Page 116 of Tracking Wolfe

“Is that a complaint?” I asked as I followed him like a lovesick pup.

I crowded him into the bathroom and then the small shower. I was already looking forward to the much larger shower we planned for our new house, even though we wouldn’t be able to move into it for at least a year. But in the meantime, the SERA cabin was cozy enough. And when we needed more room, we decamped to Marian Lodge and found whatever space we needed.

For me, this mostly meant taking advantage of the small sound booth Papa had put in two years ago. I used it to record new songs and play around with Papa on fun joint projects.

My father had immediately tried to sign Fletcher Coe to a deal with his new label—the one he’d started with Zee Barlo not too long ago. But I’d held him off for now. Being out as Fletcher was still too new. I’d worked with my original team, and Trace, to determine that keeping things as steady as possible was what I needed now. Change could come in time.

In the meantime, I was still writing songs, recording videos for social media, and selling rights. I’d sat down for one big interview back in June, a month after the impromptu Legacy performance, and answered questions about Fletcher Coe and the reasons I’d kept my identity a secret for so long.

The response had been… mixed.

Yes, there were plenty of people who still believed my success had come from my father’s contacts in the industry or the silver spoon in my mouth at birth. But the viral videos of Papa’s reaction that night had put most of that to rest. He wasn’t a good actor, and that had been genuine confusion and surprise.

For the most part, people were supportive, and in many ways, Fletcher Coe being related to Jude Marian only made the deal that much sweeter. People wanted both of us. And they thought they could get to each of us through the other.

There had been several times in the past few months when the fandom lunacy had put Trace over the edge. He’d immediately called Joel at On Your Six to put a security detail in place, and he’d even installed fencing and a gate on the residential area of the SERA property. Now, because of me, all SERA students and staff had to badge themselves into the parking lot and their own cabins.

One of the trade-offs was the increased attention on SERA itself. Trace’s association with me had brought even more mainstream media coverage of the program, which had, in turn, boosted enrollment and moved forward his expansion plans. He was in the process of hiring someone to take over operations so he wouldn’t have to sacrifice his time in the field.

It was a work in progress.

But one of the things I loved most so far about living in Legacy was exactly what we were late for. A big Marian get-together at the lodge.

Despite my eagerness to meet up with my family, I decided Trace’s body deserved plenty of time and attention in the shower.

“If you drop to your knees, we’re not leaving here tonight,” he growled. “So help me, I will put you in that bed and keep you there like I did last time.”

My face heated with the memory. He’d edged me all night long, and when Rosie had complained the next day that I’d promised to bring the whipped cream for the chocolate pie she’d made, I’d flushed beet red with the memory. Foster and Tommy had exchanged a look with each other before making a joke about us somehow putting good use to the whipped cream. Trace had confirmed it with a wink, which had only made me blush harder.

It hadn’t helped Rosie’s attitude toward Trace.

“Fine,” I said, putting the soap back on the shelf. “But when you’re two glasses of chardonnay deep in a conversation with Alex about prosciutto versus pancetta, remember this.”

He grunted in frustration and pushed me out the shower door. “He’s not going to be there. Judd is taking him to Costco again. I don’t know what’s so exciting about a barrel of pretzels, but they seem to go through a lot of them.”

I snorted as I reached for a towel. “You know that a ‘Costco run’ is a euphemism, right?”

“It is?”

I patted his arm. “I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”

We joked back and forth while getting dressed, collecting the triple batch of brownies Trace had made earlier, and loading up in Trace’s truck. He held my hand on the short drive to the lodge, updating me on a promising applicant for the director of operations role at SERA.

“Clay Dennison sent him,” he explained. “The guy’s been in leadership at Colorado Parks and Wildlife for several years.”

I wondered idly if the candidate would be the kind of man I could set Rosie up with. I’d pay good money to give her a taste of her own medicine by giving her new love interest a hard time.

“Speaking of Clay,” Trace said, with that particular tone in his voice that indicated it was a serious topic. “He sent me an update on Jake’s situation.”

I blew out a breath. “I already heard about it from Shay. He agreed to the three years. She’s devastated, but she said she understands.”

“It was a lot of charges, baby. He’s lucky with three. The prosecutors only agreed to the deal because of you.”

I nodded. “She knows. It’s still three years without her brother in her life.”

He squeezed my hand before letting go and running his hand over my hair. “She’s doing okay. Has lots of friends already at MTSU. I’m sure he thinks three years in prison in exchange for her getting a college degree in the recording industry is well worth it.”

I huffed out a laugh. “I hope she finishes. She’s going to be singing at every open mic night she can in hopes of getting discovered.”