FOURTEEN
Fallon
I sauntered through the door of Slick Willy’s later that night, Augusta Belle hot on my heels, her hand wrapped firmly in mine.
Something had shifted after our moment in the truck earlier.
I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but she seemed a little more raw, like she’d been stripped of a few of her shields of armor, and I couldn’t help bein’ a little more tender to that.
I still had questions.
Plenty of emotions, too, but they didn’t seem as important to me as they once were.
There was no changin’ the past, so I was doin’ my best to live in each moment.
And in this moment, I had her.
“Fallon Gentry here for eight,” I said when we’d landed at the bar.
The man nodded toward the corner of the room. A tiny stage barely big enough for one sat waiting, a few dozen scattered chairs and hardly anyone in sight.
“You bother promotin’ this?”
“Not my job.” He shrugged. “Didn’t think Nashville’s golden boy needed promotin’ anyway. Heard you packed the Thorny Cactus. Didn’t figure I needed to—”
I didn’t wait for the rest of his bullshit excuse, only trailed my way among the litter of chairs to get to the stage. “Most of these places have at least a room in back to warm up, but looks like we’re goin’ in cold tonight. Got anything you know off the top of your head?”
“Me?” Augusta Belle dropped my hand and backed away a few steps, head shaking. “I’m not singin’ tonight. I haven’t sung in years.”
“So? Still got the pipes, don’t ya?”
She tilted her head, eyes flaring, and I knew then she’d accepted my challenge.
“I got you, slick.” She narrowed her gaze, pushing past me to step up onstage and adjust the microphone to her height. “You ready?”
One of her eyebrows quirked up. Check. Mate.
“Born ready.” I stepped up beside her and waited as she hummed a few notes into the microphone, eyes darting up to meet mine when a few customers wandered over and took seats.
She had that look in her eye that said she wasn’t sure if she was going to sing her ass off or puke her guts out, that very feeling I lived for—when adrenaline and whiskey mixed—a ride-or-die moment.
Her sweet Southern twang was music to my ears as she sang the opening lines of a June Carter and Johnny Cash song, words about getting married in a wild fever rush.
My heart throttled into a gallop as my fingers took over the familiar notes of the song, her perfect harmonies mixing with the words to create some special blend of magic in that dingy little bar.
I sang my part when it came, her eyes hovering on mine as we turned, singing back and forth about love and pain and all the crazy that comes along with walkin’ hand in hand with someone an entire lifetime.
By the time the song had finished, the tiny bar was nearly packed, new people still coming in off the street as the energy hit record decibels.
I winked at Augusta Belle as the song ended and led her into the next song I knew she’d remember.
A song I’d sung to her more nights than I could count.
I couldn’t let myself think about all the sweet and tender moments of our growing up together, culminating in the night when it was all ripped away from us. I couldn’t think about it, or I’d find myself breaking down on this stage right here and now and askin’ her to give me everything.
All that heartache had made me think some hateful things, the only absolution I could find at the bottom of a dry whiskey bottle.
I wasn’t any different from a lot of the men who loved strong women. That independent fire was what drew me to her, but it also had to keep me ready to let her fly, when that time came.
By the time we’d finished our third song in a row, the crowd was standing room only.
Augusta Belle’s face was lit from ear to ear for the first time since I’d finally set eyes on her sweet self again, and I was just the intoxicated asshole sitting on the sidelines, happy to be in the glow of her sunlight.
It’d been a long damn time since I’d felt the shine of the sun on my face.
I set my guitar down for a moment, reaching for the bottle of beer the bartender had deposited at the side of the stage for me.
A few soft strums of an familiar tune about rendered me speechless.
I spun, eyes focused on my girl, sitting center stage on the stool, my old guitar in her lap.
Her voice, clear and sweeter than a blackbird, echoed through the small room, now standing silently, watching her.
I stepped off the stage, watching them watch her as she crooned the sweet melody of an old Beatles song.
Something inside cracked my heart open, watching her perform up there all by herself.
I couldn’t help thinking how natural she looked.
And where she’d learned to play guitar like that, I couldn’t fathom. She’d only had a basic understanding with a few simple songs I’d taught her before…well, that night.
I gnawed on my bottom lip, feeling the muscles in my body relax one by one as she opened up to the song, sang it slow and sweet, drawing out the end notes like an angel.
How I’d survived without her all these years, I didn’t know.
I certainly hadn’t done a very good job of it. Just a day spent with her proved it.
I sighed, something deep rooting down inside me as she ended the song on a quiet note, then hung her head, eyes casting up at me through her eyelashes with a hesitant smile.
I was so fucking proud of her I wanted to scoop her into my arms and take her back to that hotel room right now.
My rare bird, always poised on the edge, finally ready to fly.
I pushed a hand through my hair, stepping up onstage and passing her the cold beer.
She took a slow sip, then passed my guitar back to me.
I grinned recklessly, a downright happy feeling coming over me for the first time in too long.
“Got any more surprises?” I crooked a grin.
She shrugged one shoulder, the mischievous glint in her eye telling me all I needed to know.
I licked my lips, sliding the other stool up beside her, cradling my guitar in my lap and strumming the first few notes to a song I knew everyone would know.
“Whiskey Girl.”
I’d been dreading performing this one in front of her, certainly hadn’t planned on her being shoulder to shoulder with me when I did.
But I carried on, gave the people the one song they could all sing along to. “It’s not easy to forget, the bitter taste lovin’ you left…”
I caught a glimpse of Augusta Belle, still at my side as I sang the song, tore my soul open, and laid it at her feet.
I’d written this song in the first week she’d been gone, hadn’t even intended for another soul to hear it.
And now here I was, sharing my rawest pain with not just the entire world, but the girl who’d inspired it.
“Always my favorite sin, even when I swore I wouldn’t go back again…”
I held the middle chorus, stretching out the sweet, haunting notes of the guitar longer than they were all used to, something I’d been playin’ with over the last few months. It gave the song more of a “Hotel California” feeling, forlorn and regretful.
It’d matched my state of mind then, but now that she was here, shining her impossibly bright light all over my life, I could help but think it was too much, a wallowing in the pain that was no longer necessary.
I jumped into the final chorus, when the speed picked up and ended on the rousing anthem everyone expected. “Lookin’ for love in the same ole places…”
I ended, for the first time in three and a half minutes forgetting she was hovering at my side.
I cast a glance her way just as the audience erupted into a spray of clapping.
Augusta Belle was wiping at a tear, face racked with so much emotion it felt like I’d laid her wide open for the world to inspect along with me.
I didn’t know what I’d thought, having her come onstage with me tonight. Didn’t know what she thought either, but I should have known better. This world was too mean for a girl like her. Hell, it was too mean for a guy like me.
I didn’t know if I’d end up regretting this night, but I definitely knew it made me feel at home for the first time in all these years on the road. And that was a feeling that’d been long lost on me.
By the time I’d managed to wrest Augusta Belle away from the crowd and out into the cool night, I pulled her hand in mine, hauling her across the small space that separated us. “You doin’ okay?”
Her eyes cast up, moonlight shimmering off her whiskey-rimmed irises. “That song… The way you sang it.” A small shiver raced through her body. “It’s like it brought back everything.”
The way her voice cracked on the last word—everything—had my own heart fallin’ between my boots.
I pushed a hand through my hair, adjusting the guitar on my back before throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her into my space. Right where I liked her.
“We’ve been through a lot,” I admitted softly, nose brushing against the corn-silk wisps of her hair. “Just sorry I shared it with the world is all.”
She shook her head, wiping at another tear. “It’s not that. I’m glad you shared it. You went through so much after I was gone…”
Her steps slowed, body reduced to near tremors as she held her face in her hand and finally let the tears pour.
I enveloped her in my arms, wishing I could take away every ounce of this pain splitting her in two right now.
I’d spent so many years wishin’ for this day to come, I hadn’t stopped to think about what it’d be like if it actually did.
Hell.
Reliving our pasts together felt like a living hell.
Except, before I had whiskey. Now I was too hell-bent on makin’ sure she was okay to even think about the crutch that’d been my constant companion for so many years.
“I missed singing with you, even if I’m not very good,” she offered, trying to lighten the situation.
“You were born to fly, Augusta Belle.” I brushed her silky, damp skin with the pad of my thumb. “Some people never get beyond fearin’ the fall. But never forget that you, my dear, were born with just enough rebel heart to leap and soar.”
Her eyes filled with water all over again, raw emotion spilling over as a soft drizzle of rain somehow wiped away the things clinging to both of us.
“I missed this.” I paused, letting the rain mist around us. “I missed us.”
Before my mind could register a single opinion about it, I ducked my head, pushing my lips softly against hers.
Honey and peaches.
The only thing I could think in the few milliseconds my lips brushed hers was that she still tasted like honey and peaches.
I pulled away, heart clawing its way out of my throat, the burn seared by her lips on mine still sending tingles through my veins.
I interrupted the awkward silence with a soft groan, looking up at the sky just as heavy raindrops began falling.
My fingers ached to slide into hers again, dig my nose into her hair and make sure she was safe from any sorta pain that might be coming, but I couldn’t.
I wasn’t ready.
Our history may have been long buried in the past, but there was a lot of it.
Augusta Belle’s wet fingers threaded through my own then, resting her head on my shoulder. “Let’s go inside, Fallon.”
I swallowed the jagged shards clogging my throat before nodding, taking a moment to place a kiss on her damp forehead before leading her through the double doors of the hotel and up to our room.
As soon as I swung the door open, Augusta was kicking off her shoes and moving across the carpet, eyes on the pillows. She curled up in bed, losing herself in the mountain of covers before peeking out, her silky dark eyes swimming up at me as a soft smile parted her lips. “Thanks for letting me sing with you.” Her grin deepened. “I loved it. I’m surprised how much I loved it. I didn’t even think, I just started singin’ like I always do.”
I sat next to her on the bed, back propped against the headboard, the fingertips of one hand tracing through the waves of her hair. “Surprised me, I’ll give ya that.”
“Didn’t think I could sing?” She curled against my torso, one arm draping across my chest.
“Oh, I knew you could sing. Just didn’t think you could do it onstage.” I paused, remembering the feeling of seeing her up there, singin’ her sweet heart out like a songbird. “Hell, most days I don’t want to do it, but you looked natural.”
Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, eyes fading somewhere far away. “Does that mean you’re gonna let me stay and sing with you tomorrow?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Lookin’ forward to it.”
She paused, fingertips drawing invisible circles around the cotton of my T-shirt before she finally said, “I hated ‘Whiskey Girl’ when it first came on the radio.”
I barked a laugh before stifling it with the back of my hand and replying, “S’that right?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She emphasized both words. “When everyone was singing it on their smuggled MP3 players, I wanted to strangle them each with the headphone cord.” Her eyes fell closed, tense muscles of her angelic face softening. “Then they told me the name of the singer. Fallon Gentry.” She yawned, snuggling a little deeper into my arms. “And then I knew why I hated it. It was about us. I didn’t even wanna come home to the Ridge after that. Mama said the rumor mill was workin’ overtime.” Her voice grew quiet, a little sadder. “I just couldn’t face it all over again.”
I nodded, for the first time understanding the position I’d put her in when I’d signed off on the worldwide release of “Whiskey Girl” to those producers. It’d never been about me. That song was about both of us.
And maybe deep down, even then, I’d known that, and that’s why I’d done it anyway. A misplaced sense of revenge. Or maybe a beacon. Probably both.
Augusta Belle sniffed softly, lips parting as her breaths found a slower rhythm.
My eyes cast around the room, taking in the small place, the lonely bottle of amber liquid the only thing glinting in the silver moonlight.
I groaned, adjusting myself around her slightly, the idea of waking her up at all preventing me from doing anything more.
I licked my lips, mouth watering as I thought about just a small nightcap to put me to sleep.
And then Augusta Belle sighed in her sleep, remindin’ me that right here with her in my arms I was a helluva lot better than I’d been in a while. I licked my lips, mind wandering to that song I’d been working over in my head.
“Wait. Smuggled MP3 players?” My brain finally settled on the new bit of information she’d mentioned. “Where the hell were you, Augusta?”
But by that time, her eyes were already drifting closed, shallow breaths deepening.
I stifled a groan, wondering where in the hell she could have been hiding out ten years ago.
I pushed myself down deeper into the duvet, turning over to wrap Augusta Belle in my arms fully.
A brief smile turned her lips before she breathed sweetly, “I love you, Fallon.”
I fell asleep that night with a heart the size of eastern Tennessee thrumming in my chest, my soul finally quiet now that it’d found its mate again.
Even if the sweet honey scent of her left an afterburn I wasn’t yet willing to brave.