In the dark, I squeeze Mama Louise’s supportive hand back, steeling myself. I can’t let tonight be about me. I’ll celebrate with Bobby and his family, feigning blissful unawareness of the impending train coming down the tracks to run me over. I’ll pretend that a girl like me—the quiet, awkward outsider who’s forgettable—really can get it all. The career, the guy, the family, the friends.
The front door opens and swings shut. Bobby’s deep voice calls out, “I know you’re in here. I could smell the chicken from the front porch.”
Cooper flips the light on and we all yell in unison, “Congratulations!”
“Surprise!”
Oops, guess Sophie and James didn’t get the memo on what we were supposed to say because they’re looking around in shock. Cindy Lou decides it’s a perfect time to let out a wail of displeasure at the loud ruckus.
Bobby smiles, though. “Thanks, everyone. You didn’t have to do all this for me.”
Mama Louise lets go of my hand and rushes him. She reaches up to his neck and he bends down to hug her. “Oh, hush, you know good and well that we’re as excited as can be for you.”
When she steps back, his smile looks a little frayed and his dark eyes are tortured. Unbidden, my feet step forward. I need to ease the furrow line between his brows, smooth it out with a gentle caress. He needs to know that it’s okay to celebrate his good fortune, that I understand what this means to him. And to us.
I can see the moment he realizes I’m here. His expression goes stormy and he covers the few feet between us in three strides. He scoops me into his arms, hugging me tightly. “Willow. Fuck, sweetheart. I missed you.” He holds me like he’s already lost me, like he wants to absorb me into him and take some small part with him.
I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing him in and feeling his solidness against me. I memorize him, knowing this will be the last moment where it all seems okay. This will be the memory I pull out at night when my heart is breaking from seeing another headline claiming country sensation Bobby Tannen is dating some country pop star.
“Language,” Mama Louise whispers, but it seems to be out of habit.
“I missed you too,” I murmur against his skin, pursing my lips to lay a small kiss there too. An invisible mark only I’ll know is forever there.
“Tell us all about it while we eat. I’m starving,” Brody orders. “While you’ve been out gallivanting, we’ve been doing actual labor, you know.” He’s giving his brother shit. It’s how they say ‘I love you’ in their own gruff way. Bobby has told me how much Brody went through to keep their family together, so having one on the verge of leaving the flock must be hard, even if it’s a sign that they’re all doing well.
“Yeah, okay. But first, there’s something I need to say.”
Bobby grinds his teeth together, the muscle in his jaw working overtime. Tension works its way through his body in an instant as he stands tall. Even his hands fist at his sides. He looks as though he’s going to battle, warring with invisible forces that only he can see.
“This weekend was . . . well, I’ll tell you all about it, but you need to know . . . I didn’t get the contract.”
Three, two, one. Silent shock lasts an entire three seconds while we wait for him to shout ‘gotcha’ or laugh at the joke. When he doesn’t, the reactions are slow to come as the truth sinks in.
“What?” Mama Louise breathes.
“Those fucking idiots!” Brody snaps. And for once, Mama Louise doesn’t correct his language.
“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Shayanne snarls, instantly riled up in her brother’s defense.
I touch Bobby’s arm and he looks down at me. “I’m so sorry, Bobby.”
His nod is stiff, then he hugs me again, even tighter than the first one. I rub my hand along the muscles of his back soothingly. “So sorry,” I murmur again.
He sniffs once, and as if nothing happened, he straightens both his face and his back. “Like I said, I’ll tell you about the weekend. It was good.” He shrugs. “Just didn’t work out.”
“Let’s sit down so we can eat while it’s still hot,” Mama Louise instructs.
Bobby ducks under the Congratulations sign Cooper spent all afternoon making, taking the time to point at it and give the kid a fist bump of appreciation, but no other mention is made of its now-inappropriate message.
We move to the long table on the back porch. The light strands dangling from the rafters look festive, as though this is the party we thought we were going to have.
“Mama, think I’m gonna need a beer with dinner tonight. Anyone else?” Mark says gruffly.
Hands lift around the table, and Mark and Katelyn hand out drinks. Beer to some, wine coolers to others, and a bottle of root beer to Cooper.
Everyone passes serving platters around the table, and Bobby tells Mama Louise, “Thanks for dinner. Making all my favorites is a real nice touch.” His plate is piled with fried chicken, fried okra, green beans made with bacon, thick macaroni and cheese with bread crumb topping, and a buttered biscuit.
Mama Louise nods, macaroni-filled fork in her hand as she tells him, “Best get on with it.”
Bobby shovels two bites in first, delaying the inevitable. I want to kiss him so he doesn’t have to tell this story. I don’t want him to relive the pain of his dream not coming true, especially when we thought it was such a sure thing.
As we eat, he tells us about the trip.
“The first meeting was weird. Big ol’ fancy office and a whole group talking about me like I was a loaf of bread on sale.” His laugh is forced, but we pretend not to notice. “The show, though, was awesome. I sang several songs, including a new one I wrote this weekend.”
His eyes turn to me. I could fall into their depths, swim in the darkness there, and not even miss the sun and moon if I were surrounded by him. Click.
“You’ll have to play the new one at Hank’s,” Brutal says. “Hank says he’s got the stage all warmed up for you this Saturday.”
“Good to know I’ve still got a place I can sell out.” There’s no snark in the comment. It mostly sounds sad, resigned that the life he had before is what he’s returning to. He was happy then, but it’s hard to have a dream served up on a silver platter only to have it snatched away. I’m sure it makes your life seem less-than in the aftermath comparison.
Bobby continues as if giving a book report, dry and flat. “I recorded a bunch of songs with Miller, a producer. They sounded great. And I did a photo shoot with Rory. He said I was a natural, and I told him I’d had some recent practice modeling.” Bobby’s wink my way is the onstage one, fake and practiced.
“Then I met with the team again. They talked about feedback and perceptions, and to make a long story short, it wasn’t a good fit. I wasn’t a good fit with what they’re looking for, so there’s no deal.”
Even though I knew that’s how this story ended, his words are a knife to my gut. I can’t believe it. What more could they have possibly wanted? Bobby is amazing on stage, a talented singer and songwriter, and gorgeous to boot. There’s no way they could find anyone better than him.
I’m not the only one stuck on disbelief, with several other heads shaking around the table.
“How about here? What’s been going on?” Bobby is blatantly changing the subject, obviously done with the previous one.
“We did a photo shoot with Willow!” Shayanne blurts.
I freeze, jaw dropping because I think she’s talking about the boudoir shots, and that’s not a conversation I want to have now, or ever. Especially in front of Mama Louise.
Shayanne glares at me pointedly.
Oh! The other pictures. The perfectly reasonable portrait ones.
“Yeah, they ambushed me at Hank’s and Unc actually gave me the evening off.” I tell him about Unc yelling at the whole bar, making the customers wait on themselves so he didn’t have to move, and how Olivia had bolted to see Hannah before we went to my house for the photo shoot.
I leave out any and all mention of the second round of photos.
After dinner, we take our lemon meringue pie out into the yard. James starts a fire in the firepit and Cooper mouths about beating everyone at cornhole. We eat and watch, Bobby making no move to play in tonight’s tournament or engage in the friendly teasing the rest of the guys dish out. I stay at his side, hoping my presence is a comfort, easing the pain of disappointment.
Earlier than usual, Bobby takes my hand. “I’m beat, guys. Think we’ll turn in.”
As we walk around the house, he pauses and calls back, “Thanks for tonight. It means a lot to know you’ve all got my back, no matter what.” He swallows thickly as if that was hard to say.
The truck ride across the field to the Tannen house is quiet. Bobby seems lost in his thoughts, and I’m supporting him silently, letting him lead the conversation wherever he needs it to go. Or not go.
In the house, he guides me to the upstairs bathroom and starts to strip. Taking the cue, I do too, and by the time I’m nude, he’s got the water hot and the bathroom steamy. He holds the curtain back for me to step inside first.
The water is scalding along my back, but I don’t move to change it. Instead, I pull him to me, sharing the small space beneath the spray with him. My hands dance over his skin, soaping away the weekend, the disappointment, the shards of his dream, letting it wash down the drain with the suds.
“It’s okay. It was an experience. One you’ll never forget,” I whisper into the steam between us.
His head hangs, water running in rivulets down his face from his hair. There are even water droplets caught in his dark lashes, but he doesn’t blink them away. “I know. I just thought . . . maybe this time, I could be . . .”
He can’t find the words, but I feel like I know what he means.
“Shh, it’s okay.” I reach my thumb up to his lips, swiping away any criticism of himself he was going to voice. “You’re amazing, you’re home, and you’re happy here. Farming, family, singing, and writing songs.”
I pause, knowing that earlier tonight, I was selfishly and greedily wanting him to stay, wishing he wouldn’t leave me for something better on the road. But now that it’s really happening, all I feel is sad for him. I would give anything to make his dream come true.
“Me. I’m right here with you, Bobby. And I love you.”
He growls harshly, “I love you too.”
And though his words are gruff and his movements sure as he spins me and pins my back to the shower wall, his thrusts are gentle as he enters me. I’m ready for him. I’m always ready for him.
He drives into me in waves, slow and rolling. I lift my leg around his hip, making more room for him, begging him to go deeper. I want him everywhere—inside my entire body the way he’s in my entire heart.
We come quickly, having missed each other in the few days apart. As he comes, his eyes stay wide open, locked on me as he grunts my name over and over. “Willow . . . Willow . . . Willow.”
We fall into his bed, naked and still damp. I run my fingers through the hair on his chest, petting him to sleep and enjoying the way his fingertips dance along my back in a different pattern. I wonder if it’s the new song he wrote and can’t wait to hear it. And though our arms and legs are tangled up in each other, our hearts are even more entangled as we fall asleep. Click.
Long after Bobby’s breathing slows into sleep, I stay awake. I feel like I’ve run an emotional marathon tonight, from self-pity to sadness to joyful hope to sorrow. But we can be okay, I vow. Somehow, I’ll make this okay for him, not getting the deal and staying here with me and his family. I’ll love him through the disappointment and bring smiles to every single day I get with him. He deserves that. He deserves everything.
Chapter 20
Bobby
“Goddamn it, pay attention or you’re gonna take out a whole fucking tree!” Brutal bellows, his voice echoing through the row. The row I’m not remotely close to hitting with the Gator.
I spin around, doing a doughnut before aiming the vehicle toward the far side of the plot we’re checking. So far, it’s looked great. No bugs, good growth, and better than average production.
All of which should put me in a good mood. But I’ve been feeling strangled by my own skin these last few days.
I’ve worked, same as always. I’ve gone into town to have dinner with Willow, same as always. I’ve slept at her house, same as always. We’ve made love, same as always. And I’ve left early to get home to start my day all over again, same as always.
It’s exactly what I want, so I should be as happy as a pig in slop.
But there’s something gnawing at me, making me prickly and even more of an asshole than usual. Brutal can feel it, and I know Willow can feel it.
She’s been so sweet, comforting me through the ‘loss’ of my dream by telling me how amazing I am, that Jeremy will regret not signing me, and that another opportunity will come along. I feel like shit taking her kindness when it’s based on a lie, but I can’t tell her the truth.
The sour-tongued truth is, I’d do anything for you.
“Shit! Pull over,” Brutal orders. He’s pointing at a particular tree with one hand and hanging on to the dash with the other as I squeal to a stop. Well, the Gator would’ve squealed if I wasn’t on moist grass. But the irrigation keeps everything watered, so it’s more of a power slide that sends us forward in our seats before popping us back.
Brutal’s huff is one of annoyance, a sound that might as well be the soundtrack to my life given how many times I’ve heard it. He hops out and plucks a pear from the tree he indicated.
“I forgot Mama Louise asked for one of these. Run it up to her, will ya? I’ll check this row and the next till you get back.” He puts the green pear in the cup holder on the dash, knowing full well it won’t stay there with the way I normally drive this thing.
“Sure thing. Back in a few,” I say, spinning out again to head toward the house.
I swear I hear Brutal yell out, “Take your time, asshole.”
The Gator races across the land, bumping and catching a tiny amount of air as I fly over the acres. The wind blows away my swirling thoughts for a brief moment of respite, the speed making me feel like I’m racing toward something and away from it all at once.
At the main Bennett house, I park out front and bound up the porch, pear in hand. I don’t knock, we’ve been told not to bother, and barge right on in to find Mama Louise.
“Mama Louise?” I yell.
Her head pops around the doorway to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
I can see why she’d think that. We’re busy, working sunup to sundown, and she doesn’t see much of us mid-day. She’s busy too with her own list of chores that keep this place running smoothly. Honestly, her job is probably harder than any of ours. I don’t know how she does it.
“Nothing. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. Brutal said you asked for a pear sample from the back acre. You thinking of doing something with ’em?”
Her brows furrow together, turning the lines on her forehead into grooves. In confusion, she repeats after me, “A pear?”
Comprehension dawns on her face, then mine.
“You didn’t want a pear, did you?” I growl.
Her grin is full of unreleased laughter. “No, can’t say that I did. But I’m guessing you’ve been a bit of grump and Brutal thought a few minutes away from you would be nice.”
She’s as blunt as a battering ram, and I can’t help but argue. “I’m not that bad.”
One of her brows quirks and her lips purse. That’s all the rebuttal she needs. “Follow me.”
She crooks a finger, and I follow her into the kitchen, where she’s grabbing two glasses out of the cabinet.
“Is this the part where you ply me with your special sweet tea to make me spill my guts about what’s got me in a mood?” I know I’m being rude, but I can’t find it in me to tone it down, not even for Mama Louise.
She grabs a
blue pitcher from the refrigerator and fills the glasses, setting one in front of me. “No, it’s not even two o’clock in the afternoon and my special sweet tea is for evening drinking only.”
“It’s so bad, you can only do it in the dark?”
She swats my shoulder, but not angrily. “Filthy boy. Drink that water. You need it after the morning in the field, and if Brutal needs to be clear of you for a few minutes, you’re not sitting around like a bump on a log. You can help me work.”
I grunt but swallow down the cool, refreshing water.
“Good. Follow me,” she orders again, and like a good dog, I do.
Outside, her garden is thick and lush. She’s definitely got a green thumb, gifted with getting things to grow tall and hardy. Like her sons. Like us Tannens, even though we were full-grown when she pulled us out of our too-small pots and replanted us in richer soil.
“We’re weeding the garden and harvesting anything that looks ready.” All business and no mushy stuff, we get to it.
It’s quiet as we work, and I find myself humming. After a bit, Mama Louise hums along with me, picking up the melody from Dig Down Deeper.
“That one new?” she asks.
She’s broaching the subject carefully, casually, as if I won’t catch on to our conversational topic if she doesn’t spell it out for me in bold, exclamation marked statements like Shayanne is prone to do.
“Yep.” That’s all she’s getting from me, today or any other day.
“It’s pretty.”
I wait for the questions that don’t come—what’s wrong? Why are you grumpy? Wanna talk about Nashville?
The answers—Nothing. Same as always. No.
But we’re silent. I dig into the earth, feeling its cool graininess in my hands. Mama Louise lets me avoid her unasked questions for a long while.
Finally, she’s had enough and stops, resting her dirty hand on her face to shield her eyes from the sun.
“If you’ve gotten so grumpy that Brutal is ditching you, we should probably figure out what we’re doing tomorrow too. You thinking we should can some bourbon carrots or weed the yard? Both gotta get done, so I’ll let you choose.”
Rough Country (Tannen Boys Book 3) Page 28
