I’ve been schooled in UNO, Monopoly, and Go Fish, taking Hart’s word for the rules. He’s spent the last four Saturdays at The Shade Tree then my apartment. We’ve also experienced Buffalo wings, pasta, and Peaches’ homemade enchiladas.

Tonight is different. Very, very different. I packed a sleepover bag before heading to my shift at The Shade Tree. It’s Saturday night. Our night. Instead of hanging out at my place, falling asleep together, and waking to an empty mattress, I have my very first sleepover. And it just happens to be at Hart’s home.

It’s another one of the many firsts he’s determined to give me. Hart’s pushed here and there, digging for answers as to why I’m so sheltered. But just like all the other counselors and therapists in my past, he gets nowhere.

The bar is hopping tonight. The tips are pouring in while I sling out the drinks. I have plenty of cash saved up to run again, but something unique has happened over the last month. I feel settled here. There’s an invisible string keeping me planted. It’s an odd and foreign concept. I’m a natural roamer, having no roots.

“You’re up in ten.” Peaches hands me another tray of drinks.

“Roger.” I wink at her.

“He’s here again.”

I scan the bar for Hart, but don’t see him and grow confused.

“Him.” Peaches points to a good-looking man in a suit who’s nursing a whiskey.

She must pick up on my confusion.

“Talent scout that won’t give up on you.”

I shrug. “Too damn bad.”

“Girl, Hart has rubbed too much off on you cussing and all.”

That makes me smile. Anything Hart related seems to have that effect on me lately. He’s that annoying itch you just can’t scratch. Wait, that’s a terrible analogy, but you get it.

“Savannah Ray.”

I turn to see the man I was just staring at standing right in front of me. His suit; sharp, sexy, and dark with his clean-shaven face much the same. There’s something about it that sends chills up my spine.

“Yes,” I stutter out.

“I’m Blake Patton with Arena 55 Studios.” He extends a card in my direction.

“Not interested,” I say in my most polite voice, not taking the card from him.

“You’re on top of our recruiting list, Savannah. One of my guys sent me here to listen to you last week, and I gotta say, I can’t get enough of you, darling.”

Now, I’m sure he woos plenty of naïve and eager music talent with his good looks and charming words, but not me. Being able to sing to make a living is the ultimate dream of mine and also one that will never happen. The attention of singing on the big stage would be a living hell undoing everything I’ve built up.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I pick up the tray and turn on my heels.

“I’ll leave the card here with your boss in case you change your mind.”

I should be polite, turning around offering up a smile or gesture of thanks, but I don’t have it in me. A panic attack lays on the horizon threatening to take me down right in the middle of a job. Nobody can find out who I am or where I live. That’s the bottom line. Singing for a living is a dream and just that.

“Lily will be your next waitress. She’ll be checking in with ya in a few.” I set down the longneck bottles of beer on the round table in front of me.

My throat constricts and my knees tremble when I turn around to see the man in the suit back at the table enjoying the band on the stage. He’s a predator seeking prey until they give in. I can’t sing. My eyes sting with built-up tears because singing is the only thing that’s helped me get through life in somewhat of a whole piece. Singing makes me feel alive and connected with the real world.

It took me a long time to get up on Peaches’ stage, but once I did it was like lighting a fire with gasoline. It was Peaches who caught me singing in the storage room and pressed me to get up there. It’s all slowly vanishing away second by second.

“Hey.” I feel a hard body press up against my backside.

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Hart.

“You okay?” he whispers in my ear.

I try to tell him no, but the word lodges low in my throat unable to come out. My shaking body must answer for him. He takes the tray from my hands, places it on the table, then guides me down the dark hallway.

“Breathe, Vannie, breathe.” He turns me around, pulling me into his solid chest. “You are okay.”

I take full advantage of his hug, burrowing deep into his flannel shirt and inhaling the woodsy-musky scent of all things Hart. His hand strokes down the length of my hair over and over again until I’m able to finally open my eyes. He doesn’t pry, just simply waits until I’m ready to talk. My fingers fall asleep locked together around his back. Two people simply can’t get any closer.

“I…uh, I can’t sing tonight.” My voice is pathetic, cracking on each syllable.

“Okay, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He continues dragging his fingers through my hair. “But I have to admit I was just starting to become fond of country music.”

This makes me snort laugh which fires off a chain reaction of Hart rumbling a deep chuckle.

“Liar.”

“Look at me, Vannie.”

It takes me several long seconds, but I finally do peer up into his caring eyes.

“Let me help you.” He cups my face with his hands, pouring out all of his care to me. “I’m here for you to lean on.”

It all spills out in a gushing waterfall. “There’s an agent out there, and he wants me. Nobody can find me, Hart. Nobody. I’m serious. I love to sing here. Have to sing to keep a part of my soul alive, but I don’t want anything else.”

He nods, swipes a lone tear with the pad of his thumb, and then kisses me quickly on the lips. Our kisses have been few and far between since that night outside my apartment. Each kiss leaves me weak, worn out, and yet so full of vibrant energy. It’s all so confusing.

“Do you want to sing here at The Shade Tree?” he asks.

“Yes, I do. It makes me feel normal.”

“Okay, then you’re going to sing tonight.” He grabs my hand, drags me to the back of the stage where my guitar is, and then Hart shocks the hell out of me when he kisses me hard and long.

My mouth welcomes him with no hesitation. I even find the courage to kiss him back, sweeping my tongue into his mouth and relishing in his taste. Hart growls into my mouth while fisting the back of my hair. We both pull apart breathless and hungry for so much more.

Hart steps back then run his hand through his long, dirty blond hair with his other hand on his hip. He’s damn sexy when he’s not even trying to be.

“Vannie, you stand up for yourself. You don’t let anyone push you around. Ever.”

His words make me flinch. He has no idea how close to the home of my pain he’s just struck. I’ve always been pushed around and abused. Everyone was put here on Earth for a sole purpose, and I do believe that. Mine was to be abused.

“You hear me?” He hands me my guitar. “You get up there and sing your sweet, little country ass off.”

A slow grin spreads across my face. “Are you really starting to like country music?”

He steps toward me, leaving no room between the two of us. His hand lands heavy on my hip then begins roaming from my shorts and inching close to my torso. On a knee jerk reaction, I grab his hand, effectively stopping him. He can never feel it or see it.

“I fucking love country music when you are singing to me.”

My hand squeezes tight around his on my waist. I’m relieved one second and frightened the next at how close he is to revealing my true demons.

“Then I’ll sing for you, Hart.”

“Yes, but never quit singing for this.” He raises his other hand and covers my heart. “It’s your inner beauty that leaves me speechless.”

My name is announced on the stage. Hart steps sideways, and I’m thankful for that because I wouldn’t have been able to leave him. I glance down to the damn waitress uniform I’m once again singing in. The man does it to me every single time. I like to change into something else when up on stage to keep that part of my life segregated from the rest. Singing is my temple, my empire that keeps me grounded. And I treat it as sacred because it keeps my heart pumping.

* * *

Hart

“I want answers.” I slam my hand down on the bar.

Peaches jumps, startled by the noise. “What the hell is wrong with you now, Hart?”

My patience has run out with the only thing left behind, boiling anger. “Who is she? I’ve searched her name, Savannah Ray, and there’s not one trace of her on the Internet. I had Cub, a former cop, put in a favor. They ran a background check and nothing. Who the hell is she and what the fuck has happened to her?”

My voice quakes with pure torture. The game is over, and I demand to know where her demons come from. The sweetest and most innocent girl I’ve ever met, she’s tortured my soul offering it a permanent vacancy. I need to know.

Peaches meets my stare match for match and slams her fist down on the bar. “I know what I need to know, Hart.”

She rounds the end of the bar, getting right up in my face.

“She’s honest, hard-working, and dedicated. Vannie came from the homeless shelter with the desire to better herself. She works, and I pay her. All I need to know.”

I match her anger, biting right back while Vannie’s voice plays as the background music. “Her panic attacks. Her fears. All of her unknowns. What about fucking that?”

I can guaran-fucking-tee the veins in my forehead are popping and throbbing in this moment.

“None of my business,” Peach counters quickly. “She’s here and safe. All I need to know.”

“Then are you fucking prepared to keep her safe from the vultures?”

Her face pales, and I feel like a dick for a matter of seconds.

“Got it. I’ll take care of it, Peaches.”

I slam my fist into the bar top then stride right over to the table Vannie had gestured to earlier when she was on the verge of going dark. The smug fucking black suit holds up his empty tumbler of whiskey just waiting on a refill while watching my girl sing and sway. That’s right, my fucking girl.

I don’t even stutter or hiccup when I rip the empty glass from his grip. The shock on his face is almost entertaining.

“Listen, fucker, back off her. You will get no other warning.”

“Hart?” His eyebrows scrunch up in confusion as the recognition dawns across his face.

“Dickhead,” I reply easily with a slip of the tongue and my new confidence. I’m not the same beaten down boy I used to be. Bring it on, dickhead.

Goddamn rights I think to myself. This sleaze ball will not get to knock me down like my father used to. I swear to God I never thought I’d see his evil face again. Motherfucking slime of Nashville. The hate from my core radiates out. He knows there’s no love lost between us and honestly, calling him ‘pee on’ was a compliment. Blake is the product of trash rising from trash. Give one of those fuckers a bit of power and they think they’re God. The sad part of the story is they tend to win until someone brave enough stands up to them.

My mom sending me away so many years ago, yep, I’ve regretted that several times until now because this bitch will witness the man I’ve become. Thank you, Mom. Karma is a bitch. I will not back down.

“Didn’t know you were back in town.” His dark chuckle that once enticed my sister only makes me want to vomit.

Of course, he’d be a fat suit at this moment preying on fresh talent.

“Now you do. Stay the fuck away from Vannie.”

The motherfucker slinks back in his chair relaxed and nonchalant as can be. Each of his movements precise. His whiskey tumbler jolts up in my face again.

“Remember your place, Hart. Refill.”

The knuckles in my fingers ache for relief, the veins pop from my neck looking for an escape, and when I hear this smug motherfucker’s words, it all falls into place. Before I know it, my fingertips are under his jacket, and he’s being pulled from the bar. Once both of our faces hit the outside air, I drop him to the ground.

“Want to rumble, motherfucker? Let’s go.” My knuckles collide with his jaw, quick and precise.

Gotta give it to the motherfucker because he recovers on his feet spewing all kinds of shit about Belle. Knowing Vannie is in his sights only rages me on and also distracts my attention, letting him get in one good swing. The bad news for this fucking puke is that it only enrages me more.

This time when my fist lands low on his jaw, he drops hard and doesn’t even try to get up. In the Army, I learned all too well the value of self-control. I find an ounce of it in this situation. Instead of continuing to beat this motherfucker until he takes his last breath, I kneel down next to him.

I rip him up into a sitting position by his now bloodied collar. “Blake, this is the last time I’m going to say this, so listen up, dumb fuck. You stay away from this bar. You stay away from Savannah. She told you no. I will not let another victim fall prey to your bullshit. Next time, I will not stop until you are dead.”

I send him back into the asphalt parking lot. The sound of his head bouncing off the hard surface echoes around the night. The music is sweet and may even be more amazing than stars dancing in the sky. I struggle to grip onto that self-control.

“Hart, when are you ever going to learn? I get what I want.” The fuck sits back up. “Oh, and I’ll tell your dad you’re back in town. Hired him a few years ago at the studio. Makes a great janitor.”

That self-control I was barely gripping slips and slides right out of my grasp. An inferno billows up inside of me. I only see one color, and that’s a fiery, burning, angry red. Hot coals of anger flame bright red.

“Hart.”

I clench my fist over and over again, steadying myself to break his neck.

“Hart, please.”

The voice barely registers in my head, but not enough to tear away my focus. My focus is on killing this slimy motherfucker in front of me. There was no evidence tying him to the murder of Belle. However, there were enough assorted puzzle pieces to put together a very murky picture that connected Blake to the crime. He’s a fucking flesh-eating shark who was after her. Years older than her, but the man who held the key to her dreams of singing on the big stage.

Belle ditched her prom date, and nobody knew where she went until her body was found. Like I said, there are enough puzzle pieces to know this fuck had something to do with it. Belle was pregnant, and none of us knew. Money and power are evil factors in keeping secrets buried in Nashville.

Blake Patton now thinks he can taunt me with my father. Wrong fucking mistake, man. I hear my name being hollered. But it’s all too late since my self-control is now ashes blowing in the wind.

Blake’s head snaps back fast with the first punch. His ribs crack when the tip of my boot meets his side. I’m getting ready to jerk back my hand to send a final punch to knock his fucking lights out when someone reaches out and grabs my arm from the backside.

“Hart, please, stop.” Her palm quivers and quakes along with her voice.

It’s enough to make me freeze and slowly turn around. Vannie. Her eyes wide with worry, hair wild in the breeze, and the unmistakable mask of panic covering all of her features. She’s scared, trembling, and it’s all because of me.

“Hart.” It’s barely a whisper this time.

She tugs on my arm, and I go with her quickly. We walk side by side until we get to my car.

“Let’s go,” she whispers, adjusting her guitar on her back.

My mouth opens, but no words come out. So many questions fill my brain to the point of exploding.

“C’mon.” She urges me into my car then rounds the front and climbs in the passenger side.

I stare forward unable to move or react. My knuckles go white wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. I could’ve killed him. I would’ve killed him if Vannie hadn’t stopped me. Slowly, I turn my head to gaze at her sitting in the passenger seat.

She’s a stoic picture of calm and ease with no sign of freaking out.

“Drive, Hart.” She reaches over, gripping my hand in hers.

Her tender touch brings me back to reality. Roots my bearings and clears the picture of what just happened. Right now, I drive. The closer I get to home, the angrier I become at myself. I never lose control. That fucker pushed me to my limits. I could’ve snapped his neck in half and not thought twice about it.

A burst of shock lights up in me when I pull into Peaches’ driveway, and the cops aren’t there yet. Blake Patton is an arrogant, powerful son of a bitch. He won’t let tonight go without consequence.

“Are…are you okay?” Vannie’s squeaky voice pulls me out of my trance.

Both of my hands drag roughly through my hair, scrunching it up into one tight ball at the back. “I’m sorry. Jesus, Vannie…I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She scoots across the bench seat, wrapping her arms around my neck.

Her fingers tangle into mine until they release my hair. Then her fingers replace mine and she drags them through my tangled bun. I feel every inch of my body relax into the leather seats. Vannie trails light kisses down my jawline while waiting on my answer.

“I lost control.” Those words slice my tongue as I speak each one. “I’d never hurt you, though. I swear to God.”

“I know.” She continues kissing my jawline, speaking between tender kisses. “What did he do to you?”

No matter how relaxed or how much trust Vannie is putting into this moment, there’s no way in hell I’m shoveling out that baggage right now.

“Just a ghost from my past, Vannie.” I stop her kisses by cupping her face and making her peer up at me. “He’s a bad guy and won’t be messing with you again.”

Vannie leans her face into my touch. “I got into your car and didn’t panic. Violence is a big part of my past, and I stepped into it tonight for you, Hart.”

Those words crush my soul, repair it, and it becomes hers in that exact moment. She pushed through barriers to save me tonight. Nobody in my life has ever done that for me with the expectation of my Army brothers, and they were trained to do so. This frightened, beautiful, and fragile woman breaking out of her protective shell to live life fully with me is beautiful.

“I’m falling in love with you, Savannah Ray.”

I’ve never spoken so freely and believed in the depths of my words like I just did.

“You’re teaching me to believe in love, Hart, which is another first for me.”

The front porch light flips on, and we both look up to see Julie waiting on the front steps. We slowly pull apart. I take this slice of time, tucking it deep down in my heart. I now have a reason.