by Kate Kisset
Becca’s blue eyes flashed. She shrugged silently, as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, or as if she did know and didn’t want to acknowledge it. Becca needed to face up to him, though, and he needed to hear the truth.
Without warning, tears began to sting his eyes, and he blinked them away. But this was the final walk he’d take with Becca. This was their line in the sand. After all these years, she’d decided to march down the aisle with another man, and it was too sudden. Too much to take.
He inched closer, tempted to wrap her in his arms and bury himself inside her. “Did you believe me when I told you I loved you?”
Her shoulders slumped and her chin started to tremble, but still didn’t respond.
“When I told you I'd do anything for you, didn’t you believe me?” Boone asked quietly.
“Yes... But...”
He reached out to quiet her and ran his thumb along her pink bottom lip, feeling the plush velvet. “There are no buts. That's all I needed to know.”
“No,” she said, brushing his hand away. “You don’t get to shush me now that you’ve brought it up. If you want to talk, dammit, let’s talk.”
Becca stormed for the door and closed it. “I broke up with you because I couldn’t trust you anymore,” her voice shook. “And, well...yeah.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “After I almost killed myself on that ATV, I was a mess.” She paced, locking eyes with him.
“I was there for you. I wanted to take care of you, Becca.”
“Concussion, broken leg, cracked rib.” She moaned, whispering, “I forgot how to walk, Boone. That’s an awful lot to ask of someone.”
“You think I didn’t know that? You think it scared me?”
“Of course it did. It scared me! I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back to normal.” She sniffed, pausing a beat, staring at him, as if she needed to find the courage to continue. “And at the same time, you were keeping secrets from me and acting all kinds of crazy, protecting Harlan.”
“Now that’s a low blow. I gave an oath to Harlan, and his situation had nothing to do with us.”
“It affected us every day. How do you not see that?” Becca parked her hands on her hips. Her eyes were getting bluer and watery, giving him the feeling of drowning in deep water. “You convinced me you thought that Harlan walking offstage, fooling around with his best friend’s wife, and disappearing for days, were all perfectly normal behavior. You backed him up, played along in his lies instead of just telling me the truth.”
“What was going on with Harlan was his business.”
“But you’re the one who changed. How was I supposed to spend my life with someone who didn't trust me enough to tell me what was going on? And how could I ever make any kind of long-term commitment when I didn’t know what kind of shape I’d be in?”
Boone’s heart stopped. “You were ready to spend your life with me then?”
Why had he waited to propose?
“It’s what we always talked about before the accident.” She wiped her cheek and peered down at the dismal linoleum floor.
His voice softened. “Becca, you know I couldn’t let Harlan down, but I was ready to be there for you too, for as long as it took for you to get better. And you were the one who didn’t trust me. After that woman broke into his house, Harlan’s life turned upside down. She just about ruined him.”
Becca folded her arms, and sighed. “Why didn’t you just tell me he had a stalker and she was the one who started all those rumors about him messing around with Danny’s wife? I wouldn’t have given anyone her name. I didn’t know what was going on with you, and I was in a fucking wheelchair. I couldn’t think straight. The doctors didn’t know how long it would take for me to walk again, and there was a chance I’d never regain all my mobility. It was too much, Boone, and you were so distracted. When Auntie Jane offered me a place to stay in California, I took it. I needed to heal, and you were cancelling on me, staying out all night. Lying—”
“Not true. I never lied to you,” he countered. “Colt and I were only trying to get Harlan out of the house because he was turning into a recluse.” Boone snagged a water bottle off the counter, twisted it open and gulped.
“Harlan was drinking too much, and we needed to keep an eye on him. So whenever he wanted to go out, we’d drop everything and go. He was in really bad shape, Becca. It wasn’t easy for him to promise the girl’s parents her name would never get out, but Harlan trusted me to keep that secret.”
“But I didn’t know, because you never told me! You could’ve confided in me. I wouldn’t have told a soul.”
“You weren’t in any shape for that kind of drama, and I couldn't betray his trust, Becca. I couldn’t. We don’t live in Hollywood. We weren’t used to that kind of bullshit, and didn’t have people around to spin the story or help us. The press, his fans, everyone turned against him. He needed me.”
“Well, so did I.” She sniffed. “Harlan threw his career down the toilet to protect a stalker and you threw me out with the bathwater.”
“I never threw you out. You didn’t trust me when I promised I’d be there for you every step of the way through physical therapy. That we’d do whatever it took for you to get better. That’s the bottom line, Becca. You didn’t trust me. And I planned to tell you about Harlan. I was just waiting for the shitstorm to blow over.”
“But it didn't, did it?”
“No, it just got worse.”
“It was a total, perfect-storm, clusterfuck.” She sighed. “And to be fair, I was a complete mess… I couldn’t see a future with you anymore. I couldn’t see one for myself…” Raindrop-sized tears rolled down her cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away. “For what it’s worth,” the anguish in her voice was wrecking him, “it broke my heart to leave.”
“Please don’t cry,” he approached her, getting as close as he could without holding her the way he wanted to.
“You cut my heart in half, Boone. You really did. I thought you were cheating on me. I was getting those blinding headaches, and...and...I didn’t know what was going on.” She dropped her head, nodding and hiding from him when all he wanted was to see her. “I didn’t think I’d ever move on…and I—”
He stopped breathing, waiting for her to say what he wanted to hear, that she’d never gotten over him.
“What? And you…? What?”
“There’s no use talking about this, Boone.”
The image of Harrison on his knees proposing blasted through his brain. “Well, that was definitely your call. I guess now, it’s too late, isn’t it?”
She took a shuddering breath, staring in stunned silence for a moment. “This is just so awful.” Becca sniffed, wiping her eyes. She gave him another cautious look, as if she needed to process everything they’d just said to each other, and walked out the door.
Chapter Eight
After their blowup, Becca managed to finish her shift and dash out of The Owl without talking to Boone again. And she seriously considered calling in sick tonight, rather than face him, but didn’t want to leave Linda short on help.
Now the last of the day’s pink light filtered through The Owl’s dusty, street-facing windows, and Becca relished the brief calm before the storm. The scuffed wood floors, although cleaned from the night before, still looked battle-scarred from years of high heels, muddy cowboy boots, and a few cigarette burns left over from when smoking was still legal indoors.
In all the decades The Owl had been in operation, it hadn’t been touched by a remodeler’s hands. And if buildings could talk, Becca would swear the aging bar was perfectly happy doing without all things shiny and new.
“Here ya go.” Linda came up beside her with a load of water bottles. Becca’s stomach lurched as Linda wordlessly unloaded the cold containers into her arms. “Take them to Boone in Backstage One.”
“Backstage One. I’ve always wondered why you call it that, Linda,” Becca hedged, wondering how the hell she
could gracefully get out of water delivery duty.
Linda frowned, swiping a wisp of hair off her forehead. “No idea.” She laughed. “My dad named the room; I should’ve asked him.” Linda’s wistful tone made Becca wince and regret asking. In the larger scheme of things, bringing Boone his water for the night wasn’t so terrible.
“I’m so sorry I mentioned your dad,” she said, angling her face, catching Linda’s eye so she’d know she hadn’t meant to bring her down. “I’ll get these to Boone right now.”
“Hey, no worries.” Linda smiled, warmly grasping her arm. “I love talking about Dad. It’s going to be a busy one tonight. Thanks for helping.” Linda gave her a satisfied glance and hustled off.
Becca trekked through the bar and over the dim, barren dance floor, praying Boone wasn’t still seething. Would he feel the need to recap their fight, or tell her it was too late again?
She rapped on the door, shifting the icy bottles in her arms, waiting for it to open.
“Be right there,” Boone hollered from inside, which was odd. The room was so small, there wasn’t much he could be doing in there and usually came to work dressed for the show.
But Becca didn’t hear any voices. The icy bottle wedged in the crook of her arm made her skin numb. She tapped her foot and the door finally opened.
“Oh. Hi.” Boone greeted her, appearing startled, quickly stepping out, partially closing the door behind him.
“Sorry to bug you,” she said lightly, trying to ignore how gorgeous he looked in his white button-down and jeans hugging him in all the right places. His fresh from the shower smell and dangerous eyes unnerved her. “Hope you’re not still mad.” Becca nonchalantly angled her neck to get a look at whatever Boone was hiding.
“Can I help you with something?” He raised his brows.
“Nope,” she replied, bringing her attention back to him. “Linda wanted me to drop these off. We’re good, right?” With her head tilted at the perfect angle, she caught sight of long, shiny brown hair through the crack in the door. Boone probably had Mr. and Mrs. Miller’s supermodel-wannabe granddaughter Nicole in there.
“Are you talking about our fight?”
“Yeah. I guess we both needed to say our peace and clear the air. I’m sorry I got so mad.” Becca unloaded the waters into Boone’s arms.
“Me too,” he said, gathering the bottles. She fumbled passing them to him, dropping two waters, bumping into Boone, getting an up-close, dreamy whiff of him in the process.
Sorry,” she said, feeling her neck get hot as she bent to retrieve the bottles. One slipped out of her hand before she could grab it and bowled through the door’s narrow opening into the room. “Let me get that.”
“I’ve got it.” Boone moved to block her but she’d already ducked under his arm.
“Oh, hey.” Nicole’s silky voice rolled over Becca’s shoulders and her heart sank. It shouldn’t have sunk. It had no reason to sink. As far as Boone was concerned she was still engaged to Harrison, not that it would’ve made a difference.
“Um, hey, Nicole,” Becca greeted, quickly snatching up the runaway bottle. She straightened, hurrying to make a beeline out of there—and walked straight into Boone’s solid chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” She glanced up, praying her face wasn’t beet red.
“You weren’t. Come on in. I think you two have met.”
“We have.” Becca knew the smile she gave Nicole was awkward as hell. “Here for the show, huh?” That was a stupid question. She was probably there to go down on him. Before Becca could stop herself, her eyes roamed to Boone’s zipper. Still zipped. She pivoted to Nicole.
“I never miss any of Boone’s performances.” Nicole purred. “Nice kicks,” she commented, in such a way Becca wasn’t sure it was a dig. Nicole blinked her thick, heavy lashes, keeping her eyes locked on Becca’s not-in-any-way-nice, blinding-white, nerdy tennis shoes.
“Thanks.” Becca sheepishly eyed Boone, now realizing how he must’ve felt when she introduced him to Harrison.
Why did she bother to move back to Lonesome?
“Well, Linda says we’re going to be swamped tonight, so I better get moving.” Becca caught herself biting her lip and forced a smile. “Catch ya later. Have a good show, Boone.” Without waiting for a reply, Becca burned rubber in her clodhopper sneakers and hightailed it back to the bar.
“Side work is already done,” Linda noted, rubbing a water stain off a thick tumbler. “If you feel like it you can wipe down the tables again.” She tossed Becca a fresh rag. “But have something to eat first, Payton’s made chicken for the staff. Rest up, then hit the tables.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Becca scanned the bar for an open seat and caught Georgia’s eye. Georgia waved her over, pointing to the vacant stool next to her. Becca draped the rag over her shoulder and settled on the perch, “Fancy meeting you here. How are you feeling?”
“I’m good. Starving, as usual,” Georgia grinned, tucking into her chicken.
Linda dropped off silverware and a napkin. “Next batch will be ready soon.”.
“Thanks, Linda.” Becca turned back to Georgia and tried not to gawk at her beach ball tummy, which gave a whole new meaning to bellying up to the bar. “Sorry to ask again, but when are you due?”
“A week? Maybe two, if the baby’s late.” Georgia reached for her notepad. “I’m just finishing a story on Boone I want to turn in before the baby comes. And I think this is my lucky day.” She grabbed a pen from her purse and set it on the bar. “I needed a different viewpoint to round out his story. Would you mind telling me what happened between you two?”
“Me?” Becca flinched.
“I only need a few lines. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes. I’d just love to get your perspective.”
Becca considered her silently, half-heartedly scanning around her for an empty chair so she could change seats. She finally responded, “I don’t have anything to do with Boone’s story anymore. I think he’s dating the Millers’ granddaughter, Nicole. She’s here with Boone now, maybe she could help you.”
“It’s you I want to talk to, and you can be off the record.” She nudged her arm. “I promise I won’t write anything you’d like to keep private. I just want to hear your backstory.”
“Enjoy,” Linda delivered Becca’s dinner, making her mouth water. Cayenne, chili and garlic aromas wafted up from the plate.
“Thank you, Linda, and don’t forget to thank Payton for me.” Linda gave her a thumbs-up and took off behind the bar for the kitchen.
Becca placed her napkin on her lap and waited for Georgia to finish chewing. “So, has Boone mentioned me to you at all?”
Georgia blinked. “Nope. Afraid not. Only that one time.”
“Really?” Becca perked up. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.” She gave her a closed-mouth, sorry-to-have-to say it smile. “The only thing he said is you were off the record. This was when I interviewed him for the first time,” Georgia explained. “I didn’t even know Harlan then.” She smiled. “But no. Once Boone told me to zip it, I never asked, and he never told.”
Becca frowned. “Oh.”
Georgia picked at her chicken and gave her a double take. “Don’t get me wrong. I know he really cared about you, and look where he is now. He’s all over the radio, headlining Stagecoach,” she gushed, not even trying to hide how proud she was of him. She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe Boone’s success. “His tour is selling out. The second those tickets go on sale”—she snapped her fingers—“bam! Gone. So, I guess everything worked out for the best in the long run, right? You seem to be doing okay.”
“I am,” Becca agreed, nodding, taking in the scale of Boone’s achievements. Life had been very different when they were together. And if she hadn’t gotten better, even if they had worked through their issues with Harlan’s career implosion, if she hadn’t fully recovered from her accident, she would’ve
been a burden to Boone. He’d never be where he was in his career today if he’d been stuck taking care of her. Becca tore off a hunk of bread roll and popped it into her mouth.
“So what went down between you two? I know you dated for quite a while because I asked Harlan. He said you two were serious little love birds.”
“Yes.” Becca closed her eyes, shaking her head. Why did it hurt so much to hear someone else describe them as lovebirds? “We broke up a while ago, in the middle of Harlan's career implosion, right after I, um… I had an accident. It was pretty major.”
“No.” Georgia whispered, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “What happened?”
“I was at Raumbacker’s for a bachelorette party, of all things.” Becca took a deep breath. It wasn’t easy thinking about that day, and she still didn’t remember all of it.
“It was my friend Julie’s last hurrah, so instead of going to a bar and seeing strippers, we decided on a girl’s day out and rented the ATVs they have at the park out on Raumbacker Road. I had my helmet on and everything, and we were having so much fun. I wasn’t scared in the least.”
Becca clenched her fists as her heart started hammering in her chest. “I took too sharp a turn and fell off the damn thing and I, ah...hit my head, had a concussion.”
“Oh God, no.” Georgia’s expression radiated concern. She wrapped her hand around Becca’s arm. “Are you okay now?”
“I am. Thanks. But I was hurt pretty bad. I don’t really remember much of what happened after I fell. Broke my left leg, cracked a rib, and had a concussion. After a few weeks I started losing my balance, and it became so severe I couldn’t walk.”
“Traumatic brain injury… Not good. Were you paralyzed anywhere else?”
Becca studied Georgia as she buttered some bread and let out a sigh. She was one of the few people who obviously understood that concussions come in all shapes and sizes.
It was a relief to talk to someone who didn’t look at her like she was an alien. “Kind of weird for someone who always wanted to be a physical therapist to need so much therapy herself. I never lost my speech or cognitive thinking. I had bouts of paralysis in my arm and fingers occasionally, but they didn’t last long. Anyway, it was mostly the walking. It was all about the walking.” Becca took her first bite of chicken.
