by Erin Hahn
“If you’re looking for booze, you won’t find any. I gave up on the stuff.”
“That’s what Fitz said,” he mutters, still searching. “But I don’t believe it.”
He finishes with the last cabinets, and I point him to the bedrooms. “Go ahead and look. Search the place up and down. If I wanted a drink, though, I work at a bar. You’ll just have to believe me. You can ask Petey, but he wouldn’t serve me if I asked. Not until I’m legal, anyway. Said it’s not worth losing his liquor license.”
“How old are you, really?” Jason asks.
“Nineteen last month.”
He freezes in his search and turns to me slowly. “No shit?”
I stand up and pour myself a cup of coffee, black. I need caffeine for this. “No shit.”
“When’d you get a dog?”
“September. Found him at a shelter, abandoned by his last owners. Figured he was alone and I was alone in this big old farmhouse. Plenty of acres for him to get into trouble. I couldn’t say no.”
Jason nods and accepts the cup from me. “What about Lora?”
I lean a hip against the counter. “What about her?”
“Are you still together?”
I put down my cup and cross my arms. “Not that we ever really were together, but no. I haven’t seen her since she left me those pills and told me to get a life.”
“I didn’t know. Sorry.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s this about exactly? Did you seriously drive all this way to vet me before the CMAs?”
Jason folds his giant gangly legs into a seat at my table, cradling the mug in his hands. “Something like that. Fitz said you were planning to present for BNA and was saying something to Annie about a duet.”
I grimace. “I told him not to do that. I don’t want to rain on her night.” Just this weekend I watched her perform her latest single on SNL to thunderous applause. The clip had millions of views on YouTube by the next morning. She’s doing just as incredible as we all knew she would. Better than. “I’m wary about playing Clay Coolidge music. That’s none of her concern.”
“Yeah. I’m picking up on that. Listen. You know I’m not Clay Coolidge’s biggest fan, but I saw your performance at the bar, and it was like nothing I’d ever seen you do before. The fact of the matter is he’s the famous one. You’re gonna have to meet in the middle. Reconcile that shit, or whatever. Show the world that Clay grew up and found his roots. Reinvention ain’t new. Annie’s been doing it all year. At any rate”—he straightens—“she insists on it.”
My gut drops. “She does?” Of course she does.
Jason shakes his head, grinning fondly. “You know Annie. Bleeding heart, at least when it comes to you. So yeah. You probably already have an email from her about song collaborations.”
“So you came down here to make sure I wasn’t going to mess her around?”
“More like I wanted to see how you were dealing.”
I raise one brow over my cup.
He shrugs, sheepish. “I know. I barely believe it myself. But as your onetime partner in literal crime, I wanted to see for myself that you were good.”
“I am. Better than good.”
“But lonely?”
I grimace, uncomfortable.
“Dude. Annie’s my best friend, so I can say this with complete certainty. She’s a once-in-a-lifetime girl. I haven’t forgotten your drug-induced confessions of love, so I know you agree with me.”
I clear my throat, straightening. I hadn’t remembered saying any of those things at the time, but Fitz set me straight months ago. Still, the reminder stings. Of the confession and the pills. “Yeah, well, I’m fine. We both know I wasn’t right for Annie. Look at how she’s done since I left. Up for two CMAs. Her album’s gone gold. I would have been a stone around her neck.”
Jason studies me, putting down his cup and scooting back his chair. “Maybe. Maybe not. You do seem to be doing better, though.”
“I am. Picked up a couple of woodworking classes last semester at the local college. Playing my own music at Petey’s bar every weekend. I’m sober. I’ve got Brinks to keep me company. It’s not a lot, but it’s been good for me to be out of the spotlight and figure some things out.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Nashville?”
Jason nods.
“I miss the high of performing my songs to thousands, yeah. And I miss singing with Annie.”
Jason moves to the door, shrugging a heavy Carhartt coat over his shoulders. “That’s all I needed to know, then. We’ll see you in Vegas?”
“Sounds like. Hey, you leaving town right away?”
Jason shakes his head. “I don’t have to. We have a few days off.”
“How would you like to slum it with me tonight? Play backup? I could use a drummer to change it up.”
Jason flashes a white smile. “What time?”
“Be there at 8:30 to set up.” I point to a pile of dirty dishes. “Looks like Fitz is still around, so I’ll recruit him, too.”
“I’ll be there.” He stops the door before it slams shut behind him and sticks his head back in. “I’m happy for you, Jefferson. I’m glad you’re doing better.”
The door closes, and I hear his tires roll down the gravel drive before I sink back against the counter. I stand there, staring an indeterminate amount of time before Brinks shakes me out of my stupor with his whining to be let out. I shoo him out the door before trudging up the stairs to get cleaned up. I’ve been wanting to play more originals at the bar—from both Clay and Jefferson.
I think today is a good day to start. I’ve been hiding long enough.
29
Annie
march 13
nashville, tennessee
“Hey, Cora.” I release a long, slow breath, stuffing my hands deep in my coat pockets and staring up at the gray sky. It’s noon on a Friday, and the cemetery my parents are buried in is blessedly deserted. I’ve been here for two hours, but it took ninety minutes to force myself out of the car, then another thirty to find the tacky monstrosity bearing their names.
“You look terrible,” I joke, my heart squeezing. “I mean, probably.”
A crow flaps off with a squawk, startling me and setting the branch it was perched on to trembling. I watch the bare limb until it stills and then glance back at the marble stone. I don’t allow my eyes to stray toward the side where my dad’s name is carved.
I don’t have words for Robbie right now. She left me by accident; he did it on purpose.
That kind of thing requires another trip on another day.
“They’re inducting you into the Country Music Hall of Fame,” I say, an edge creeping in. “Want me to sing ‘All the Roses’ in your memory.” My features twist. “Had to change the key. Seems my range is a bit better than yours. Sorry,” I lie softly.
I run my fingers through the hair whipping around my face and tuck it roughly beneath my scarf.
“I turned them down at first. I want you to know that.” My throat is thick, and I can feel the blazing-hot tears swelling behind my lids. I swallow them back, blinking rapidly. “You don’t get my tears,” I whisper. “You didn’t earn them.” Anger sears through me, until louder, almost shouting, I cry out, “You don’t deserve me!”
My fingers clench at my sides, and I want to scream. Or throw up. Or hit something.
“I hate you, you know that? I hate everything about you. I hate that you chose everything over me. Singing, Robbie, Roy, even. You never even looked for those boots for me, did you?” I growl, my face hot. It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s what I have. It’s what she left me.
Once the first tear slips through, the rest are a torrent. “Why even have me? If you didn’t want me? If you didn’t care?” I sink to my knees on the spiky ground and begin clawing at the dead grass, digging into the frozen ground as if I could reach her. Too soon my fingers grow numb, and I start pounding at the earth with my fists. “Cora’s perfect. Cora’s beautifu
l. Cora had vocals from heaven. Don’t you miss Cora? Didn’t you love Cora? Didn’t she break your heart into pieces?” The words spit out from between my teeth like rapid-fire gunshots. “More like Cora’s weak and pathetic and an addict and self-absorbed and vain and dead. She’s dead!” I’m striking out at anything and everything. Suddenly my father’s name catches my eye.
“Why are you even here?” I scream, and I make a fist to strike the marble when a hand shoots out, grabbing hold. I struggle against it, but the grip is iron. “Let me go!”
The grip swiftly changes, and suddenly I’m being lifted and pulled back against something solid, my flailing fists tucked gently against my sides. I’m sobbing so hard now that I can’t breathe. Years of heartsickness erupts in my stomach, and I drop back to my knees, gagging and heaving onto the grass.
When my stomach is empty, I peel open my swollen eyes, surprised to find myself still in the middle of a cemetery. The sky is still gray. The air is still cold. I swipe roughly at my face, my wool jacket scratching at my hot sweat-and tear-damp cheeks. I barely register the presence behind me before a familiar whiskey tenor says, “I used to throw empty beer bottles at my brother’s stone.”
A large hand drops in front of my face, and I take it, standing. I let go and brush my hands down my front nervously. Jefferson leans back on his heels, shoving his own hands into his pockets. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray jacket over jeans—a far cry from summertime touring Clay Coolidge—and his face is worried.
I smile to assure him I haven’t completely lost it, but it’s a weak effort.
“So these are my parents,” I rasp, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. He frowns, and I realize moments ago he’d pulled me away from that stone, away from my parents, and I’d probably struck him. Hard. A lot of times.
My hands shake as they reach to cover my face, and I slide to the ground again, completely overwhelmed. Adrenaline is pouring out of me at an alarming rate, leaving me boneless and dried up in its wake. I lean against the headstone, greedily gulping in air as Jefferson drops next to me. I’m reminded of the anniversary of my parents’ deaths when we sat like this, shoulder to shoulder, at the foot of his hotel room bed.
I let my head drop to his shoulder just as before. I can’t seem to stop myself from leaning on him. Even after all this time and distance. Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for. For him to be sturdy enough to hold me up the moment it all came crashing down.
For right now.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say, question clear in my tone.
“I flew in this morning to meet with the label and called Fitz to hook up with you all, but he said you were here. Alone. And I…” He shrugs. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone but felt like you had to be. So I just … came.”
“Just in time for the main event,” I say wryly.
“You’ve seen me at my worst. I’d say I owe you one. More than.”
I nod, imagining him laid out on the floor, passed out and bleeding. “They’re inducting her into the hall of fame and want me to sing in her stead.”
He whistles low. “Are you?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t figure a way out of it that didn’t make me out to be bitter and all emo. Thought I should probably come out here and test the waters before getting onstage in front of millions and singing her praises.”
“And how’d that work out?”
I hold out a scraped-up, dirt-and grass-stained hand featuring chipped fingernails and bruised knuckles. “Better than I’d thought, actually.”
He chuckles low, and my head bounces. He takes my messed-up hand in between both of his and gently cradles it. I thought I was cried out. I was wrong.
He doesn’t say anything, just lets me sniff in silence, my hand in his.
* * *
He follows me back to my new place and pulls into a spot next to mine. I walk ahead, leading him through the entrance and past a doorman to whom I give a small wave. We stand apart in the elevator, quiet but not uncomfortable. Someone gets on the floor below mine, and Jefferson tugs down the brim of his hat automatically. I reach for his hand and give a single squeeze. He releases his breath.
The bell dings for my floor, and I pull him to my front door before taking out my keys. “It’s not as cozy as my gran’s place,” I start to explain. “I just moved in a few weeks ago and haven’t bothered to decorate or anything.”
“No judgment here, believe me. I’m still using my grandmother’s dishes. Lindy and Layla are moving in next month when their lease is up, so my house is currently 1950s housewife meets the modern toddler.” His eyes crinkle happily at the corners.
I push open the door and kick off my shoes before reluctantly releasing his hand to remove my coat, tossing it on the back of the stiff leather couch Connie ordered for me.
“I didn’t know Lindy and Layla were moving in. That’s amazing,” I say. Everyone needs family to come home to. “How are they? Lindy texted me a few months back. We made a date for coffee when I make it back to Indiana.”
Jefferson shrugs off his coat, and my eyes take in his broad shoulders and scruff. Mercy, he’s good-looking. It seems I’ve lost my immunity all over again. I hadn’t the wherewithal to notice while I was having my graveyard breakdown, but in the small space of my studio loft, it’s hard not to notice. “Jesus, take the wheel,” I mutter before clearing my throat.
Just be cool.
“Give me a sec,” I say. I dip into my tiny bathroom to splash warm water on my face to rinse away my tears and makeup and swig some Listerine. Adding a touch of gloss to my lips before rushing back out. “Sorry. I could still taste the meltdown. You were saying?”
“Yeah, the house sits mostly empty except for me and my dog and Fitz whenever he isn’t shacking up with Kacey. Plus, I’ve re-signed with SunCoast, so I’ll be back on the road soon enough. It’ll be good to have the house lived in and loved. Should have done it years ago, honestly.”
My eyes dart to his. “Back up. You re-signed? Really?”
He scratches at his neck, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, I really did. Apparently, someone slipped some exec a clip of my new songs, and they want me back. Wonder who might do something like that?”
I press my lips together, opening my eyes wide. When I think I can pull it off, I shrug. “Probably Trina.”
“Trina’s in Cancún with her fiancée, Melody. Has been for a month, making up for lost time.”
“Oh … right.” I drop the pretense. “Okay, it was me. Are you mad?”
“Nah. They’re letting me start fresh. They like my new sound, and they sure as hell prefer me sober. I’m grateful. Truly.”
My shoulders relax. “They aren’t the only ones who love your new songs. I think I’ve played that clip of ‘Better Man’ a thousand times. It’s a beautiful tribute.” He nods once, shyly, and I can’t help but tease. “Think you might want to head out on tour with me this summer? Opening, of course.”
“Obviously,” he quips, giving me a lopsided smile, and suddenly I can’t look at anything but his mouth. “Can I get back to you? I’m … taking it a bit at a time. I’m not worried about backsliding, but I want to make sure the girls get settled in and—”
I cut him off with my lips. I’ve waited long enough. Honestly, I’m impressed I made it this long.
It takes him half a second before he responds in earnest, engulfing me with his arms and fisting at the shirt on my back. My fingers thread through the longish sandy waves at the nape of his neck and push off his baseball cap as my tongue dances past his lips. We kiss until we’re both breathless, and then I lower onto my feet as his lips chase me down, pecking softly once, twice, three times, before his hands relax their grip and his arms drape in a comfortable hug. I tuck my head into the perfect pocket of his collarbone and inhale, filling my lungs with him.
“Thank you for today, Jefferson,” I whisper. “You were right. I didn’t think I wanted anyone, but I actually just needed you.” He responds by tightening his hol
d for a minute and then releasing me again. I tug him over to my couch.
“Want tea? Water? Expired milk?”
“Sweet tea? Blech,” he says, making a face.
“Perish the thought. Hot tea, chamomile. Very macho.”
“Water’s great, thanks.”
I grab us a couple of bottled waters and sit next to him, bending one knee under me.
He cracks open the cap and takes a sip before clearing his throat. “You know, you were right, earlier. At the cemetery. They didn’t deserve you.”
I swallow wrong and feel my cheeks heat. “You heard that? What else did you hear?”
“Most of it, I expect. I was just going to give you space to do your thing, but when I heard the screaming, I panicked.” I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand, shaking his head. “My point is, you were right. They weren’t good parents, and they didn’t deserve you, but they … she was an incredible artist. You can acknowledge that while still being angry.
“Like with Danny. I’m still mad as hell he left me, but I’m proud to be his little brother. He gave up his life for others. I can be angry and still admire and love the bastard.”
I let his words settle over me, soaking into my brittle pieces and mending them just a little bit. “So you’re saying be angry but still celebrate her career.”
He smirks. “Or be angry and show the world how Cora’s daughter is even better than she was.”
I bite my lip, but I know my smile is flat-out moony. I fan my face. “Dang, boy, you’re all charm.”
He tilts his head to the side and sinks back into my couch. “Only for you.”
That settles it. I can’t let him walk away from me now. Or ever, probably. Everything about him and me and this moment and his lips and that smile and the way his words are like a balm to my soul—all of it—means I can’t let him go. He’s mine now. In a way, it feels like we’ve belonged to each other all along. Even back when he was just a voice over the loudspeakers at Young Stars, my heart knew it was done for. We just had to grow up some. Still do, I’m sure. Only now, I’m ready to grow alongside him if he’ll let me. “Where are you staying? Do you have somewhere to be?”
