low on his head, which is at least one instruction he managed to follow. He spots the SUV and breaks into a jog, hauling a duffel and two guitar cases. Before I can get out to help with his bags, he’s yanked open the cargo area and thrown everything in.
“Miss me?” he asks as he gets in, leaning between the front seats to give Sloane a hug so enthusiastic she has to brace againstthe headrest. “I’m Cody. If you like Jensen, you’re going to love me.”
“I never said I liked him,” Sloane says, but she’s smiling.
He turns to me and squints. “Dude. You’re so sunburned. And is that more gray hair? Do you need a walker for the next hike?”
“Put on your seatbelt, loser.”
“I’m just saying, the mountain air aged you. In, like, a distinguished way.” He pauses. “Distinguished is better than haggard, right?”
“Is there any version of this where you shut the fuck up?” I demand.
Cody pretends like he’s considering the question. “Nah, fam.”
We order pizza from the car, pick up the case of beer Cody requested, and get to the rental house just as the sun is slipping behind the mountains. The house is clean, but nothing fancy. Three bedrooms, a back deck overlooking the lake through the pines, and a kitchen that’s a step up from the cabin. It’ll do.
The pizza arrives shortly after we do, and we eat at the kitchen table while Cody flirts shamelessly with Sloane, who treats him like a younger brother. She asks about his music, and he tells her about the new single dropping next month. She admits she’s more of a Joni Mitchell person, and his face falls so dramatically, I nearly choke on my beer.
“Joni Mitchell,” he repeats, sounding wounded. “Jensen, your girl likes chicks with guitars.”
“She’s not my—” I start, but Sloane cuts me off.
“I contain multitudes, Cody.”
