PawPaw watches me, his gaze is scrutinizing and I feel like he can see through me, down to my core and down to my dirty, dirty thoughts. True to his word, Beaumont has texted me, called me or even FaceTimed me every single day.
He even gave me a tour of his bus, and honestly, it’s nicer than my house. I forget that he’s some super famous guy, because he doesn’t act that way, especially with me.
Sure, his house in town is really nice, nicer than anything I’ve ever seen before, but it’s comfortable too. I don’t know if that’s because his furniture is plain, utilitarian, and simplistic or if it’s because he just doesn’t act like he has the money that I have no doubt he does.
“Who is he, Toots?” he asks after a long moment of assessing me.
I gulp, looking down at my lap, then back up to meet his eyes. “Beaumont Griffin,” I practically whisper.
He hums, leaning back in his rocking chair. “And?”
Smiling, I forget that PawPaw doesn’t keep up with music. If it’s not Waylon, Willie, Cash, Haggard, or King George, they don’t exist. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I move them from side to side, then inhale a deep breath.
“He’s famous, a musician. More rock music than country, but he’s from Gallup,” I explain.
PawPaw snorts. “Famous, pssshh,” he says, lifting a hand and swatting at the air. “He on the radio?”
Nodding, my smile grows. “And television, he plays at big venues when he does a live show. Paparazzi follow him around…”
“Grand Ole Opry?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I laugh softly. “Rock music, not country.”
“Don’t sound like he’s much in my book,” he says, shrugging a shoulder.
Clearing my throat, I lift my feet in the porch swing and I look out at PawPaw’s dirt lined driveway. “We met ten years ago, and we dated for about a year. I haven’t seen him since he went off to Los Angeles, until a couple of weeks ago.”
Saying even the CliffsNotes version of the story makes me feel, odd. Living the story feels way more romantic than speaking it aloud. When I say the words, it just sounds like I’m pathetic, but aren’t I?
I mean I haven’t been able to have a meaningful relationship since Beaumont, a decade. A whole decade with just a few short-term men, nothing even remotely close to love, not until he came in and swooped me up in his arms again did I even feel alive.
“You know when I met your MeeMaw, I was stupid. Saw her and I knew that she was special, but felt like I couldn’t settle for the first pretty girl that caught my eye.”
“PawPaw,” I gasp.
He grins, reaching for his coffee. I watch as he takes a healthy sip, his eyes getting shiny, maybe even glassy as he talks about my grandmother.
“What I’m sayin’ is, thankfully I got my act together right quick, but not all men do that. Sometimes it takes ‘em a while,” he mutters.
Sucking my lips in, I press them together and nod, my eyes focused on the dirt path still, just like his. Though I don’t think he’s seeing any of the landscape, no, he’s seeing the teenage version of my grandmother somewhere in the distance, in his memory banks.
“He went to rehab for drinking,” I admit aloud.
Saying the words, they make me feel funny. They make my stomach clench, and not in a sexy way. It’s the one thing that I fear from him, a relapse and the loss of trust that goes along with that. I can’t be in a marriage like my parents had. I won’t survive it again.
“That scares you,” PawPaw states.
“Terrifies,” I agree.
“Life doesn’t come with certainties, Toots. Sometimes people aren’t an addict and then they become one later in life. Sometimes they overcome an addiction early on. He knows it’s a problem, and he’s working on the solution, right?”
Nodding, I’m unable to speak as tears fill my eyes. Beaumont is definitely working on his demons and he’s also working on me, on showing me how much he cares for me and he is determined to earn my trust and quickly.
“I think that you’ll be all right, Toots. Also, I want to meet this famous man,” he barks.
Shifting my gaze to him, I notice that he’s turned toward me and he’s grinning. “You do?”
“You love him?”
“I’m pretty sure that I do,” I admit.
He shakes his head with a grunt. “Then, I think as the man in your life, I should meet him, get my feel for him and give you my approval… or not.”
“You’ll love him,” I find myself saying.
“Will I now?” he asks.
Standing to my feet, I walk over to the rocking chair next to him and sink down. Reaching out, I take his hand in mine and we drink our coffees with our other hands.
“He reminds me of MeeMaw,” I admit.
“How?”
“He’s kind and considerate. He makes sure I’m fed,” I laugh. “Even before, he always encouraged me, but even more now. He’s quiet, only speaking up when he needs to. He’s homegrown and calm. I don’t know, just everything about him reminds me of her.”
PawPaw nods, his hand squeezes mine and we sit in silence the remainder of the morning. Once our coffees are finished, I get up for the day and clean his house, then make sandwiches for lunch along with some meals to freeze for the week.
I don’t realize until later that night when I’m lying in the guest room that has always been my bedroom here, that Beaumont never called.
Tonight was his third show of the tour and although he’s been really good about calling every day, when he first left, he called three times a day, had things delivered to the shop. Since the first show, he’s only called me once a day.
I wasn’t too worried about the lack of calling, until tonight. Picking my phone up off of my nightstand, I glance down and once again there are no missed calls. Deciding to just bite the bullet, I send him a text.
Thinking of you. At PawPaw’s. Call me tomorrow if you can. x Hutton
I watch as the message appears as delivered, then I wait for what feels like an hour until it finally says read. My heart skips a beat as I wait for those three little dots to appear as he replies.
Except they don’t.
I try to shrug it off as him being busy, but something in my gut tells me that’s not what this is. He read the message, he didn’t reply and I know it has to be for a reason. Naturally, my mind begins to spin as I think of a dozen different scenarios that he might be in.
All of which end in me being completely devastated.
BEAUMONT
The bottle across from me is tempting. Too tempting. I reach for it, but don’t open the top. A couple of women climb into the bus and I lift my gaze to them as Austin and Jesse follow behind.
Anger radiates inside of me at the sight of the bottle and the women. My rules for this tour were pretty fucking clear. Greenroom booze was one thing, but I didn’t want it in the bus. Also, no women back to the bus. It’s just easier that way. I don’t give a fuck what they do, I just didn’t want the party brought back to the bus.
I’m struggling. I knew that I would be, but this is more than I even expected. I need the rules to keep me grounded—to keep me sane.
Picking up the bottle, not giving a fuck about the consequences, I throw it across the bus. Thankfully, it doesn’t hit anyone, but it does smash against the dashboard, almost hitting the front window.
“Goddamn,” Austin yells.
The two women scream. Their movements are slowed, their eyes glassy, their skirts and tops too damn small. They’re high and possibly drunk, I don’t want them here.
“Take them out,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
“I thought you said he was down to party,” one of the women whines.
“He will be,” Austin coos, sliding his hand around her waist. “You two go stand right outside. We’ll talk to him.”
I almost snort. He isn’t talking me into shit. Not a goddamn thing. Those sluts can just stay outside. Crossing my arms over my chest, I wide
n my stance as I look at two men who are supposed to be my friends. They aren’t. Louis, Wyatt, Ford, and Rylan would never pull this shit, not ever.
“I’m not partying. I don’t want skanks on my bus and I don’t want booze brought in. What don’t you guys fucking understand?” I shout.
Austin chuckles, lifting his hand and running it through his hair. “Just thought you could let loose a little. You’ve been fucking uptight since you walked on this bus,” he points out.
“I’m not uptight. I’m sober, writing, and in a relationship.”
Jesse snorts. “Uptight. You’re a fucking beast, brother. Always down for the lifestyle, you can’t puss out now.”
“The lifestyle?” I ask.
“Sex, drugs, rock-and-roll,” Austin says with a grin.
“This isn’t the eighties and I’m not in a hair band. I’m over thirty. I’m lookin’ to settle down and stay sober.”
Austin snorts at the same time Jesse chuckles. “Don’t fuck up the band because you want to be sober. Do you know how many artists ruin their careers with sobriety and relationships?” he asks, saying the words as if they leave a bad taste in his mouth.
I hear a thud behind me, but I ignore it, my entire body beginning to shake with anger.
“You’re idiots,” Brian announces. Turning my head, I look back at him in surprise. “You even hear the shit that’s been coming out of Beau’s guitar and the lyrics that accompany it?” he asks.
Austin and Jesse look to each other, then turn their gazes back to us. “You haven’t because you’re too worried about getting laid by cheap, easy pussy. Getting drunk on the same kind of booze and whatever else you fuckin’ put in your bodies. Beaumont isn’t just some rock star here to bring the women to sit on your dicks, he’s a fuckin’ talent in his own right and you’re just being fucking assholes.”
“Oh, fuck off, Brian. You think you’re better than all of us, you aren’t. You live a sad, pathetic life,” Austin shouts.
Brian bends over slightly, a loud guffaw escaping his mouth. “You are idiots,” he says between his laughter. “Got a wife and a daughter at home. I’m livin’ a sweeter life than any of y’all could ever dream of. Beaumont wants a piece of that and I’m damn proud to call him my friend.”
Without another word, Austin and Jesse turn around and leave us alone. I’m not surprised they didn’t argue anymore. If shit doesn’t go their way, they are honestly too lazy to fight about it. They cut and run.
“You mean all that?” I ask.
Brian grins, reaching out, he wraps his fingers around my shoulder and gives me a small shake. “Every fuckin’ word.”
“I’m afraid I’m nothing but a fraud,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, his eyes finding mine and focusing on them. “Pure fuckin’ talent, Beau. Best guitar player I’ve ever come across. What you have can’t be replicated because it’s unique to you. They know that, they’re just selfish dicks. The women want you and that pisses them off because you’re not available to be their wingman anymore.”
“Fuck,” I grind out.
Brian laughs, his hand falling from my shoulder. “True fuckin’ story. Now, I want to hear what you were working on last night. This album going to be all haunting ballads, or what?”
“I need a few upbeat songs, but I’ve been focusing on the haunting shit.” I grin.
“Fuck if I care if the album is all ballads, you write a damn good fuckin’ ballad. We got enough fast rock in our repertoire to keep people happy at concerts.”
“Need somethin’ with a good beat for the single though.”
Brian hums. “Yeah, let’s hear this new one. I liked what you had, maybe we can just change the tempo and speed?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I glance down to see that Hutton has messaged me. I make myself a mental note to send her a quick reply once I’ve played the new song for Brian. One run through turns into two, and by the time I am able to reply again, it’s been four hours.
We’ve figured out this song and Brian thinks it will make a perfect single. Shoving all of my annoyance at Austin and Jesse to the side, I actually can’t wait for them to hear it, then add their parts to it to make sure that it’s going to work as well as I think it will.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HUTTON
It takes three days of radio silence for Beaumont to finally call me. My phone rings in my hand and the first thing that I want to do is send it straight to voicemail, but something inside of me demands that I answer. Demands to know why he hasn’t called me, what his excuse could possibly be, and soothe that ache inside of me.
I haven’t slept well in the three days he’s avoided me, ignored me, or whatever he’s been doing. I hate it, and then again, I expected it, but even when you expect and wait for something to happen it can still be a shock when it all becomes actuality.
“Fuck, darlin’ girl,” he groans as soon as I say hello.
I don’t respond to him, instead, I walk outside through my back door, toward my porch chair and sink down.
It’s late, for me, well after ten in the evening. I’ve worked all day, made myself dinner, cleaned it up and cleaned my house a bit. Now, I’m sitting in this chair, one that he sat in not long ago and held me. It all feels so bittersweet and my heart feels hollow.
“You there?” he finally asks after a moment of silence.
“I am.”
He chuckles, but I can tell that it’s strained. “You’re pissed,” he points out.
Still, I don’t respond. I am pissed, but more than that, I’m hurt.
“I’ve been writing during the day, playing shows at night. Trying to sleep in between,” he explains. “I didn’t answer your text. I got in a big thing with a couple of my bandmates. I knew this was going to be a stressful tour, but I didn’t really know everything that would come my way.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I hold it for a second before I let it out. “I don’t expect you to always answer me, to call me five times a day or anything like that. But Beaumont, I haven’t heard from you in over three days. I can only imagine the worst of the worst.”
“I know, fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” I ask.
“As sorry as I can be, Hutton.”
“What does that mean?” I ask softly.
I don’t even attempt to hide the hurt in my voice, there’s no point to it. He clears his throat, then I hear what sounds like a door closing and he lets out a sigh.
“I’m writing again, and it feels damn good.”
“I’m happy for you,” I whisper.
“Do you know why I’m writing again?”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure that I give a shit at this point. I don’t know how I saw this conversation going, but I expected a lot more groveling from him, instead of just… nothing.
“Because I’m finally at peace. I have you, I’m sober, and I’m just finally—happy. You’re a big part of it, Hutton. Knowing that I have you at home, that I can trust you. It just has my mind at peace and my creativity flowing.”
My breath hitches at his words. I don’t believe them and yet I believe every single one. Until recently I had been feeling the same way, but being practically ignored, it changes a girl from the inside.
“You ignored me for days. I can’t just forgive that, Beaumont.”
He hums, his voice soft and almost sweet sounding. “I know you can’t, swear I’ll make it up to you. But know that it was for no other reason than Brian and I were in the zone.”
Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh of frustration. I want to scream at him, I want to be angry and maybe even act a little crazy, but I don’t. He’s been writing, at least that’s what he claims. I want to believe everything that he tells me, but my trust, it’s on shaky ground right now.
“Just working? Just writing and singing and nothing else?” I ask, keeping my voice as soft as possible.
“What are you asking me? If you’re going to ask me something, please make i
t crystal clear,” he says and I can tell that his jaw is clenched and he’s tense.
“Women, Beaumont. What about other women?”
He lets out a whoosh of breath. “None, Hutton. Austin and Jesse brought some girls back to the bus after one of the first shows, but I promptly kicked them out. New bus rules are, no parties and no booze.”
“That has to be hard,” I exhale.
“Not for me. Next tour I’ll be stronger, but this one I said no booze on the bus for my own sanity and sobriety.”
“And women?” I ask.
“I’m not tempted, Hutton, not in the slightest. I know what waits for me at home, who will be here in a couple of weeks and I can wait. Not a kid anymore, darlin’ girl. I know how to control who my cock sinks inside of.”
“You haven’t always?” I ask, my lips twitching into a small smile.
He waits for a breath, then I hear him chuckle. “Honesty, right?”
“Honesty,” I agree.
“No, I haven’t always had control. I could blame the booze. I could blame the drugs. I could blame a lot of things, but in all honesty, sex with as many women as I wanted, as often as I wanted, in every single town we stopped in. It was thrilling. It was easy.”
“Sounds perfect,” I mumble.
He snorts. “It was lonely, and there was one girl that I couldn’t get out of my head, no matter where or who I was with.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Do it, then.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll prove it true, Hutton. Every word of it. You’re mine, not because you’ve been mine for a decade, but because I choose you and I choose to want to be with you. I want this more than anything else. I’m sorry that I lost track of the days. I’m sorry that I didn’t text you back. I’m sorry.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I inhale a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay. I forgive you, Beaumont. I choose you, too, and I’m choosing to believe you, please don’t make a fool out of me,” I practically beg.
“Never,” he hisses. “Swear it, Hutton.”
FRAUD: An Unfit Hero Novel Page 17
