“Okay.” I don’t know what to say to that. I am who I am, what I am, a farmer who can sing a bit and write songs, which wasn’t good enough for him in the first place.
“So, the contract?” Jeremy opens a drawer in his desk, flipping through folders just like I thought he’d have. Each one contains someone’s dream, and he keeps them filed away like paper airplanes that’ll never fly, never feel the rush of air, never come crashing back down to Earth painfully crunched and broken.
Dramatic much, asshole?
He finds the one with my name on it, pulling it out. “Here we go. Are you ready to sign? NCR Records is ready to be your new home, Bobby. I think we can make some beautiful music together.”
Cheese spillage, aisle three. How many people has he said that to? How many of them actually bought it?
I stare at the contact, the black dots of the words marching around like ants on the white paper. Signing it feels so final, like the end of something instead of the beginning. Putting my John Hancock on that page is the nail in the coffin for me and Willow, an acknowledgement that it’s over, and the end of Bobby Tannen, farmer. Once I sign, I’ll be Bobby Tannen, country singer.
It’s what I’ve always wanted, what I’ve dreamed of. So why does it feel so empty?
Jeremy holds out a pen that I don’t take. “Can I read it over again? You told me to have a lawyer look at it, and I’m afraid to say I never did. Once you said that stuff about Willow, I never thought I’d be sitting here. So, I should probably do some due diligence so we both know what we’re getting into.”
A look of disappointment flashes through Jeremy’s eyes, so quick it’s gone in an instant. He leans forward, elbows on his desk. “Sure, good thinking. I like that you’re not just another pretty face.”
I have never been called pretty. Handsome, attractive, fuckable . . . sure. Pretty? No.
“Let’s do this. We’ll get you a room so you can rest and get cleaned up. I’ll send a car by and we’ll hit the Bar again tonight. You can listen to other folks, or I can arrange for you to sing if you’d like? You have any new songs? I can set you up with Miller again. I know you liked working with him.”
I agree woodenly, the contrast to his excitement obvious. It should be the other way around. He’s the pro who should be no-big-deal about another contract, and I’m the newbie who should be jumping for joy at his dream coming true. But I don’t have it in me.
I watch a kid play guitar like a demon has possessed his fingers on the stage at the Bar. His voice is good, but his playing is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Kid can’t be more than nineteen, blond and sweet-looking, but you can tell the music infects him like it does me. He’s exciting to watch.
“He’s good,” I murmur to myself. Jeremy hears me loud and clear.
“You like him? We could see if he’s interested in a guitarist position for your band. I don’t usually pull guys who want to be solo acts, but his vocals would be a good contrast to yours. I’ll get his name and see if he has representation yet.”
All that because I said the kid’s good.
After that, I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t get on stage at the Bar that night. The demon in my gut is screaming loudly, wanting the outlet desperately, but I’m afraid I’ll slit myself open too wide and let everything I’m feeling leak out. Vulnerable is one thing, completely and utterly defenseless quite another.
Miller is already booked, so I have the whole day to myself. Jeremy tried to fill the time with sightseeing tours, as if a trip to the Country Music Hall of Fame is going to keep me in town. He even mentioned getting me a personal tour guide if I wanted. I felt like that was a roundabout way of asking if I needed any company.
I angrily turned him down outright, telling him I’d take the day to write and have something new for Miller tomorrow.
That had appeased him, both that I’m feeling creative and that I’m not leaving town.
Hours later, I’m stuck. This song had poured forth initially, angry, fresh lines of pain, but it needs resolution and I don’t have one. Not for the song, not for myself.
I look around the hotel room. That first trip out here, it’d seemed fancy—a sign that I was on my way, that I was going to make it big.
Now, it seems so temporary. Like everything else.
Nothing about this contract deal, this dream feels the way I thought it would. It’s not as awesome as I thought it’d be. It doesn’t feel exciting and happy. It feels . . .
Meaningless without Willow.
Fuck, I even miss my asshole brothers and the Bennetts. I miss nightly cornhole tournaments and Shayanne’s pot roast putting us on edge to figure out what she’s up to this time.
I look at the room service menu, searching for pot roast for even a small taste of home. But there’s nothing that unsophisticated on the list of dinner options. It’s all filet mignon and haricots verts. A quick Google search tells me that’s steak and green beans, so why don’t they just say so? Even room service isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I let the boredom distract me, staring out the window at the lights for a while and watching some stupid television show where I don’t even know what’s happening.
I send Brutal a text.
Me: Hey asshole. You check the east pasture?
Brotherly talk for I miss you, are you okay doing your work and mine? It takes a long fifteen minutes for him to respond.
Brutal: Yep. East and did two rows on the southern end too.
Translation, I’m fine. You do what you need to because I’ve got you covered.
Me: Good work.
I love you.
Brutal: Head in the game, man.
I love you too.
I take his words and his meaning to heart. I have work to do and need to stay focused. This isn’t a done deal, for me or Jeremy. At any moment, he could decide that wining and dining me isn’t worth his time if I’m not signing that dotted line. So I’d better make sure he still wants me and all that I bring to the table.
I sit on the couch, pulling the coffee table over and re-reading the lyrics I’ve written so far. I pick up the pen, painfully ripping my soul open to let it pour onto the page.
Gave you everything, I was yours.
Took your heart because you were mine.
Standing in the tatters that you left behind,
I still love you.
“Holy shit, Bobby. That’s . . . Wow!” Miller breathes out with a wide smile.
The song is slow, plucked chords resonating around notes held until my voice breaks. Until I break.
Miller looks at Jeremy, who’s standing over him like a hawk. “We’ll do another take to be sure, but I think we got it in one.”
Jeremy laughs, jabbing the intercom button. “Goddamn, kid. I guess what they say is true . . . a broken heart is the best inspiration! You’re going to be a big hit. You’re the real deal, Bobby.”
“Play it back again. Let me hear it,” he tells Miller. I join them in the booth. The speakers are better in here.
The playback starts, and I hear myself, every note full of pain and heartbreak. Jeremy shakes his head. “Damn, that’s good. I can’t believe she actually did it. She didn’t seem strong enough, figured she’d be hanging on your coattails as long as she could.”
He laughs like he said something funny.
“What?”
I have no idea what Jeremy is talking about, but a stone has settled in my stomach. Something’s wrong, my instincts yell.
“The girl . . . what was her name? Willa? Winnie? The blonde with glasses.” He makes circles with his fingers, laying them over his eyes like glasses.
“Willow?” I growl. “When did you talk to her?”
Jeremy must sense the danger zone he’s stumbled into because he stammers, his smile fading quickly. “Uh, that first night I heard you play. She was behind the bar, and I asked her who you were.”
That rings false, even though I know that happened. There’s more,
I can feel it in his need to back away from this conversation.
“And then?”
Jeremy finds his balls, tucked up somewhere in those khaki pants. “Well, you couldn’t very well expect me to let a talent like yours go without a fight. I came back out there to track your ungrateful ass down. The girl—”
“Willow,” I correct.
He rolls his eyes dismissively, “Fine . . . Willow didn’t seem to know about your turning the deal down. She seemed to think I didn’t offer you one. I told her what you’d done and she said she’d take care of it for you. I didn’t figure she had it in her. Girl like that, and a guy like you, she had to know it was only a matter of time for you to realize you could do better.” He scoffs like that’s an obvious conclusion when it’s anything but. He even smiles like we’re good ol’ boy buddies and he’s not the asshole who fucked up my life.
Red slashes across my vision and my fist flies through the air before I even intentionally make a fist.
Pop!
Jeremy’s jaw makes a loud sound as the punch lands. It’s a good thing those teeth are all cemented in or I would’ve knocked one or two out.
I grab his shirt, twisting it in my fist and lifting him up.
“You manipulative son of a bitch. You had no right! I made my choice and you fucked it up.” I’m yelling in Jeremy’s face, which has gone pale, spitting out the pain he caused, raging with the sharp loss again as though it’s new and fresh, not days old.
Miller touches my arm. “Let’s all calm down here. Take a breath, man.” He’s using some soothing, chanting voice I haven’t heard from him before. He must have experience talking down crazed musicians because shockingly, it works.
All the puzzle pieces click together in an instant.
The most important of which is . . .
She’s mine and I fucking lost her.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I drop Jeremy to the floor, running toward the door. I don’t stop by the hotel, don’t need any of that shit. I need to get home.
Now.
Hang on, Willow. I’m coming for you, sweetheart. And we’ve got some shit to get straight right the fuck now.
Number one, you’re mine.
Number two, I’m yours.
Number three, nothing else matters.
Chapter 25
Bobby
I drive all night, fueled by endless energy drinks and total terror. I can only imagine what Jeremy must’ve said to her. That’s what was wrong, why she pulled away from me and told me to go to Nashville. She knew I’d turned Jeremy down for her, and for some damn reason, she thought sending me away and running back to the city was what needed to happen.
His cocky predator’s grin, enjoying breaking her heart, flashes in my head. Her face falling in hurt shock. I create scenarios again and again of how that conversation might’ve gone and get angrier with each replay.
How did I miss this?
Because while Jeremy fucking Marshall deserved that punch, the person who should be getting his ass kicked is me. I was the one who fucked it up by not being honest with her. I ruined it. I didn’t protect her.
Instead, she protected me. From myself.
Fuck that.
I’m going home, gonna grab her by that sweet little ass, kiss the fuck out of her, and show her what love is. For the rest of our lives, if she’ll let me.
Don’t give up on me. Surrender to us. Nothing else matters outside the world we create.
I finally make it back to Great Falls and Hank’s late on Thursday afternoon, my hand still aching from punching Jeremy. I’ve driven straight through and feel like hell, but I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop until I made it to Willow. The gravel in the lot crunches under my boots as I stride toward the door, my heart frozen in my chest.
“Willow!” I yell over the door’s creak.
Inside, my eyes adjust from the sunlight, and I see a few faces looking at me in shock from the sudden and loud entrance. The customers don’t matter to me, and I run for the bar, looking for her.
She’s not there.
Hank calmly and casually sets his Louisville Slugger on the bar, a quiet threat. “You’ve got a lotta nerve showing your face in here. Think you’re some big-shot deal now? Come to rub our faces in your record deal while I’ve been here cleaning up the mess you left behind you on your way to Nashville?” The slow drawl is not a sign that he’s calm and casual. It’s designed to give every barbed word accurate aim for maximum destruction. He succeeds, and my heart bleeds out into my chest, making it tight enough to choke me.
The mess I made? I would’ve never left if she hadn’t left me!
Fury boils up. He’s standing between me and Willow and I can’t allow that. I don’t want to hit Hank, so I do something more difficult than relaxing my clenched hands. I search for words. “She told me to go! Said she was going back home to the city! I didn’t know Jeremy had told her fuck-knows-what about the deal.”
He eyes me, cool as a cucumber for a long second where he holds my fate in his hands.
“Fuck!” I roar but immediately deflate, all my fight draining away until I’m nothing but an empty shell. “I didn’t know. I turned it down for her. I love her.”
Hank releases his grip on the bat and rests his hands on the bar. He doesn’t even have a bandage on the cut from the screwdriver anymore. It’s healed over. I don’t think this gash in my heart will ever heal, though. It’s too deep, too wide.
“All that girl ever did was love and support you,” he tells me, blue eyes narrowed as he studies me like he doesn’t get what she sees in me. “You ever see her do one single thing for herself? No,” he scoffs, “that ain’t who Willow is. She’s got the prettiest, kindest, most giving heart I’ve ever seen. She’s a damn angel, and you . . .” He gives up on that description, just growling at me instead. I’ve never felt like less of a man, less worthy of even breathing the same oxygen as Willow than I do right now.
“I know! I don’t deserve her, but fuck, I want her. I love her,” I repeat uselessly, sagging to the closest barstool.
Every eye in the place is watching me fall apart. I don’t give a shit. They’re gonna see way worse if I don’t get her back. This is the beginning of my end.
Ironically, I feel like the one person I never understood. My dad. He was ugly, mean, raging at the world, and empty inside after Mom died. Now I understand all too well because I could burn everything down, myself included, and it would be a relief to stop this sharp, never-ending pain. The only cure is her or death. And if she’s not an option . . .
I slam my fist to the bar. The thunderous sound echoes through the room, which has gone utterly still and quiet.
Hank hollers to the people, waving a hand dismissively. “Go on about your business and leave us to ours.” Their heads drop back to their plates, but you can be damn sure they’re still peeking up to watch the show.
Quieter, just between us, he confides slowly, “She left her whole life behind to come here and take care of my grumpy, grudge-holding ass because that’s who she is.”
He looks at me pointedly, and moments fall into place in my cloudy mind. I realize what he’s saying by not saying it. Just as quietly, I ask, “You okay?”
He dips his chin. “Getting there. But this ain’t about me, it’s about you. Willow told you to go, did that for you, you dumbass. She shoved a knife in her own gut, broke her heart and yours, so that you could have the dream she knew you wanted. Because that’s what she does . . . everything for everybody else. She dips into her own soul and scoops it out so everything around her is damn near glittery with her shine.”
I nod morosely. “I know.” He makes a snorting sound of disbelief, and I find the balls to look him in the eye and repeat stronger, “I know.”
“I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one person who would see what she does and take care of her for a change. Lord knows, I haven’t had the energy to. I’m as bad as you are—take, take, take. At least I had a respectab
le reason.”
The judgement is clear. I’ve lost Hank’s respect. But I’ll earn it back the same way I’ll earn Willow back. By doing whatever it takes.
“Where is she?” I beg.
“Gone,” he sighs. “Went home to her parents.”
“Tell me where. Please.”
Following the directions my phone calls out, I turn through street after street. It’s not as big as Nashville, but there’s so much of everything. The sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming.
How could she have left this when I know what it all means to her? This is the foundation of her work and what she’s always known.
On the other hand, how could she have left Great Falls? It’s beautiful in its own quiet way. I know she sees that because it’s reflected in her photography. Oh, yeah, I’ve been creeping on her blog like an addict looking for a fix. I damn near jacked off to a picture of her ankles the other day because I could imagine my hands working their way up from those bony bits to the lush, firm muscles of her legs and the heaven between them. But I’d forced myself to keep scrolling, needing more and more of her, wanting to know where she’d been that day, what she’d done, and who she might’ve seen. And the way she captures my hometown is truly special.
How could she leave that? And Hank? It sounds like he still needs her.
Most of all, I fucking need her!
“You have arrived at your destination,” the phone drones. I pull into the driveway of the single-story house in the middle of a suburban street. This is definitely Willow’s house.
All the other ones are white, beige, bland and nondescript to the point of being interchangeable. This house is blue with pale yellow shutters, a standout in sea of blah, just like Willow. The yard is pristine, a lush green lawn and flower beds with layers of shrubbery and flowers. That must be her dad’s doing. And the house numbers are modern, skinny metal but inlaid in a mosaic tile backing. Her mom’s artistic touch?
Rough Country (Tannen Boys Book 3) Page 33
