A Life With No Regrets (Fairhope #5)

by Sarra Cannon

  He glares at me and leans forward, so close I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

  I never wanted to be this close to him again in my life, but there’s no way I’m backing down. I want him to know I’m not the same weak girl he messed around with all those years ago.

  “Fine, I’ll go, but you better watch your back,” he says. “All you would have had to do was treat me with a little respect after all this time, but since you refuse to let bygones be bygones, you just made my shit-list.”

  “You’ve got five seconds,” I say, glancing pointedly at my watch.

  “Come on, Bryan, let’s bolt,” his friend says, pulling on his arm. “We don’t need to be dealing with the cops tonight, man.”

  Bryan makes a point to glare at me one more time before he finally stands and wobbles toward the door.

  “And I better not see you guys driving out of my parking lot,” I say. “Get a cab or walk it off, or I will be calling the cops.”

  Bryan curses and pushes the door open with such force it hits the brick wall outside and rebounds right in his face. His head knocks all the way back and blood pours from his nose.

  “Dammit,” he says, walking out.

  Serves him right. I don’t even offer him so much as a napkin.

  “Want me to make sure they don’t drive off?” Colton asks.

  I jump and hold a hand to my heart. “I didn’t realize you were standing there,” I say.

  “I really wish you would have let me put those guys in their place,” he says.

  He slides over the top of the bar and takes a quick look outside. When he comes back, he nods. “They were walking down the street,” he says.

  I relax a little, but my hands are sweating and my heart's still racing.

  “When are you going to explain to me who that guy is to you?” he asks.

  “He used to work here,” I say. “A long time ago.”

  Colton takes my hand. “Is he the one who hurt you?” he asks.

  I nod. “And I don’t like to talk about it,” I say. “Hopefully that’s the last time we’ll ever see him in here.”

  “I hope so, too,” he says. “But maybe we need to make sure you aren’t working here any nights by yourself for a while.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I say, busying myself with straightening things behind the bar. I’m rattled, but I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t want Bryan to think he can shake me up the way he used to.

  “I don’t doubt that, but that guy’s got at least a hundred pounds on you,” Colton says. “I don’t like those odds, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who takes no for an answer.”

  You have no idea.

  I clear my throat, avoiding his eyes. I feel exposed and weak, and I want to just put it behind me. I’ve got enough on my plate right now without worrying about Bryan-freaking-Thompson.

  “If he shows up again, I’ll just call the cops,” I say. “I can handle it.”

  “You know the cops in this town,” Colton says, refusing to drop it. He puts his hand on my wrist. “It could take them half an hour to get over here. Maybe you should go ahead and put in a call to make sure they’re aware.”

  “Drop it,” I say, snapping at him and pulling my arm away.

  “Jo, I heard him threaten you,” he says. “You really expect me to drop it?”

  “He’s not going to mess with me,” I say. “Not anymore.”

  I try to sound confident, but it’s getting into my head all over again.

  “I don’t trust that guy as far as I could throw him,” Colton says. “I know you’re determined to prove how tough you are, but I care about you, Jo. I’m not going to drop this. I think we should call the cops and let them know what he said to you.”

  I lean against the counter and take a deep breath.

  “If it will make you feel better, I’ll put a call in to my dad’s friend Alan tomorrow morning,” I say. “I’ll let him know Bryan was up here causing trouble.”

  “You think he’ll take you seriously?” he asks. “Maybe you should file an official report. Or get a restraining order like you said.”

  “Alan knows some things about what happened with Bryan a long time ago,” I say softly. “He’ll take it seriously.”

  Colton studies me, and I can feel his gaze burning a hole in my heart. “Jo—”

  “Colton, I know what you’re going to say.” I stand up straight. “Please, I’m asking you to let it go, okay? It’s important to me.”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, if that’s what you want,” he says. “But I wish you’d talk to me about it. If I’m going to be a part of your life, that means you have to actually let me into your life, Jo. If you can’t even trust me with this, what exactly are we doing here?”

  I don’t answer, because I don’t have an answer for him. It’s not about trust. Is it?

  “I’m going to take a break,” he says. He walks away, disappearing into the back room for a few minutes.

  I stare down at my hands and realize I’ve been holding them in tight fists ever since Bryan walked in. My fingernails have dug crescent-shaped craters into my skin.

  I open them and my fingers tremble as I take another deep breath.

  I glance toward the door to the back room.

  This is exactly why I’ve avoided getting involved with anyone for as long as I have. My past is messy, and as much as I like to pretend I’m over what happened when I was younger, Bryan coming in here proves that it can all come back in an instant.

  But telling Colton the truth and admitting just how messed up I was in high school, and how many terribly stupid decisions I’ve made in my life, is more than I’m willing to confess to someone right now. If he knew the whole truth, he’d probably run so far from me I’d never see him again.

  And that’s just not something I’m willing to risk.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Rob’s.” I clutch the microphone and stare into the crowd of more than a hundred people. I knew the bar would be completely packed tonight, but from what Jo says, there’s a line of at least a hundred more still outside. It’s insane and the energy in the room is electric.

  “I heard a rumor that some of y’all were expecting to hear Long Road Ahead tonight,” I say, the crowd hanging on my every word. “Now, I’m not sure where exactly that rumor got started, but I hate to tell you guys…”

  I wait for a second, watching the mixed expressions and anticipation on everyone’s face. A couple girls in the front row are holding onto each other so tight, their knuckles have turned white.

  I smile. “The rumor is absolutely true.”

  The crowd erupts into screams and cheers so loud it vibrates the stage under my feet.

  “Now, I know y’all can do better than that,” I say.

  The screaming gets even louder. When they settle down, I lean into the mic.

  “Some of you guys might not know this, but my good friend Greg is the lead guitarist of Long Road Ahead. Some of y’all may have heard of him?”

  Another cheer erupts throughout the room. Greg is a legend in country music these days. Good looking, charming, and a favorite of ladies everywhere. I smile, thinking of what my best friend from high school has accomplished in such a short time.

  “Well, Greg grew up just a few miles away over in Westbrook,” I say. “So when I asked him if he wanted to come play for the folks living in his old stomping grounds, he dropped everything to come play for you guys. So let’s give Greg and Long Road Ahead the best damn welcome home they’ve ever heard.”

  Throughout the bar people raise their cups and bottles into the air, screaming at the top of their lungs. I turn and wink at Willow, the lead singer. She shakes her head and smiles as I hand her the mic.

  “Good to see you again, Colton Tucker,” she shouts into my ear. “Find me after?”

  “Of course,” I say.

  She kisses my che
ek and steps around me, the lights dimming in the rest of the bar as the stage lights come up.

  She settles the mic in its stand and plays the first notes of their first big hit. The crowd goes insane. I nod at Greg and he smiles. It’s damn good to see him again.

  I jump down to the dusty floor and weave my way through the crowd toward the bar. I hop across the bartop and find my place behind the counter, nodding my head at the familiar song. The energy in here tonight is addictive, and it kind of makes me miss my days travelling with the band.

  “They sound amazing,” Jo shouts, throwing her arms around me. “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but I’m sure as hell grateful you did. Thank you.”

  I smile and hug her back. “You’re welcome, Boss,” I say. “Now, get to work. We’ve got customers for miles.”

  I grab a white towel from a stack of clean ones and stuff it in my back pocket.

  She rolls her eyes, but the smile that teases her lips sends an electric jolt straight through my heart. Does she have any idea just how gorgeous she is tonight with her hair down and her tight black tank top and jeans? How anyone is able to concentrate on the band instead of her is a mystery.

  I stare a little too long before I realize there are at least ten people shouting for drinks. I tear my gaze away and concentrate on the customers, letting the next few hours pass in a blur of good music and nonstop, old fashioned hard work.

  I love everything about this job, and it’s hard to remember why I almost didn’t take the offer. Working over at Brantley’s was fun, but it was much slower paced most nights. Sometimes I loved the quieter atmosphere, but here at Rob’s, I am in my element. Especially on nights like this where the crowd is hot and the drinks are flowing.

  But more than anything, I love working with Jo. She may have been a hardass in the beginning, never letting me slack off and never letting up, but I think that’s what made me start falling for her. She throws her whole heart into this place, and she does it with a smile on her face, never complaining about sore feet or being exhausted every night when it’s time to close up.

  Her passion shows through in everything she does, and sometimes I think I must be the luckiest man alive to be the one she’s chosen to trust with her heart.

  We’ve fallen into a rhythm together, communicating behind the bar in looks and gestures, barely having to say a word. We understand each other, and I’ve never been more comfortable around someone.

  A few weeks ago we even started playing around with throwing drinks back and forth behind the bar, and the crowd around the bar appreciates the show. I catch her eye and lift a shaker full of margaritas. She nods and turns around, holding one hand behind her back.

  I toss the silver shaker toward her and she catches it one-handed, flawlessly spinning around and catching it in her other hand in front of her.

  A few people near the bar break out in applause and Jo lights up from the inside. Her smile and energy is contagious, and I realize with a sudden certainty that I’ve fallen hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with her.

  The thought knocks the breath from my lungs.

  It’s happened so quickly, I didn’t realize just how much my feelings for her have grown over the past few months.

  She shoots me a concerned look, but I just wave her away and turn back to the customers. I was not expecting this, and I don’t completely know how to handle it. I’ve never fallen in love before.

  I want to tell her how I feel, but I also don’t want her to think she has to say she loves me, too. What if she isn’t in love with me at all?

  She has so much going on with her dad right now, I don’t want our relationship to be just another thing she has to deal with.

  I glance over, watching her work. I’ll tell her when the time is right. I have to trust that somehow, I’ll know when that is.

  “I think it’s starting to slow down now,” she says to me several hours later. “The band should be wrapping things up pretty soon, and I’m sure it’ll be a madhouse until last call, but just a few more hours and we’ll be home free.”

  As if on cue, the band ends their song and Willow steps forward to hold onto the mic.

  “Well folks, this has been an amazing night, and I can’t tell y’all how much we have loved being here in Fairhope,” Willow says. The roar of the crowd subsides as nearly everyone in the bar turns to listen. “It’s almost time for us to say goodbye, but before we go, we wanted to play an oldie but goodie. Some of y’all will recognize this tune. It’s called Picking Up The Pieces, and was written by a good friend of mine named Colton Tucker, which some of you will know as the guy who’s been serving you drinks most of the night.”

  Half the room turns to look at me, and I raise my hand in acknowledgement, half wanting to slink behind the counter and disappear. Willow’s eyes meet mine across the distance and I nod to her as she winks.

  “Colton, this one’s for you,” she says.

  The music begins and the crowd cheers, everyone in the room recognizing the song that put Long Road Ahead on the map a few years ago. It was the song that launched them, really, and whenever I hear it playing, it brings me back to those days when I wasn’t me unless I had a guitar in one hand and a beer in the other.

  Willow’s voice echoes through the room, and couples come together on the dancefloor.

  Jo appears at my side, and I don’t dare look at her. My cheeks are bright red, I’m sure. I wasn’t expecting Willow to call me out like that, and as much as I sometimes like being the life of the party, I don’t always like being pushed into the spotlight.

  “Colton Tucker, you sly dog,” she says, pushing her hip into mine and making me splash vodka all over the counter. “You never told me you write music. Much less that you wrote a hit song that’s actually been on the radio.”

  I scoop ice into four cups and start pouring my signature drink for a group of ladies at the end of the bar. “I’m a complicated man, Josephine Warner.”

  “I’ll say,” she mumbles. “Don’t think I’m letting this go so easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She moves away to take care of a fresh rush of customers, and I shake my head. The secret is out, and I have no doubt she’ll grill me about it for weeks.

  I sing along to the lyrics I wrote back when I was really just a kid, and for a moment, wonder what happened to the part of me that used to love making music. Tonight, it somehow feels like coming home again to something I didn’t realize I was missing.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When the band finishes their last set, they all come to sit down on my end of the bar, and I treat them to drinks on the house.

  “You guys were amazing up there,” I say. The crowd is starting to thin out a little now that the music has stopped.

  “Brings back old times,” Willow says.

  “Yes it does,” Greg says, taking the barstool next to hers. His hair has grown out down past his shoulders now. “I missed home more than I realized.”

  “You’re not getting tired of living out of a suitcase just yet, are you?” I tease. “Because we could probably use another good bartender around here if you’re looking for a job.”

  He laughs. “No offense, man, but I’ll keep this gig a little longer,” he says. “I can’t imagine going back to slinging drinks after all this.”

  “No offense taken,” I say. “I’d probably kick your ass if you quit now, after all you guys have accomplished.”

  “It’s been a ride, I’ll tell you that,” Willow says. “Three years ago if someone had told me we’d have two hit records and be touring the country, I probably would have laughed in their face.”

  “Well, I’m proud of all you guys,” I say. “How long are you planning to stick around?”

  “Believe it or not, we’ve got a full week off, and we’re thinking about sticking around here for a while,” Charlie, the bass player, says. “I like the vibe of this town, and it’ll be nice to hang around and relax for a change. We’ll
be going back into the studio in a couple months, and we’re hoping some down time will help inspire a few new songs.”

  “If you’re up for it, we’d love to have you come over and play with us,” Willow says. “Maybe dust off your guitar?”

  I shake my head and clear my throat. “I haven’t been playing much lately, to tell you the truth,” I say. “No time these days.”

  “There’s always time for music,” Charlie says. “Come on, now. You’ve got to at least come out to Greg’s place on the beach sometime this week and jam with us. Just like old times.”

  It’s definitely a tempting thought. Greg and I used to sit around playing for hours when we were in high school. When I used to tour with the band in the early days, before their music really took off, we had a lot of good times. But I feel like a different person than the guy I was back then.

  “Let me know what you guys have planned, and I’ll see what I can do,” I say. “I’m usually here at the bar every night, but I could maybe spare a few afternoons.”

  “Shit, you better do more than that,” Greg says. “I’m sure this place could manage without you for a few nights this week.”

  I glance over at Jo still working to get drinks out to the late crowd. With everything going on lately, I know she needs me to be here. And hanging out with these guys means a lot more than just playing music.

  The last time we partied together, I blacked out and lost an entire week to a massive hangover.

  “Hey, remember that night we played at that little hole in the wall bar just outside of Birmingham?” Willow says. “It was maybe two and half years ago now, I think, and the owner actually had a chicken coop right there beside the bar.”

  “Wait, is that the place where the guy had a pasture full of cows right by the parking lot?” Charlie asks.

  “Yes, remember we got so drunk after the show we decided to go cow tipping? Man, was he mad.” Willow laughs and takes a shot of whiskey. “Those were good times, though. We were so wild back then.”