by Miles, Ava
“Rye, I’m so sorry.”
He pulled her into a hug. “It’s all right,” he said, trying to convince them both.
What did they say about kids? Out of the mouths of babes? Well, shit. He’d just been taken to the woodshed by a sprout.
As he looked over Tammy’s shoulder, he could practically see his house morphing into a glass house with cracks starting to shiver up the side, like in the art for his latest album. He planted his feet and made a silent vow.
He’d move heaven and earth if he had to, but the glass was not going to crack again.
***
They settled in over the following weeks. Rory and Amelia Ann started school, and his little sister called him every day to tell him how grateful she was for his help in bringing her dreams to life. But Rory and Tammy were less enthusiastic, and Annabelle’s infectious laughter was a much–needed bright spot in their somber family dinners. It didn’t help that Rye seemed to be allergic to food—his taste buds acted like they’d been seared to nothingness, and even the most succulent dinners made him ill.
But he dreamed about maple cornbread and pancakes dotted with chocolate chips. And the woman who’d bantered with him as she cooked, green eyes sparkling.
Sleeping had never been so difficult for him, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever taken it for granted. He’d taken to sitting on the back porch late at night strumming on Old Faithful. The first time Annabelle snuck out of bed and climbed onto his lap, he didn’t know what to do. When he tried to take her back to her room, she started crying and locked her arms around his neck. So he stopped fighting her, terrified by her tears, and let her stay with him until she fell asleep. She came the next night, and they repeated the pattern until he finally stopped trying to make her go. Sometimes they listened to evening sounds, and sometimes she asked him to sing to her. When she fell asleep, he tucked her into bed before heading into his own room.
If Tammy knew, she didn’t say anything, so he didn’t say anything, either. It was like egg shells covered his floor instead of hardwood.
Rory still wasn’t talking to him directly. The boy’s accusatory eyes became a form of punishment for all Rye’s misdeeds, reminding him to be careful with other people’s feelings.
Tammy spent time decorating their bedrooms and the playroom, trying to make it into a real home for her and the kids. Still, Rye would sometimes find a random doll or dump truck lying around in other parts of the house. She’d apologize for the mess before making things immaculate again. When he finally told her he didn’t mind a little clutter, she looked so fragile—like he’d shaken her brittle world with those few words—that he didn’t know what to say.
He went out less. Found the old easy distractions like women and liquor less easy. His friends talked about his mood, and Clayton claimed he was depressed. Depressed? Rye Crenshaw? He was just adjusting to having his family around, that’s all.
But deep down, he knew better. He lost weight. His face grew haggard from too little sleep. Amelia Ann even tried cooking for him when she came home for a Sunday dinner, which was a total disaster not to be repeated.
He sought peace in the one thing that had always made him happy, throwing himself into the songs for the new album. But when he tried to write his catchy trademark lyrics, they felt fake—like when a word that’s been read too many times doesn’t look right on the page anymore. The trash can in his studio looked like a legal notepad had ended it kamikaze style, and broken pencils lay scattered everywhere. Clayton and Georgia suggested hiring a songwriter. He refused. He told them the problem was temporary, but he worried it wasn’t.
The mood in the house remained tense, and when he was on an errand to purchase dog food on a cool October day, he decided to change that. The kids loved his dogs, but Bullet and Banjo were pretty big for them. Standing in the pet aisle, he picked two animals that seemed the perfect size for the kids. He’d always wanted a dog of his own growing up, but Mama had put the kibosh on that idea.
When he returned to the house, his spirits were better for the first time in months. He bundled his purchases under his arms and walked to the front. Bullet and Banjo raced off when he pointed to the back of the house.
When he opened the door, he was smiling. “Annabelle. Rory. Come out here.”
He couldn’t wait to see their faces. Maybe he’d found a way to help the little ones adjust to their new lives, perhaps even enjoy them.
***
Tammy heard his shout and set aside the magazine she’d been thumbing through for an hour. Why did Saturdays seem to drag on? The kids were reading quietly too, but they scampered off when Rye called for them. Tammy trailed behind, the only thing she knew how to do right now. In this new world, she didn’t know who she was other than a mama, and wasn’t sure when she’d venture out of this nest to try and find out. She couldn’t stay dependent on Rye forever.
Rye stood in the entryway with his fingers tucked in his belt loops, shifting on his feet. “I have something for you kids.” He eased open the front door. “Follow me.”
Annabelle ran forward in delight, squealing. “Oh my, it’s a puppy. Look, Mama, it’s a puppy!”
Rye gave Annabelle’s head an absentminded caress and leaned down to nudge the miniature Shih Tzu forward. Annabelle picked up the pink leash and pulled the puppy into her arms, giggling when it licked her.
“I thought it might be nice for each of you to have a new friend here in Nashville,” Rye said.
He’d bought them puppies? Her eyes burned. Did he have any idea how precious this was? Sterling hated animals and thought they were filthy creatures, so she’d never been able to grant the kids’ wish for a pet.
“I’ll show the kids how to take care of them, Tammy. You won’t have to do a thing, I promise.”
She only nodded. Her voice had dried up like an old well.
Annabelle launched herself at Rye. “Oh, Uncle Rye, this is the bestest present ever. Right, Mama? I can’t wait to show Aunt Amelia. I’m going to name my dog Barbie.”
Rye winced and scratched his chin. “Ah, don’t you think you might want to choose something else?” he asked, glancing sideways at Rory, who stood by the front door, his little brow furrowed.
“No, it’s a Barbie dog, so its name is Barbie. What do you think, Mama? Isn’t she pretty?”
Tammy cleared her throat. “She sure is, precious,” she said, leaning down and giving the puppy a hesitant rub. He—she?—curled into her hand.
“Please tell me it’s a girl dog,” she whispered to Rye.
“Nope,” he said with the sputter of a laugh. “Poor Barbie is a boy. Leave it be. She’s happy.”
Rory still hadn’t moved away from the front door.
“Rory, come on over here,” Rye called.
Her son took his time, making her nervous. Surely, he wouldn’t refuse this gift. He and Rye were still at odds over Tory, but perhaps this could be the first step toward making it right.
“I thought you might like a labradoodle,” Rye said, handing him the other puppy’s leash. “They’re fun and friendly and good companions for boys your age. He’s your dog, son. You can name him and everything.”
Please take it, Rory, she prayed. Don’t hurt Rye or yourself anymore than you already have.
“Rory, have you got any names for your dog?” she asked, hoping to soothe the tension between them.
Her boy lifted his chin. “It doesn’t change what you did.”
“No, it doesn’t, son.” Rye heaved a sigh. “I didn’t buy him thinking it would. I bought him because I thought he’d be a good friend to you.” And with that he handed Rory the leash and headed inside.
“I know you’re hurting,” she said, looking down at her son, who now had a hesitant smile on his face and was patting the dog, “but so is your Uncle Rye.”
And this time, after what he’d done for the kids, she couldn’t leave him alone with his sorrow. When she reached the staircase, he was already taking the stairs two at a time. Sh
e called his name, and he stopped halfway up, one hand on the polished wood railing.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “For thinking of the children.”
“I saw a kitten and thought about buying it for you,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I remember you asking Mama for one when we were growing up, but I didn’t know if you’d still want one.”
She reached for the pearls at her neck and wrapped her fingers around them. He’d thought of her? He’d remembered? The sweetness of it almost stopped her breath. Where had her black sheep brother gone? Annabelle’s favorite nursery rhyme ran through her head: Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.
Yes, his hands were full. And he was opening them up to her and the kids. And wasting away before her eyes… After just getting him back, she couldn’t stand to lose him again. She was grieving the mistakes she’d made, and she could see him doing the same.
“I’m too old for a kitten, but getting dogs for the kids was so sweet of you, Rye,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’ve been…wonderful.”
“They’re only puppies, Tammy. If you need me, I’ll be in the studio.” He tromped up the stairs.
She didn’t remind him he was going the wrong way. His studio was on the lower level.
“Mama, there’s a man out here,” Annabelle cried from behind her.
Tammy darted to the front door, worried to hear that someone had gotten through the gate without her knowing. A man dressed in khaki shorts and a gray T–shirt was crouched down comfortably on the porch, petting Annabelle’s dog. He had thick brown hair, and when he looked up, she felt her breath stop at the sight of his dimpled smile and arctic blue eyes.
“Hi there, you must be Tammy.” He stood and held out a hand. “I’m John Parker McGuiness, an old friend of Rye’s. I decided to finally come over to meet y’all. He’s told me a lot about you and the kids. Welcome to Dare River.”
Tammy smoothed her hands down her raspberry linen top, grateful that she’d bothered to dress nicely like she always used to…even though she never went anywhere other than to the market and Rory’s school. Somehow, seeing that put–together woman in the mirror each morning was a small comfort.
“I’m Tammy.” Rye hadn’t told her to expect company. The man’s handshake was warm and firm.
His mouth curved. “I know that.”
Heavens, she was getting flustered. “Of course. And these are my children Annabelle and Rory. And these are the new puppies Rye has bought them.”
He tugged on Annabelle’s hair, making her giggle. “We’ve met, doggies and all. Your uncle is really glad to have y’all here.”
Rory just eyed him with suspicion and walked to Tammy’s side with his leashed puppy, like they were her little guardians. Tammy didn’t know what to do with her hands, so crossed them over her body. “Ah, how do you know Rye?”
J.P. winked at Rory, who stood still while the puppy jumped excitedly around him.
“We went to school together and have been friends ever since.”
A Vandy alum? Who knew Rye had college friends? Even though they’d been living together for over a month now, they hadn’t discussed such things, wrapped up in their own worlds of grief. Tammy pointed to the mountain bike propped against the side of the house. “You live close by?”
He scratched Rory’s puppy, getting him to roll onto his belly. “Yep. Up river. About ten miles. It’s a good ride.”
Ten miles? His tan forearms gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and while she’d never liked seeing men heated from the outdoors, she couldn’t seem to look away.
“Rye inside?” he drawled.
“Yes,” she murmured. “He’s probably in his studio. I’ll show you.”
His dimple winked again as he stood, all tall and lean, towering over her. “I know my way. It’s nice out just now. You should stay out here with the kids and get to know the puppies better. Perhaps Rye and I can put up a tree swing for the kids sometime soon.” His eyes tracked across the lawn. “There are some nice trees for it.”
Annabelle clapped her hands. “Yes, yes,” she cried.
“That would be lovely.” Hadn’t she promised herself she’d get the kids to play outside more? Get dirty like other kids? She’d become a neat–freak mommy, and it was time for that to stop.
“I’ll see y’all later then. It was good to meet you, Tammy.”
He strolled through the door. When he faded from view, she fanned herself, feeling warm. Must be the heat. What was wrong with her? Well, she hadn’t seen a lot of men for some time. Hadn’t Sterling been jealous, angry when they’d come home from a dance at the country club? She’d stopped talking to men, and it was jarring to return to it, especially with one who was so handsome.
Annabelle grabbed her hand, holding the pink leash, the dog on the end chirping out a bark. “Come on, Mama. Let’s take Barbie for a walk.”
She shook off the memories and extended her hand to Rory. “Come with us.”
There was a smile on his face when she took his hand, and hope sparked inside her. She prayed the puppy would help him heal. She couldn’t remember him truly being a little boy. And she was deeply afraid it was her fault.
Every night she prayed it wasn’t too late.
***
Rye was staring down at his legal pad when J.P. entered the room. He had been so flustered earlier that he’d actually gone the wrong way to get to his studio—imagine that, getting lost in his own house—and he still felt out of sorts..
“Well, lookee here,” Rye said when J.P. walked in. “You’re not wearing one of your fancy suits for once.”
J.P. plopped down on his massive leather couch. “I biked over. It’s a nice day. Lyrics coming along any better?”
Rye scowled. “No, dammit.”
“Hmm. Well, I met your family. Your niece is as sweet as they come, but the boy’s guarded. Your sister is, too, but she’s lovely. I can’t say I see any family resemblance.”
“Ha ha. You just came over to spy since I told all of y’all to stay clear of the house for a while.”
He shrugged. “We understand that you want them to have some space after everything they’ve been through, but as the nicest guy in our set, I was given the honor of coming over to check on you. How are things going in Familyville?”
Rye reached into his mini–fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, handing one to his friend after he popped them open. He took a long draw from the bottle to wet his dry throat. Christ, he felt raw after giving the kids the puppies. And scribbling down gibberish for lyrics wasn’t helping his mood.
“I don’t know what to do with Tammy. She and I were never close growing up. Amelia Ann’s going to be fine. She’s got fire. She’s been running around Nashville like a newly liberated woman.”
“She’s been given her freedom,” J.P. commented. “Heady stuff.”
Yeah, and his freedom seemed to have vanished at the same time. Funny how he wasn’t missing it. “Tammy’s different. She’s controlled and unsure. Doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself now that she doesn’t have her own house to take care of and appearances to keep up.”
J.P. rested his beer against his chest as he leaned back on the sofa. “She’s a different woman with different experiences. Can’t imagine what it must have been like to be married to that piece of work.”
Even now, the memory of what Sterling had done burned Rye’s ass. When he’d asked her—in a pretty awkward fashion—if she wanted him to do anything about Sterling hurting her, she’d only responded with a stiff shake of her head. They’d never spoken of it again, and he still had bad dreams about what might have happened between them.
“Her life was blown apart,” J.P. said. “Now, she’s divorced and a single mama, living in a new city with a brother she doesn’t know well, of whom she’s never completely approved. Must be hard for her to reconcile thinking of you as a sinner when you’ve showed recent signs of being a saint.”
Rye growled. “I ain’t no saint.” Hadn’t his missteps with Tory proven that?
J.P.’s dimple winked when his mouth tipped up. “Sinners don’t buy puppies for children.” He chuckled. “Hey, that’s a pretty good song lyric. Maybe you can use that.”
“Shut up, J.P.”
“Your sister needs to discover who she is now and what she wants to become. Right now, all she knows is that she’s a mama. Beyond that, I’d say the rest is about as fuzzy as a pussy willow. My mama felt the same after Daddy took off until she became a preacher. Then she was right as rain.”
Rye glared at him. He’d swear J.P. must have picked up this annoying therapy talk from his mama by osmosis. “Well, your sisters turned out all right. Not so sure about you.”
J.P.’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You really are out of sorts. So, tell me. What does Tammy like?”
He threw aside the legal pad. “Shit, how do I know? Didn’t you just tell me that we’re basically strangers?”
J.P. raised a brow. “Work with me here, Crenshaw. I’m trying to think of something she could do, on the professional side, to become more independent. Does she like to host parties? God knows you do. Although with the kids around, your future events may need to be more upscale. No more slutty bunny costumes…unless it’s Easter.”
“Funny.” He’d had those parties in the past, ones where women threw themselves at him left and right. Now the thought had no appeal for him. Tory had erased his passion for the two things he’d once loved most: food and women. And he wondered if he’d ever get it back.
“I aim to entertain.”
Rye tipped his head back and studied the beams running across the studio ceiling, thinking. “You’re right about one thing, Tammy’s a Hollins. She was raised to host parties.”
“You were raised to be a lawyer. How’d that work out for you?”
“I don’t know why I ever let you come over. You’re always such a dick.”
J.P.’s chuckles filled the room. “Well, you’re an asshole and that beats being a dick any day. Nice lyric, but a little too racy for your fans. So, have you finally decided to crawl on all fours to get Tory back?”
