Jackson’s P.O.V.
I sat cross-legged on the edge of my bed, my phone clutched in my hand like it was some fragile, sacred thing. The email from Sawyer had come through while I was trying to record a few more rough verses, and it was all I could do not to hit play and let my half-finished song ideas drown out the pounding of my heart. I read the email for the tenth time, each word sparking this strange mix of relief and excitement in my chest.
-Jackson,
I’ve listened to all the clips you sent me. I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, but you’re onto something incredible. Seriously, man, there’s so much raw energy and honesty in these songs—it’s like they’re bursting at the seams. I can hear the beginnings of something real and powerful, something worth finishing.
You’re closer to it th
