“‘Gentle on My Mind,’” I answer, caught up in the emotions. Mae had only just now asked permission to play, but really I wanted her to play the minute the guitar was mentioned.
“I know the Glen Campbell version,” Mae says, adjusting herself on the edge of the couch.
The kids gather on the floor as she strums and tunes it up a bit. It might not be perfect, but it doesn’t matter. My mother’s spirit is about to fill this home.
From the moment the chords begin, the Mae I know disappears into a woman on a mission. Seeing her in this setting, my own living room, with nothing to aid her voice but my mother’s guitar, it takes everything in me not to walk away in an overwhelming state of bittersweet nostalgia.
The world only comes back into focus when she sings her final note. Looking up from the instrument, she blushes. “Sorry, sometimes I lose myself in song.” I don’t know how she could say that so innocently after putting us all under the same spell with her.
Hannah can’t answer; she has tears streaming down her cheeks. Ben pulls her close, and her curious yet concerned kids flock to her.
“It was beautiful,” I whisper before finally making my escape to the kitchen. Leaving her on the couch is not my finest moment, but hearing her sing a song I’d long since pushed from my mind is causing me pain. My mother had played that song over and over for years and had to perfect it over time. Mae had nailed it in one sitting.
Daring a glance back into the living room, I find that Hannah has thrown her arms around Mae. They’re both crying. The tears in my own eyes bubble to the surface, and I have to evacuate further by going onto the back deck. Placing my arms straight out in front of me, I brace myself against the railing and try to calm down.
I feel Mae’s soothing hand running up my back before I see her. Sucking back as much emotion as I can, I lift one arm so she can join me. Sliding right in front of me, her hand moves from my back to my cheek, and she wipes away the tears I thought I’d already gotten rid of. Her eyes dart back and forth as she studies me. She’s looking for answers she hasn’t asked yet, and when she realizes that, she hops up onto the railing between my arms. I didn’t peg her as a girl who likes to be caged in in any way, but she doesn't seem deterred.
When I don’t say anything, she sits straight and wraps her arms around her waist, showing a bit of insecurity I didn’t know she harbored in her small frame. “I’m sorry if I upset you,” she whispers.
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. “My family was in a pretty bad accident a few years ago. My father was killed on impact, and there wasn’t any chance my mom would recover.” Mae’s mouth drops open, and then she nods softly, as if she understands. “She didn’t even get to see me play in a professional game.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly after a while.
“It’s life,” I say with a shrug, doing everything I can to fight back the screaming pain of the past. “Hannah recovered; we have a family now.” I nudge her with my arm. “I have you now.”
Her mouth drops open again, but before I can make a fool of myself and drag her into a needy kiss, I ask her a question I’ve wanted to ask for a while: “What about your family?”
Taking a breath, she leans back. Not wanting her to tip, I rope my hands around her back.
“I thought that maybe Linda told you,” she says sheepishly. “Or that you’d looked me up and read it all already.”
“No,” I say forcefully. “I want to hear your version.” I want to hear every detail of her story – not from the tabloids or Linda, but from her. I can sense her preparing to bunker down, so I correct myself. “I want to hear your story whenever you’re ready to tell me. I’m gonna be around for as long as you let me, Mae. I can be patient when I want to be, and this would be worth waiting for.”
She studies me for a moment, her lips buzzing with her indecision. Testing my strength, she stretches back, teetering closely to the edge. When I pull her back up and give her a scolding look, she scoffs.
“My dad was never in the picture, and I was taken from my mother when I was six,” she says finally.
“Your grandmother took you?”
She shakes her head. “Linda and Chris found me on the road after my mom locked me out of the house one day. They took me to the police station, and that’s when I was removed from my situation.” I feel my grip on her hips strengthen again. She’s not doing anything to signal she’ll fall back; she’s actually leaning into me. Her eyes slide down to where my fingers are pressed into the skin between her jeans and shirt, but she continues without complaining. “Chris never lost touch with me; he visitedwhenever they passed through, and my grandmother and I would cook them dinner. She passed away when I was 16, and I just kinda ran away.” She laughs as if this is some massive joke she should be laughing at. “I hitchhiked all the way to Texas, where Linda and Chris took me in. They let me tour with them until a producer found me.” She shrugs. “The rest is history, I guess.”
There’s truly so much to unpack in her honesty, but all I want to do right now is hug her. So that’s exactly what I do. When her cheek meets the crook of my neck and I feel fresh tears seeping through my shirt, I find myself losing grip of my emotions again.
Since the moment we saw each other in LA, there has been something pulling us together that neither of us could quite explain. This familiarity, the fact that we’ve both lost loved ones in ways we couldn’t control … It’s clear that the history we didn’t know we shared has tied us together since the beginning.
I heave my shoulders to keep the tears at bay, but it’s enough to scare her away. “Don’t you dare cry for me,” she manages, pulling away. “My life is great. I love what I do.” She wipes the tears lining my eyes before clearing her own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Though I know she’s speaking about her career, I apply her words to us. Every hardship she’s faced, every shitty man who’s done her wrong–it all led her straight to me. Damn me to hell if I fumble the ball on this one.
Chapter 16
Mae
“I REALLY SHOULD BE going,” I say into the crook of Wyatt’s arm.
“I’ve got room here,” he says innocently.
I find his face like I’ve done time and time again when I need grounding. Rubbing my thumbs across his cheekbones, I knock some sense into him. “I wouldn’t dare cramp your style a night before a game.”
