An Everyday Hero

by Laura Trentham

  “I happen to have a guitar in the truck.” Emmett thumbed over his shoulder.

  If Becky didn’t have hold of her hands, Greer would have catapulted across the bar top to slap a hand over Emmett’s mouth. “Isn’t that convenient,” she said caustically.

  “It certainly seems fated.” Emmett shrugged.

  Becky’s voice was begging. “I’ll cover the bar and pay you for the set and a bonus too.”

  “I can’t. You don’t understand.”

  “Please, Greer.” The lines around Becky’s mouth and eyes were cut deep with worry. She was independent, decisive, and not used to having to ask for favors. She’d also taken a chance on Greer when she’d been at her lowest.

  Her instinct to say no and stay safe warred with her desire not to disappoint anyone else in her life. The room was filled with regular people, not record executives. Her performance meant nothing. Except it felt like she was facing a jury ready to hand down a death sentence.

  Emmett leaned over the bar and took her hand. His was strong and warm and alive while hers felt like a dead fish hanging from her arm. How was she supposed to play a guitar when she couldn’t feel her fingers?

  “You can do this. Trust me.” A tiny portion of his confidence transferred to her.

  Enough to have her whispering, “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “Yes!” Becky did a fist pump and wasted no time in dragging Greer from behind the bar by her upper arm and parting the crowd with a hollered, “Coming through, people!”

  She pushed Greer toward the simple wooden stool sitting behind a microphone stand and scooted behind the lights and soundboard in the corner. The lights came on in a blaze, blinding Greer. What was once a familiar spot felt foreign.

  No way could she do it. But before she could take a step back into the shadows, Emmett was there with a guitar.

  “I want to leave.” She clutched his arm.

  Emmett’s broad shoulders blocked the glaring lights. He was a mountain she wanted to shelter beside. “If you want to leave, I’ll get you out. But you can do this, Greer.”

  “I’ve run away or messed up everything in my life.”

  “Not true and you know it. Look at me.”

  She squinted, looking for a lifeline in his eyes.

  His lips tipped into a smile she couldn’t return because her mouth was so dry. “My legs. Check out my legs.”

  She dropped her gaze. He wore shorts, his prosthetic visible. Through the dread and tension, she found an answering smile. “You’ve got a nice set of gams there, Emmett.”

  “Thank you.” He leaned closer and touched his forehead to hers. The restless, impatient audience disappeared. “You dragged me back to the land of the living. Let me be here for you.”

  He straightened and when she would have followed him to stay close, the hard body of the guitar came between them.

  She took hold of the neck instinctively. Her finger glanced over a small notch near the third fret. Her attention snapped from him to her guitar. Her Martin. She ran her other hand over the flower-tooled strap before looping it over her head. She slipped the body up and tapped Dolly’s signature.

  “Where? How?” Words deserted her. She hugged the guitar. It was like being reunited with a loved one after a tragedy.

  “A million pawnshops later…” He made a sweeping gesture.

  “You did that? For me?”

  He tucked a lock of hair that had come free of her ponytail behind her ear. “I would do a lot more than brave a few seedy pawnshops for you.”

  She wanted to grab his T-shirt and drag him to her for a kiss. Confess what was written on her heart. But a whoop-whoop from the crowd and a few yells to “get the show on the road” broke the illusion that only the two of them existed.

  All she could do was nod at him and slip onto the stool, her guitar settling into her lap naturally. She strummed and adjusted the tuning before shifting her attention to the microphone and the audience.

  She flipped the switch and leaned close. “Everybody doing all right out there?”

  Her voice reverberated and a cheer went up from the crowd. Her gaze found Emmett, standing to the side where the light faded, his shoulder propped against the wall, his arms folded over his chest like he was guarding her. And wasn’t he? Not physically, perhaps, but protecting her heart and soul while still encouraging her to fly?

  Closing her eyes, she launched into “Crazy On You,” a classic Heart song, up-tempo and rocking. When she heard the lyrics ricocheting back at her from the crowd, she opened her eyes. People were dancing and tapping their feet. No one was judging her and finding her lacking. Their enjoyment in turn relaxed her.

  Her ability to read crowds hadn’t faded over the months she’d been out of the spotlight. This crowd wanted familiar songs they could sing along to. The songs flowed as if released from a dam, flooding her insecurities and reminding her how fun performing could be when the crowd was into it.

  An hour and a half later with her voice sore and her shirt clinging to her back with sweat, she announced a break. “Make sure you tip your bartenders well.”

  The crowd moved like a flock from the dance floor toward the bar while she made like a homing pigeon for Emmett.

  He handed her an ice water and she killed it. He turned to the small table behind him and handed her another one. Her thirst appeased but not satisfied, she sipped.

  “You were fantastic. How’d it feel to perform again?” he asked.

  “Scary at first, but I loosened up. Not sure how much more my voice can handle, though. I’m out of practice.”

  “Damn, I’m proud of you.”

  Tears rushed to her eyes and before she questioned herself, she nestled into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. Rubbing her tears into the soft cotton of his T-shirt, she mumbled, “Sorry I’m a sweaty, gross mess.”

  “I don’t mind.” He laid a kiss on her temple. “You should have seen me earlier. I was a walking biohazard.”

  “What happened?”

  “Helped Dad with a difficult foaling at the farm.”

  She pulled back, studying him. “Was that good?”

  “It was terrifying and exciting and cathartic. So, yeah, I’d say it was good.” He’d gained a new peace and it looked good on him.

  “You talked to your dad.”

  Surprise had his eyebrows popping up. “How’d you guess?”

  “You seem lighter. Less restless. Dare I even say happier?”

  “Seems like today has been a big day for both of us.” His smile spoke of conversations they would have later.

  Fear sped through her like the first tremor of a massive earthquake. He’d made a decision about the job offer from Fort Knox. Had he taken it?

  Becky bustled over, a grin on her face. “My God, you were incredible. Everyone is raving. Are you good for another set?”

  She cleared her throat. She would need a gallon of honey tea in the morning. “A short one.”

  Becky clapped with the excitement of a five-year-old being promised ice cream. She handed a slip of paper over. “Requests if you know them.”

  They were all bar standards. Lighthearted and easy. Greer looked up and nodded, but Becky had disappeared back behind the bar.

  “I guess I’d better earn my keep.” She held up the paper and turned away. Stopping halfway to the stage, she turned back. “Will you still be here when I’m finished?”

  “Do you want me to be?” No tease lightened his voice or expression, and the question didn’t seem a simple one.

  She didn’t hesitate even a millisecond. “Yes.”

  “Then, I will be.”

  She nodded, her throat so tight she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to sing. Men like Emmett were throwbacks to another age. Even his months of isolation and wallowing at the cabin couldn’t hide his true nature: trustworthy and honorable. Whether he wanted to accept it or not, he was a hero. Better than saving her, he’d given her the courage to save herself.

  She
slid onto her stool and set the list of good-time bar songs aside. She would sing those songs and make the crowd happy, but first, she needed to sing a song for herself. And for Emmett.

  She squinted against the colored lights shining up from the floor and searched the crowd. She didn’t see him, but he was out there. She knew because he’d told her he would be. He was a man who stuck.

  She mindlessly strummed a chord and then another before the song registered in her ear. It was her song. The one she’d played at her high school talent show so many years ago. Her come-out. Written when she was too young to understand heartbreak, the lyrics took on new meaning a decade and more later. She didn’t fight the compulsion to flay herself open and bleed out on the bar floor. That’s what good songwriters did.

  The last plaintive note faded. The silence was only heartbeats long, but in that time, her chest swelled. Applause thundered like a wave through the room, whoops and hollers cresting above it like whitecaps.

  Moments like this reminded her why she wrote and performed from the heart. And this moment was enough. She didn’t need the adoration of millions. She needed only to touch the hearts of those within her reach.

  “That was called ‘Lost Souls.’ And I wrote it a long time ago.” More whoops had her smiling. “Now, how about we kick it up a notch.”

  She launched into the list of requests, still riding a high. The set wrapped with the classic “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks. Everyone had their arms thrown around someone’s shoulders and were belting it out in a cacophony of mismatched pitches and rhythms.

  Greer smiled when the two men who had nearly come to blows earlier exchanged a high five. She’d taken a frustrated crowd and turned them into good-natured, love-thy-neighbor putty. As the last note faded, the stage lights turned off and the overhead lights came on, the starkness sobering. It was like taking off beer goggles the regretful morning after.

  The crowd quieted and shuffled out the door and into the parking lot. Greer packed up her guitar, running a hand down the strings. She’d thought the day she’d sold the Martin had been her lowest. If only she’d known how much farther she had to fall, but how sweet the climb would be.

  She snapped the case’s lid closed and picked it up, the familiar weight a comfort beyond measure. Talking to Becky at the bar, Emmett leaned against a stool, his legs crossed at the ankle, his prosthetic on top. It was part of him but didn’t define him. Not by a long shot.

  As if his senses were still honed from the battlefield, he turned and watched her approach. The fluorescent overhead lights threw his face into a mixture of shadows and relief, sharpening the blade of his nose and cheekbones. His lashes cast dark crescents and hid the expression in his eyes.

  “Ready to head out?” he asked.

  “I need to help clean up.” Her voice was hoarse.

  Becky threw a rag over her shoulder. “No, you don’t. Head on out.”

  “I’ll leave your half of the tips with Becky,” Edgar said with a smile. “Great job, by the way.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t earn the tips. You and Becky did all the work. Buy something for that baby of yours.”

  Edgar shook his head and set his chin. “No way.”

  “Yes way. I insist. I’m getting paid to play, right, Becky?”

  “Of course. You want a regular gig?”

  Her breath caught before a grin broke out. “I would love one. I can still bartend, though, right? I’ll need the extra money for school.”

  “Sure thing, sweets.” Becky pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tapped them on her palm with the ease of a lifelong smoker no amount of public-service messages would dissuade. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need my fix.”

  Emmett got up, stuck his hands in his pockets, and nudged his head toward the door. They fell into step shoulder to shoulder. The air retained the heat of the day even at midnight, but it was clear and the stars blinked in the sky like they were communicating in Morse code.

  “Can I carry that for you?” He glanced down at her guitar.

  She tightened her hand on the handle. “Honestly, I don’t want to let go of it. I might even sleep with it tonight.”

  “That’s a shame. Here I was hoping you would sleep with me tonight.” The honeyed tease in his voice made her heart pump faster, and it felt as if the same honey had invaded her veins, sugaring her limbs.

  “I might be persuaded to leave it next to the nightstand.”

  “I’ll put it right next to my leg.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t tell you what it means to have her back. Thank you.”

  He took her free hand in his and pressed a kiss on her fingers. “You would have eventually gone to buy it back.”

  But she wouldn’t have. Without him, she would have missed the guitar the rest of her life. His gift had mended her soul, and in return, she had given Emmett something even if he chose not to recognize or take it—her heart.

  It was crazy. She’d thought Beau had broken her heart, but he hadn’t. It had been performing that had done the damage. Once she’d rediscovered the joy in music with Ally, her heart had emerged from exile, whole and beating and ready.

  Beau was a stranger. She’d loved the idea of him and what he represented. Emmett was a friend and a lover and she loved every obstinate, funny, sweet part of him. They were starting new chapters in their lives. Was it best to turn to a blank page?

  Maybe, but not tonight. Tonight she would love him without words.

  “My place?” he asked.

  “Definitely. My mom is on board with not checking up on me at all hours, but even she would freak out if you were in my bedroom come sunrise.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. No sarcasm or irony weighed the sound. Unable to help herself, she stepped in front of him, wrapped her free hand around his nape, and pulled him down for a kiss.

  When their lips separated an inch, he whispered, “What was that for?”

  “That was for being an amazing person, Emmett Lawson.”

  “Why, Greer Hadley, you’re going to make me blush.” His put-on Southern belle accent had her giving a breathy laugh before pulling him in for another kiss.

  They separated like two magnets being forced apart, and she followed Emmett’s truck to the gate he now left unlocked. As soon as they met at the foot of the porch steps, their bodies reached for each other. This time humor replaced their awkward fumbling, but the urgency was still there, driving them hard.

  It wasn’t until she was cuddled into him, her head on his shoulder, that sadness had room to grow. She would miss this. Miss him.

  “You made a decision about the Fort Knox job, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “How’d you know?” He yawned, his breath stirring the hair at her temple.

  “You’re not fighting the current anymore.” She clutched him closer but knew when the time came, she would let him go. Not without heartbreak, but without regrets. She wouldn’t be his anchor.

  He grunted. “I’m going to turn it down.”

  His announcement pulled the pin of a grenade in her chest. She rose on her elbow. His eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but he looked content and, dare she say, happy?

  “What are you going to do instead?” she asked through a tight throat.

  “Work the farm. Dad is going to retire someday, and Mom deserves a vacation whenever she wants.” Worry crinkled his eyes.

  She smoothed her hand over his forehead and into his hair. “You’re staying out of family obligation?”

  “Partly. But mostly I’m staying because I forgot how joyful the work can be. There will be hard days and lots to learn, but helping that colt into the world and watching him rise even after everything he’d been through was amazing. I’ll never forget it.”

  “You’re staying in Madison.” She stated the obvious because it felt like a dream.

  “Yep.”

  “What does that mean for us?”

  “What do you want it to mean?”


  Dammit, why did he have to lob the hot potato back to her? “Did you recognize the song I sang?”

  His smile unfolded slowly, lazily. “It sounded like the one you sang at the talent show, but different somehow.”

  “I hadn’t lived with heartbreak and love back then. Now I have. That song was for you, Emmett.”

  “I felt every word in my bones.”

  The grenade detonated and she buried her face in his neck so he wouldn’t see the messy aftermath. “Oh God, why do you have to be so nice?”

  He rolled her onto her back, looming over her, his residual limb between her knees, the weight of his thigh holding her in place. “You must be punch drunk with exhaustion. I’m not nice, sweetheart.”

  “True enough. You can be arrogant and rude and domineering and kind of an asshole on occasion.”

  His barking laugh contained plenty of sarcastic self-deprecation this time. “You make me sound like such a catch.”

  “I can be flaky and stubborn and let my anger get the best of me too often,” she added.

  “What you’re saying is neither one of us is perfect.”

  “I should have said that you’re perfect for me.” Seeing his eyes widen and his mouth part, she realized she’d said too much and launched into a babbling backtrack. “I mean, not perfect perfect. Just sort of great. Let’s go to sleep.”

  Hopefully, she’d die peacefully in her sleep and not have to deal with the embarrassment of facing him in the light of the morning.

  “Hold up. You can’t expect me to sleep after you tell me I’m perfect for you.” His voice was rife with laughter.

  She huffed. “I said no such thing. In fact, my point was that you aren’t perfect in the least, you’re just—”

  His breath warmed her mouth a heartbeat before his lips took hers in a kiss so sweet it made her ache like her entire body was a tooth and he was a vat of sugar. She grabbed him and held him close despite her mortification.

  With his lips still pressed against hers, he whispered, “I think you’re perfect too, wild woman.”

  She felt the words as much as heard them. Felt them in her bones the same way he’d felt her song.

  This time the sex was slow and sweet, her body handling the intricacies of a love she wasn’t quite brave enough to declare. She fell into a deep sleep, not plagued with worry for the first time in months.