TWENTY-THREE
Fallon
“I graduated a month later, still healing from the child they’d ripped from my body. I smiled, pretending like they hadn’t stolen the only thing precious to me.” Her eyes darted up, flooded with hopeless tears. “I never knew if he had your silky brown eyes or if she had a dusting of my freckles on the top of her nose.”
An ache, deep and dark, burrowed its way into my guts, bitterness rising up in my throat over all that’d happened without me. “I don’t even know what to say.”
She hesitated at my shoulder, eyes glued to mine as if waiting for my response.
I didn’t have one.
I was fucking dumbstruck.
I’d had a lot of punches thrown my way in life, but this one, I’d never seen coming.
“To be honest, Augusta Belle…” My tone was laced with more anger than I’d intended. “I’m having an issue understanding why you didn’t say anything before now.”
“Before now? You mean like, last week? When was I supposed to tell you?”
“I dunno. Woulda expected the mother of my child to track me the fuck down at her earliest convenience, of course.” The sneer hit its mark, her face twisting with a wince.
“You disappeared! Never came back to Chickasaw. How did I know where to find you?”
“Fucking really, Augusta? At that time, everyone knew where to find me. I had TMZ up my ass every goddamn day!”
She locked her lips, eyes flaring with unspeakable anger, a grown-up side to Augusta I hadn’t quite witnessed before that moment.
“If you wanted to find me, you would’ve.” I yanked open the door on the minibar, swiping every tiny bottle of whiskey I could find, uncapping the first and throwing back the numbing shot.
I uncapped the next and did the same, before dumping both empties in the garbage can. I opened the third and final, tossing the top in the garbage and readying to swallow the remainder. “You had my fucking baby”—searing tears stung my eyelids—“and you hid it from me.”
“It wasn’t like that. I was just waiting for the right time.”
“The right time?” I roared, finishing the last bottle of booze and hurling it across the room. It shattered into a thousand tiny shards against the window. Augusta’s own tears were fresh and flowing faster as she ran into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and locking it.
I stood in the silence, hearing her soft sobs on the other side of the door, wondering what the fuck I’d done to deserve all of this.
When Augusta brought the sunshine, it inevitably caused a burn.
My mouth watered as the tingly sensation in my body grew, whiskey workin’ its way through my tired bones.
I suddenly felt every single one of my thirty-three years like a ton of baggage weighing down my shoulders.
With the sound of her tears in the back of my head, I walked on long strides out of the door, down the hallway, and angled for the liquor store down the block I’d spotted on the way in.
I might have been a reformed alcoholic for the last few days, but that shit changed now.
Anticipation rocketed through my veins as I neared the neon, open-all-night signs, steps quickening as the sound of old, moody classic rock songs filtered into my ears.
A dive bar.
Home.
I ventured through the ancient front door, the live music loud as fuck, bass line pumping through my heart like a lullaby. I reached the bar, tapped twice on the sticky varnished wood and ordered two doubles, throwing a fifty in the tip jar as I told them to keep them comin’.
Seven drinks later, I made a decision to stop counting, my muscles finally losing the tension as a new band came onstage, a four-piece set that cranked the bass even louder, everyone in the bar crossing toward the dance floor as they sang about tequila nights.
“They’re good!” a voice called through the chaos, sidling up to my shoulder and making a shiver run down my spine.
Peaches, but spicier. Cinnamon, maybe.
“They’re not bad.” I swallowed the rest of my drink, eyes blurring just a little as I tried to focus on the woman standing at my side.
“You an expert or somethin’?” Her deep drawl was foreign to my ears. The only woman I’d been attuned to had a softer lilt to her twang. Like a bird. My bird.
I tapped the bar, two more doubles required to wash away that memory.
“I’m somethin’,” I finally muttered.
“You got a chip on your shoulder, is that what it is?”
“Wouldn’t be in here if I didn’t, s’pose.”
She, whoever she was, scrunched up her eyes, edging a little closer with her gaze lingering on my lips. “I might be able to help with that.”
I shook my head, taking another shot and clearing the glass. This time, the burn not quite so satisfying as it had been. “Got somethin’ smoother? Top-shelf?”
The bartender shrugged. “That’s as top-shelf as it gets ’round here, buddy.”
I swallowed another gulp, no longer giving a fuck what it tasted like.
Everything hurt right now.
From the inside out, she’d mutilated me.
That was probably why, an hour later, I found myself tucked into a corner booth behind the stage, a new band screaming about hot Southern dreams as the pounding in my head grew to a deafening blast.
Alyvia with an A, and a Y, as she’d earlier announced, was wiggling in my lap, her hands in a lot of places they shouldn’t be as she pretended to rock along with the music while really trying to grind herself against me.
Irritation spiked in my veins, the whiskey no longer doing its job as a dark yearning for more consumed me. Alyvia twisted around, the deep cleavage of her dress repulsing me more than anything else, before her ruby-red lips hovered near mine and then landed.
I didn’t do anything, frozen on the spot as this desperate woman writhed around me, doing her damnedest to seduce me like a Venus flytrap. There was nothing wholesome or sweet about her, and maybe that’s why I fucking liked it.
Adrenaline launched through my system as I sank a hand into her loose waves of dark hair and fisted, arching her neck to one side with enough force to triple the heartbeat at her throat. “You think that kind of shit turns me on?”
Her fingers whispered across my neck, eyes trained on mine as she nearly melted under my hard gaze.
“It’s gonna take a helluva lot more than that to get my dick hard.” I released her, wishing she’d just fucking beat it, leave me to the whiskey and music, but I guessed like attracted like, and I was nothing if not desperate that night.
“Give me a chance?” Her lips touched mine again, leaving some sticky gloss that pissed me off even more. “I can make you feel better.”
My cock finally did throb then, the promise of feeling better a bittersweet one.
Alyvia with an A, and a Y, slithered down under the table, red-tipped nails scratching along the zipper of my jeans as a faux-pout tilted her lips.
Bile rose in my throat.
She adjusted her tits in her dress, no doubt making sure I had a good view, which I did, before she pushed my knees apart and settled between them, huddled on the dirty floor under the table, eyes trying to seduce me.
To play this game with her.
To do the dance where we looked for love in all the wrong places.
I swallowed another painful knife, thinkin’ nothing about this woman, or any woman, would be satisfying to me ever again.
Not after her.
Not after my whiskey girl.
She’d left her mark, inked deeper than any tattoo on my fucking soul.
The only woman’s love I wanted, hell, needed—would ever need—was Augusta Belle’s.
Just as the chick with the faux-pout was about to tackle the buckle of my belt, I shot out of the booth, careful not to hurt her as I pulled her up off the floor, helping her straighten her dress for a minute before cupping her face with my palm, “You’re better than that. We both are.”
And before she could throw her drink all over me, I was halfway across the bar, aiming for the cool night air of Jackson and the hotel where my girl was waiting, cuddled up in bed. Where I could hold her and be the man I should have been a few hours ago.
Shame and guilt ate me up on the few blocks back to the hotel, but I’d had some sort of fucked-up realization in that bar.
I’d take what Augusta Belle and I had on our worst days over any kind of shit I could have with anyone else.
There was no one else.
Never had been.
I’d been loyal from the start, and truth be told, I’d only been devastated at the thought of her keeping something from me for so long when I’d been an open book with her. I’d never had a thing to hide, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hold things close to her heart for her own reasons. That didn’t mean I had a right to take those things away just because I wanted them. Just because I thought I was ready. If anyone knew me better than I did, it was Augusta Belle Branson, and if she was keeping something close, there was probably a reason for it.
I pushed through the doors of the hotel, nodding at the midnight porter as I strode through the lobby, the bittersweet taste the whiskey left on my tongue only made worse when I reached the door of our room, tapping once before waving the keycard and stepping in.
The room was dark.
Every corner silent.
I flicked on the light, striding to the bathroom to find it empty.
My eyes did a quick scan, noticing for the first time that her backpack was gone.
“Fuck,” I breathed, eyes wild as I cast around the room for my keys.
I’d left them on the table near the bed, and now they were gone, replaced by a single note.
Fuck off, Fallon.
“Ah Christ!” I spat, crumpling the note and shoving it down deep in my pocket.
I pushed a hand through my hair, anxiety rocketing up my throat as I slammed through the door and stomped down the hallway, not taking time to wait for the elevator before I bounded down the stairs three at a time.
I reached the lobby, calling across to the porter, “You see a girl leave in a big white truck?”
The porter only grinned, eyes bright as I approached. “She told me you’d ask that, sir.”
I nodded, eyes widening at the knowledge that Augusta Belle had planned this escape ahead of time. “And?”
He grinned again, giving a nonchalant shrug before replying, “She said I shouldn’t tell you a goddamn thing—her words not mine, ’course.”
Anger pummeled through my muscles, my fists clenched as a roar fought its way out of my chest. “She took my fucking truck!”
“She said you’d be mad, said you’d look really scary, and that even if you start cussin’, I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I exclaimed, stalking off across the lobby toward the doors, first light of dawn cracking the horizon in the distance. “You gotta tell me where she’s at, bro. I’ll lose my fucking mind without her. I fucked up, I fucked up bad, and I went out and did some shit I shouldn’t have done. I shoulda been there and held her while she fucking cried, but I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough then, but I am now, man. I swear to fuck, I am now. Just those few hours without her…” I pushed a hand over my eyes, the idea that I’d lost her for good this time finally settling in. “I can’t fucking go through losing her again. You’ve got to understand.” I was back in his face, eyes locking with his. “I love her.”
His eyes flared, a triumphant grin lighting up his entire face. “Ah, she did tell me if you said that, I could tell you.”
My eyes grew wider than fucking crop circles. “She left you with a fucking magic password?”
He nodded, pride growing like he’d actually won, and held up three fingers. “Three of them.”
“Christ.” I shook my head. “Where did she go? Dawn is our special time a’day, and this morning… Well, I’ve got somethin’ to ask her.”
A silly smile bubbled out of him before he pointed out the front door. “She’s just across the street. Came down here cryin’, and my wife loves a new face to chat with, so she brought her home to our house last night for homemade blueberry pie and sweet tea.”
I tilted my head, squinting across the road to the neighborhood of tiny houses he pointed to. “She’s been at your house this entire time?”
He nodded proudly.
“Fuck, well, all right then. Thanks for helping her, I guess.”
“You want to see her?” he asked.
“Uh…” I wasn’t really sure what sorta territory I was in now. “I would.”
He nodded. “My wife is probably already up. She starts her days early, likes to have hot cakes and fresh syrup waitin’ for me when I get off the night shift.”
“She sounds sweet.” I indulged him.
“She is.” He walked around the desk, gesturing me toward the door. “She wasn’t always, but me either. We hung in together, though. Grew up alongside one another. Did my best to hold her in the dark times, and there were a lot of them. Lost our first son to tuberculosis when he was just a baby.”
His admission rocked me, a wave of emotion pushing at my eyelids. “Sorry to hear that.”
“But life goes on. Best you can hope for is someone easy to talk to, to share the days with.” He patted me on the shoulder as he pushed open the door, pointing me across the street. “Little yellow house on the corner. Just walk on in, I’m sure she’s expectin’ ya.”
And in that moment, it felt like I’d overcome a mountain of shame to get here, thankful for the old man watchin’ out for my girl, honored he’d opened up even a little to me, a fucked-up roadie musician who couldn’t even be tall enough to stand for his woman when she needed him most.
I sucked in a cool breath of morning air, nodding at him once before walking off across the parking lot and to the little yellow house on the corner that held my future.
I was finally gonna be strong enough to stand up for it.
And finally, without the whiskey, a soothing tingle ran through my blood.
I was gonna get my whiskey girl.