Eleven years ago . ..
I dabbed at my eyes. The gloomy, cold fall weather fit the mood of those gathered at the graveside for Rhys’s dad. Wren was destroyed, leaning on Rhys and weeping with a heartbroken sound that made it hard to keep my tears at bay. Only years of performing helped me control my features.
Jonathon Kinkade had been a kind man. I was grateful I had been able to say goodbye to Rhys’s dad before I’d moved away.
The church had been packed and I had stayed in the back with my family. My gaze lingered on Rhys, and my heart skittered across my chest wall. He’d never looked so good. Beyond the fatigue and sadness in his eyes was a sexy man where last I’d seen a good-looking kid.
He hadn’t met my gaze yet, and honestly, I hadn’t tried hard to capture it.
Don’t wait for me.The last text I ever got from him.
During my first year away, he’d been “too busy” for phone calls, “too absentminded” to text, and “too broke” to visit Tennessee. After he’d sent that text, my calls and messages had gone unanswered. The very few times I’d returned to Bourbon Canyon, Rhys couldn’t be found. I’d finally given up. My sisters occasionally saw him around town. He was congenial, but he never asked about me.
Three years after I had moved, my next oldest sister, Autumn, had hesitantly revealed that she’d seen him at Curly’s Canyon Bar and Grill with a woman who’d recently moved to town. He’d started dating. Someone else.
Maybe a lot of someone elses.
So, I’d started dating again too, but I still wasn’t convinced our story had ended.
The service wrapped up and an especially chilly wind cut through my pants. I’d worn the cowboy boots Rhys’s dad used to say were my CMT Music Award–winning boots. They had teal and pink embroidery on the shaft and toe, and I’d put streaks in my hair to match.
I hadn’t been to the CMT Music Awards. Nor had I been to any other award show. I waitressed a lot, nannied a little, and sang on precious few stages.
There’d been a few bright moments, times when I’d thought maybe I was finally crossing the starting line, but when I’d left Nashville yesterday, I’d had one lingering thought: After the funeral, after I caught up with my family... should I return to Tennessee? Could I take another four years of toiling away in the slush pile? And another four after that?
I was tired, and coming home only showed me how far everyone else had moved on. Many of my classmates were done with college, living on their own, and working on their careers. Some even had families.
The only reason I didn’t have a roommate was because I received some income from the family’s bourbon distillery. Daddy had asked me to lend my voice and face to our advertising. I was happy to, and the pay was enough to support me while I sang to half-empty coffeehouses and got my ass grabbed in rowdy bars after a set. But I didn’t delude myself. A nepo-baby opportunity wasn’t going to make me a country star.
People broke away from the group graveside. Some hurried to their cars to get out of the chill. Others swarmed Wren to offer their support.
My youngest sister, Wynter, squeezed my hand. “Want to ride back to the church with me?”
She’d driven in from Bozeman and met us at the church. I’d ridden with Daddy and Mama.
“Sure. I’d like to talk to Wren first,” I said. “Give my condolences.”
Wynter linked her arm through mine like she sensed I needed the moral support. My oldest sister, Summer, was already waiting in the group around Wren, but she broke free to join us. Autumn, the next oldest, followed her.
When there was an opening around Wren, I approached, hesitant. We’d exchanged short texts in the time I’d been away, but hers had been sweet and supportive. She hadn’t elaborated on Jonathon’s condition and she definitely hadn’t mentioned Rhys.
Her face crumpled when she saw me, and she held her arms out. I returned her embrace and we hugged for a long time. The pain rolled off her in waves, but she rubbed my back. “It’s good to see you, honey.”
“I missed you,” I murmured into her shoulder. Between Mama’s house and Wren’s hug, my will to return to Nashville was crumbling. “I’m so sorry.”
She released me only to put her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy, but somehow she managed to smile. “I know. Jonathon was proud of you. You should’ve seen how he beamed when he heard your song on the radio.”
Jonathon must have been listening to the right station at the right moment. I wasn’t on mainstream radio, but I’d been featured in a Sunday night program of select up-and-comers that maybe a hundred people inthe whole country had heard. Since then, my phone and inbox had stayed pretty quiet.
My mama Starr was dead and buried, but each time I trudged into the bar for a shift, I felt like I was letting her down.
Wren let me go and swiped at her eyes. “You have a manager and everything now?”
If she wanted to steal a moment that wasn’t about loss and funerals, I’d comply. “Yes. My manager, Lucy, found me at a coffee shop a couple of years ago, but I officially started working with her last year.” Lucy was almost the only reason I hadn’t run home yet. The other reason was that I didn’t know if I had someone to run home to. My family, yes.
Was Rhys seeing anyone?
“It won’t be long now before everyone knows your name. You’re not going by June Bailey anymore, right?”
