She rolled her eyes. “I know what you’ve heard. All genres of music change over time, but somehow people expect country music not to grow or morph. Do I have to sound like Hank Williams Senior—or Junior—to be considered country? Guys don’t sound like them nowadays, yet you don’t hearnearlyas much complaining about them.” Her hands were flying as she ranted. “And don’t get me started on the critiques country gets that dance music doesn’t. Do you hear so many people complain about asses getting shaken in rap or pop music? Okay, wrong example, rap gets a lot of shit. Country is a story-based art, like a lot of art, and I just wish more people could see it. Like, I can read a thriller without wanting a serial killer in my life. I can also like bro country. Yes, actually, tell me to get my sugar shaker in the truck. I want to hear those toxic love songs. You just can’t win sometimes.”
She blew a strand of hair out of her face. Her cheeks were pink with indignation and the fire in her eyes was everything I wanted for her.
I chuckled. “Been storing that up?”
The tension in her shoulders drained. “Yeah. Hazard of the trade. Each genre of music has its battles to fight. Each singer has their own too, I guess.”
“What was yours?” I’d missed it all, and I kept asking to hear it, as if that would make me part of her journey. Anger at myself rose in my blood, but I quashed it. There’d been no other choice.
“There are a ton of tiny battles, but one of mine wasearly in my career when I was starting to get approached by the big record labels. They didn’t like my songs—or rather they did, but they didn’t think they’d resonate with the public.”
“They were wrong.”
She nodded, excitement making the yellow sparks in her eyes glow. “Some of the companies had people who’ve been around a while. People I was told I should be grateful they’d even give me a few minutes of their time. But they didn’t want my songs. They wanted me to sing about two things. Feminism or pining after a guy who cheated on me.” She waved her hands in front of her face and pretended to cry. “Why can’t he want me when he’s with her? Why didn’t he pick me?”
I ran some of her lyrics from recent years through my head. Her songs were different, like “Emerald Rain,” but I tried to pinpoint how. “And you sing about the emotions of moving on or not wanting to feel that way.”
She smiled triumphantly. “Yes. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a place for those other songs, but the dudes in Nashville think that’s all women want from female country singers. The guys can relate too, you know.” She took another sip of my bourbon and wiggled the index finger of her free hand in the air. “I don’t know if these songs fall under feminism, but theI’m gonna kill my manorburn down his housesongs aren’t really my brand. I was approached to record a few of those.”
“You never keyed an ex’s car?” A shame.
“I could’ve written about popping the tires of one of Summer’s exes, but like I said, it’s not my brand.”
I’d lost out on all this. The way she talked shop and lit up from the inside when she discussed music. Did she have someone to listen to her? Who shared her joy? Hadher cocksucker exes? I wouldn’t feel so inclined to burn their fucking houses down if they’d done at least that for her. “You stuck to your principles.”
“Another thing that cost me years.”
She made it sound as if there were more reasons. Her work for Copper Summit. Her branding. Was there something she wasn’t telling me? Had Lucy dragged her down? If June hadn’t been nursing heartbreak or getting distracted by man-children, would she have taken off sooner? “Did Lucy hold you back?”
June’s vision hadn’t been heartbreak songs. She wanted to sing about life and love.
Her irises dimmed. “Yeah. Maybe a little.”
That wasn’t the full story, but if I pushed it, I might squash her spark. “Lucy can kiss your ass.”
“Yeah. You know who can kiss my ass right now since the bar is officially closed?”
June
My legs hung off Rhys’s arms and my ass was on the end of the tailgate of his pickup. He pumped in and out of me. I’d already been sprawled out in the bed, on the blanket that had once helped keep me warm when he’d picked me up from the side of the road. He’d shoved my skirt up, bunched my shirt over my bare breasts, then kissed his way down and licked me into a frenzy under the stars and then plunged inside of me.
“I love the way you fuck me.” I clung to his shoulders and kept pace with his thrusts. Our grunts and moansmingled with the rest of the wildlife at this hidden spot of pasture between the distillery and the cabin.
“You’re so fucking tight.” He gritted his teeth. The tendons in his neck stood out and I could trace the veins on his forearms with my tongue. “So damn greedy for my cock.”
Shamelessly greedy. “Yes. Oh god—yes!” I came apart. Stars dotted the sky above us and behind my eyelids. “Rhys!”
He spread my legs wider and slammed into me once before coming. Hot release filled me while I continued to convulse around him. I collapsed back and splayed my arms over my head.
He stayed inside me but sagged over my body, his head hanging. Soft hair brushed above the hemline of my shirt.
I stuffed my hands into his hair and opened my eyes. The Big Dipper soared overhead. I traced the corner star to the Little Dipper. After I’d closed up the bar, Rhys had followed me to the cabin. I’d dropped off my car and hopped in with him. I’d made a comment on the way home that the stars were pretty tonight and he’d driven us to the pasture we used to hook up in. A copse of trees blocked us from the little-used road.
The only downside was that any vehicle driving by would be my family, but these days, getting busted wasn’t a concern.
Despite that, something about tonight felt frantic. Was it me?
I curled my fingers around strands of his hair. He gently pulled out and helped me sit up. I tugged my skirt down and he handed me the underwear he’d stuffed into his pocket.
