I toss my lukewarm Natty Boh into a metal barrel and turn away from the bonfire roaring away, illuminating the field party in full swing. The giggling drunk girls, the hollers from the beer pong table, the shouts from my football brothers all tell me this isn’t the place to look for my girl.

As the jumble of voices fall away, the sweet twang of an acoustic guitar fills the air. The melody is one I know well, and when a voice joins the strumming a moment later, the famous country song takes on a different meaning; a newness that breathes life into it again.

I’m not surprised. Autumn Hartman always has a way of surprising you, guitar or not.

Autumn’s rich mahogany hair falls down across her tanned cheek as she sits in the back of my pickup truck, feet dangling over, acoustic guitar in her lap. Her practiced fingers are nimble as they slide up and down the strings. Her raw, unrehearsed style has drawn a crowd, and I have to weave my way through the awestruck throng before taking my normal spot up front.

Cheers mingle with the applause that follows the last few notes of her beautiful voice. The attention brings a shy smile to Autumn’s pink lips as she nods her thanks. I can tell a few guys are circling her, so I shield my best friend from their attention. Like I always do.

“Good song,” I call out, breaking away from the pack. The two guys fall back when they see me, retreating with the rest of the partiers heading back to the bonfire. I motion to the pickup truck behind Autumn. My truck, to be exact. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

“Maybe I like having a bit of home under me when playing for a crowd,” she says in that honeyed drawl. My pulse quickens as she calls something of mine home.

I plant my palms on the cold metal of my flatbed and pull myself up, swinging my legs off the side like hers. “I’ll expect fifty percent of your dough.”

She scowls. “Ten.”

“Forty. Can’t be giving you free gigs.”

Her shoulder glides into mine. “And how will I pay this forty percent, Mr. Hill? I ain’t got money, Bry.”

I jostle her back. “I’ll wait until you’re rich and famous. With interest.”

“Ha! I’d settle for being famous.”

“So you don't want the money?”

Her fingers strum the guitar in one long chord. “I just wanna play. I don’t care about the money so much, as long as I get to sing.”

I laugh. “I don’t know what scares me more: your idealism or blind passion.”

A line appears across the bridge of her straight nose. “And why are those bad?”

“Because passion may get you where you wanna go, but idealism will sink you. I’m only looking out for you,” I add when annoyance flashes across her face.

“And now you’re leaving me and this town for the unknown. I still can’t believe you turned down playing for Vanderbilt. That’s gotta be a first.”

I tense. We’ve had this argument before. “Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you love it.”

“Says Mr. MVP two years in a row.”

“Autumn…”

“Okay! I’ll stop being a nag. But I’m going to miss you at all my shows, not like you can really call them that, but still… It’s been nice to know that one person will show up.” Autumn smiles that radiant smile that always makes my chest ache. Though this time it looks a little forced. “So, when do you leave?”

“A week,” I mutter. I’m full of regret that I won’t be there for my best friend to help her get her music out there. I should be the one driving her to gigs and cheering her on and watching over her night after night as she takes Nashville by storm like she’s bound to.

But I won’t be. I can’t.

“Lordy.” A frown tugs down her lips. “And you’re sure this is what you want? To enlist?”

“Fastest way to the SEALs. Getting selected was a breeze compared to a life of football.”

“Right. Cool.” Autumn swings her legs back and forth in the humid night air. I should say something, anything to make her smile again, but I’m at a loss. But then I feel her hand on mine. “Are you scared?”

“I’m prepared,” I say automatically, trying not to focus on how soft her skin.

“I know, but you can also be scared.” I stiffen as she leans into me, her alluring rose perfume filling my nostrils. “I won’t tell nobody.”

I am. I’m afraid of losing touch with you, of missing moments like these.

“I’m fine.”

Except I’m not.

I tighten my hold on her slender fingers as I fight the urge to draw away. “But I did want to talk. About us.”

Everything gets harder the moment those doe-like eyes fix on me.

“Nothing’s gonna change between us. I promised I’d write you every day.”

“I know, Hartman, and that’s why I need to get this out now. Before I go away and before the next few months happen.” I look down at my hand, linked over hers. “I lied back there, I am afraid. I’m afraid of losing you before you’re…you’re mine.”

Her brow furrows as she leans into me. “I’m your best friend and always will be.”

Being so close to her makes every cell of my body scream to get away. To get away while I’m still in control. But I need to tell her.

Truth is I can’t stand being just friends with Autumn. If the mere thought of her with another man hurts, then the reality of not making her mine will kill me. My heart belongs to her. Now it’s time to see if her heart could belong to me.

“I don’t mean friends, Autumn. I mean—”

“There she is!”

Autumn and I look up as a booming voice rings out across the grass. Every muscle in my body tightens as the lanky form of Bart Gady staggers over to us. He stops a few feet from my tailgate, sways, and fixes his cloudy eyes on Autumn.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he slurs. He flashes a goofy, lopsided grin that makes me want to slap it off his face. It has the opposite effect on Autumn.

Her entire body melts in his presence, like he’s the second coming of Christ. I can already tell this is headed in a bad direction, but this time, I won’t be able to stop her.

“I’ve been here all night,” Autumn breathes, clearly not phased by Bart’s tomcat reputation, “strumming away.”

Bart glances at the guitar on my flatbed and smirks. “You’re so cute, Hartman.”

I wait for Autumn to correct him—Hartman is a nickname reserved for me—but she doesn’t. She is entranced, as though she can’t believe Asheville Central’s quarterback is talking to her.

Bart leans in and plants his hands on my truck, caging her in. She lets go of my hand as she’s forced to lean back.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he whispers, loud enough for a deaf person to hear. The stale, yeasty scent of too many cheap beers clings to his letter jacket. He glances over at me. “Alone.”

“Can it wait?” she asks. “I was in the middle of something.”

Bart stares at her the same way he stared at his teammates when we disagreed with one of his plays. “No.”

Maybe she’ll make the right decision here. Maybe she’ll tell the creep to get lost before I have to—

My hope dies when Autumn shrugs. All I get is a quick glance before she makes her choice. “If it won’t take long… Then I guess…”

This isn’t the first time I’ve been pushed aside by my friend the moment some jerk shows interest in her, but it’s the first time I’ve cared and felt the keen pain that follows the slight.

I slap my hands onto the metal bed and launch myself off the back of my truck.

“Bry, where ya going?” Autumn calls. “This won’t take long!”

I lock eyes with the only girl that I gave a damn about. “Are you sure about that…Hartman?”

Red blossoms up her neck and pools in her cheeks. “I don’t—”

Whatever half-truth she’s about to tell is cut off as Bart loops his arm around her shoulders and reels her in.

“Come on, babe,” he says with that infamous smirk, “what I have to say can’t wait.”

Disgust boils inside me as she looks up at him in surprised awe. I fight the urge to tell her that Bart only wants one thing from her, and it ain’t hearing about her dreams to move to Nashville. That Bart won’t be there in two months when he realizes Autumn’s not some quick lay or that I saw him climbing out of the back of his Jeep with Heather Younge twenty minutes ago.

Bart’s voice floats over to me as he leads Autumn toward the bonfire. “Did I tell you about my game against Greensboro High this season?”

Autumn shakes her head and giggles. “No, but I’d love to hear it.”

I tell myself I shouldn’t care as I watch them edge toward the mass of drunk seniors. Autumn’s a big girl and can take care of herself.

But all rational thought evaporates the second Bart hooks a finger under Autumn’s chin, raises her stunned face to his, and plants his lips on hers.

Blood roars in my ears. Red flashes before my eyes. My heart hemorrhages in my chest and dies. I turn on my heel and stalk over to my pickup. With shaking hands, I dig out my keys from my jeans, wrench open the door, and climb in. As I gun the engine, the bonfire, Autumn, and Bart fucking Gady fade into nothing.

Today is the last day that I let myself want a woman who doesn’t want me back. Starting tomorrow, I’m a new man. I’m waking up, packing my bags, and putting Asheville and this shit behind me. Tomorrow, I start my new life.

And Autumn Hartman’s not in it.