The house is empty, my soul lonely, but the whiskey comforting and my best friend. Days float by blurring into each other. Peaches has caught on to my drinking problem and took all the whiskey from the house.

This morning is the first in a month since my mom passed away that it is 10 a.m., and I’m sober. The dining room table is stacked high with bills, sympathy cards, and floral arrangement cards. I grab a handful of Twinkies and sit down knowing at some time this mountain of shit on the table needs to be dealt with.

My fingers are greasy from the spongy treat as I sort out bills with Peaches’ name and then the cards from Mom’s funeral. I begin reading each card and then tossing them in the bin. The woman was loved, but that’s no surprise to me.

The final card I open makes me ill. My vision flicks to the bottom of the card, “Arena 55”.

Dear Hart,

We sure were sad to hear about your mother. Just know everything happens for a reason. Savannah sure is a hit here at our studio. She made the right choice. Never thought she’d choose me over you.

Blake Patton

Arena 55

The doorbell rings. It takes me a long time to answer it. When I finally open the door, a young woman is walking back to her car.

“Hey.”

She whirls around flustered. “Um, I work at the hospital. I was given this the last time your mother was brought in. I was supposed to give it to you, but everything got crazy that night. I know this is unprofessional, but it’s been bothering me.”

She hands me an envelope and Vannie’s phone. Then waits for my response. The smooth feel of the plastic case rolls around in my palm.

“Thank you.” I shut the door.

Vannie’s phone is shut off. I tear open the envelope then fall to my knees.

Whiskey is now a long lost friend with the passionate anger flowing through my veins. There’s a hidden message between the lines. Realization dawns on me on the tenth read through. My mom’s message rings loud in my ears.

I’m up and on my feet before I even think twice about it. My tires screech outside the recording studio. Must be my lucky day because after bursting into the front doors, I collide with Blake’s chest. There are a few moments of chaos before we come eye to eye. Blake steps back and barks some orders out to the security guards near the door.

“What in the fuck did you do to her?” I yell, not even caring as my voice echoes around the studio.

I chalk it up to the pent-up feelings of hurt and rage since the day Vannie walked out of my life. I had to keep it curbed, focusing on my mom and then when she passed the grief was too overwhelming. The infection of loss is now seeping out, spilling everywhere.

Blake has the fucking nerve to smile at me. I rear my fist back, but the security guards are quick on their feet, reaching me before I can strike. Blake leans in and whispers in my ear, so only I hear him.

“Gave her an ultimatum. Sign or I’d quit paying your mom’s hospital bills. See, your dad is on my payroll. He was caught sniffing too close to me about Belle’s death.”

“You motherfucker.” I kick and fight to break free.

The two security guards are too powerful and they dump me on my ass out on the sidewalk. If this motherfucker thinks having me thrown out will stop me, he’s a fool. I wait in my car until I spot him leaving the building hours later then tail his car. He drives straight to The Shade Tree. How fucking quaint to have a rematch of our previous fist fight. I’m at his driver’s door before he fully stands up. I catch him unaware, ripping him up by the lapels of his dress coat. His back slams back into the fancy sports car.

I spit in his face. “I want motherfucking answers now.”

“Hart, when will you ever realize you’re the underdog in a losing battle?”

“Where is she?” I growl.

“On tour under contract. You’ll never find her.”

“You bet your fucking ass I will. You don’t understand the danger you’ve put her in.”

“Dollar signs are dollar signs.”

His last comment makes my knuckles thirsty and I relieve that quench with one sharp, grueling punch to his jaw.

“Where is she?”

He becomes a bit smarter not answering me. I ask question after question with my fist connecting with his pretty face. After the tenth punch, Blake is ready to speak up.

“She’s in Atlanta at the Georgia Dome for the weekend on the Dirt Roads tour.”

I punch him again for good measure. “Advance notice, fucker, her contract is null and void.”

I throw him to the ground. Blake is one tough motherfucker. He looks up at me and smiles through the blood flowing out of his mouth. “Not only are you an underdog, but fucking dumb. For every one of your actions, there’s a consequence, Hart. Dead sister, losing your girlfriend. When will you ever learn?”

And I lose all sense of control. I see an inferno of red burning behind my eyelids. He’s the terrorist, and it’s my job to protect my homeland. When I’m done with him, Blake is unconscious and unable to say a word.

I punch in the address for the Georgia Dome on my phone and drive. The three and half-hour drive is made in three hours. After finding a parking spot, I realize my fatal mistake…no ticket to enter. Fuck, even if I did get in, how in the hell am I going to get to her?

“Fuck.” I grip my hair and pull it.

“Sir, do you need help?” an event staff member in a neon green vests asks.

It takes me a bit, figuring out to tell her what I’m doing without coming across like a stalker. “Who is playing here tonight?”

She rattles off all the singers and bands. All fucking men.

“So, there’s not a Savannah Ray here tonight.”

The woman is kind adjusting her vest. “Sir, I’m one of the biggest country fans around and follow everything Arena 55 Studios, never heard of a Savannah Ray.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, scrubbing my face.

“Yes, sir.” She pauses. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

Stalker alert on high mode.

“No, thanks.” I turn and walk back to my car to let her get back to her job at hand.

“Sir,” she hollers out.

I turn back to her.

Her voice is raised due to our ten-foot distance. “Would you happen to be talking about a Shaynee Ryder?”

I shake my head. “Naw, but thank you.”

I slump down in the seat of my car behind the wheel. One thing life has taught me was to never trust anyone. It was my first fatal mistake trusting Blake to give me the truth. Pulling out my phone, I notice I only have ten percent left on my battery, but I pull up Safari and search tonight’s venue. It takes a bit to load. But she was right, it’s an all-male line-up tonight.

“Fuck.” I pound the steering wheel in frustration. “Where does he have her?”

Defeat this powerful and deadly has never hit me so hard. She’s gone. The girl knows how to run and exactly how to hide in the shadows. I’ve lost her.

I thought I was shattered when she left me, then Mom passed away, but now, knowing she sacrificed it all to help my momma out is a jagged dagger straight to my heart.

There are two more tours listed on Arena 55’s page. The other one is back in Tennessee. It’s my only hope. Even though I need sleep, food, and to piss it doesn’t matter. None of it does. I have to get to her before she’s hurt. The thought of all those greedy foster parents coming forward or even worse, her father, makes me want to vomit.

The miles tick by and where the lonely highway has always been a solace to my wandering soul, it’s the opposite now. It’s just a cruel reminder. There’s no comfort on this road trip just the brutal reminder of all my losses. The world is cruel.

My phone rings three hours into the road trip. The number is unknown and I’m sure it is Blake gloating about the wild goose chase he’s sent me on.

“Speak up, motherfucker.”

“Hart.” The voice on the other end is nervous and certainly not Blake.

“Yeah. Who is this?”

“Your dad.” There’s a pungent pause. “Don’t hang up. It’s about Vannie.”

“Talk,” I growl.

“Blake’s been playing you. She’s in Montana at the state fair. She sings under the name Shaynee Ryder.”

Again, not assuming this dickhead is giving me the truth. “Why in the fuck would you tell me this?”

“Hart, I work for him.”

“Yeah, big fucking deal. Evil magnetizes to evil,” I spit out.

“He killed Belle. She was pregnant with his child. After you and your mother had left I got sober and was on a mission to find her killer. I got too close, and Blake blackmailed me. He knew your momma was battling cancer and that the bills were piling up. He paid them, and I remained quiet, working for him for free. He has her Hart, and you need to get her. He played the same fucking mind games on her as he did me. Montana State Fair. Shaynee Ryder.”

“Got it.” I hit the red end button before he speaks another word.

I don’t throw my cell phone down, but dial one of my best friends. My band of brothers who always has my six. It rings two times.

“Hey, dickhead.”

I hear Gracie in the background harassing Cub for his language, but there’s no time to stop and enjoy the banter.

“Cub, I need you.”

The background noise silences and I know he’s gone somewhere giving me his full attention. “I’m here, brother.”

“I’m in love.” The words spill from my mouth. “It’s a long story, but I need you to get to the state fair and to Shaynee Ryder. She’s performing there. She’s in trouble. You need to get to her.”

“Take a breath, Hart. I’m here for you. Need more details.”

I fill him in the best I can driving like a maniac to the fucking airport.

His deep voice fills the line. “Got it, brother. I’m going to give the phone to Izzy. Listen to her voice and focus, okay? I’ll call Guy on Gracie’s phone. We’ve got you.”

There’s no goodbye. Just a sweet little voice filling the other end. It’s the complete opposite of her dad’s.

“Uncle,” she squeals.

“Hey, baby girl.”

“I’m not a baby. I’m an adult.”

“My mistake.”

Her sweet chatter keeps me grounded all the way until I arrive at the airport. She chatters about princesses and unicorns. I reach back into the back seat and grab the doll holding onto the only solid thing I know.