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“Good to know I’ve still got a place I can sell out.” There’s no snark in the comment. It mostly sounds sad, resigned that the life he had before is what he’s returning to. He was happy then, but it’s hard to have a dream served up on a silver platter only to have it snatched away. I’m sure it makes your life seem less-than in the aftermath comparison.
Bobby continues as if giving a book report, dry and flat. “I recorded a bunch of songs with Miller, a producer. They sounded great. And I did a photo shoot with Rory. He said I was a natural, and I told him I’d had some recent practice modeling.” Bobby’s wink my way is the onstage one, fake and practiced.
“Then I met with the team again. They talked about feedback and perceptions, and to make a long story short, it wasn’t a good fit. I wasn’t a good fit with what they’re looking for, so there’s no deal.”
Even though I knew that’s how this story ended, his words are a knife to my gut. I can’t believe it. What more could they have possibly wanted? Bobby is amazing on stage, a talented singer and songwriter, and gorgeous to boot. There’s no way they could find anyone better than him.
I’m not the only one stuck on disbelief, with several other heads shaking around the table.
“How about here? What’s been going on?” Bobby is blatantly changing the subject, obviously done with the previous one.
“We did a photo shoot with Willow!” Shayanne blurts.
I freeze, jaw dropping because I think she’s talking about the boudoir shots, and that’s not a conversation I want to have now, or ever. Especially in front of Mama Louise.
Shayanne glares at me pointedly.
Oh! The other pictures. The perfectly reasonable portrait ones.
“Yeah, they ambushed me at Hank’s and Unc actually gave me the evening off.” I tell him about Unc yelling at the whole bar, making the customers wait on themselves so he didn’t have to move, and how Olivia had bolted to see Hannah before we went to my house for the photo shoot.
I leave out any and all mention of the second round of photos.
After dinner, we take our lemon meringue pie out into the yard. James starts a fire in the firepit and Cooper mouths about beating everyone at cornhole. We eat and watch, Bobby making no move to play in tonight’s tournament or engage in the friendly teasing the rest of the guys dish out. I stay at his side, hoping my presence is a comfort, easing the pain of disappointment.
Earlier than usual, Bobby takes my hand. “I’m beat, guys. Think we’ll turn in.”
As we walk around the house, he pauses and calls back, “Thanks for tonight. It means a lot to know you’ve all got my back, no matter what.” He swallows thickly as if that was hard to say.
The truck ride across the field to the Tannen house is quiet. Bobby seems lost in his thoughts, and I’m supporting him silently, letting him lead the conversation wherever he needs it to go. Or not go.
In the house, he guides me to the upstairs bathroom and starts to strip. Taking the cue, I do too, and by the time I’m nude, he’s got the water hot and the bathroom steamy. He holds the curtain back for me to step inside first.
The water is scalding along my back, but I don’t move to change it. Instead, I pull him to me, sharing the small space beneath the spray with him. My hands dance over his skin, soaping away the weekend, the disappointment, the shards of his dream, letting it wash down the drain with the suds.
“It’s okay. It was an experience. One you’ll never forget,” I whisper into the steam between us.
His head hangs, water running in rivulets down his face from his hair. There are even water droplets caught in his dark lashes, but he doesn’t blink them away. “I know. I just thought . . . maybe this time, I could be . . .”
He can’t find the words, but I feel like I know what he means.
“Shh, it’s okay.” I reach my thumb up to his lips, swiping away any criticism of himself he was going to voice. “You’re amazing, you’re home, and you’re happy here. Farming, family, singing, and writing songs.”
I pause, knowing that earlier tonight, I was selfishly and greedily wanting him to stay, wishing he wouldn’t leave me for something better on the road. But now that it’s really happening, all I feel is sad for him. I would give anything to make his dream come true.
“Me. I’m right here with you, Bobby. And I love you.”
He growls harshly, “I love you too.”
And though his words are gruff and his movements sure as he spins me and pins my back to the shower wall, his thrusts are gentle as he enters me. I’m ready for him. I’m always ready for him.
