Page 16 of Hope and Country

From the outside, my life looked great—almost perfect. Always surrounded by beautiful and famous people. Eating in the best restaurants, chatting with country music superstars and producers who owned half the city of Nashville. I just turned thirty, and thanks to the trust fund my father had set up for me the day I was born and the career I’d built for myself, I didn’t have to work a single day in my life.

But that wasn’t the point.

I loved my job.

I’d basked in country music from the day I was conceived.

I could name every country song that played on the radio at age six.

I attended my first award ceremony at nine.

Yeah, my life seemed perfect.

The professional one at least.

But the personal one? Not so much.

Including my love life that was nonexistent.

How could I feel so fucking lonely all the time, even when I had all those people on speed dial?

On the filthy, old wooden table, which had probably seen its share of fights and broken glasses over the year, I stared at my vibrating phone. My mother’s face flashed on the screen. I knew the reason. It was those damn calls. I had been ignoring my dad—who I now refused to think of anything more than a sperm donor—for the last two weeks. But my mother? I couldn’t disregard her. She knew it. My father knew it. The whole world knew it.

I sucked in a breath, picked up the phone, and pressed the accept-call button, my elbows propped on the tabletop, my head buried in one hand.

“Hey Mama,” I said, trying to infuse some spirit into my words. My mother had a sixth sense and always knew when I was having a bad day—or a bad month.

She never failed to notice it. Even over the phone.

“Hey darling. How are you? Your voice is a little off—” As predicted, she’d seen right through me. Or heard as in this case.

“Not much. Having a drink.”

“By yourself? Or are you in one of your meetings?”

“Mama, if I was in a meeting, I wouldn’t have taken the call. Besides, it’s ten at night.”

“Oh, you’re right. Just checking. Anyway, your father and I will be back in town in a little over a month. We’d like for you to have dinner with us that Saturday. Your father turned fifty-five last week. I want us to celebrate all together. As a family. What do you think?”

I sighed and ran my hand over my face. The idea of seeing my father after our last blow-out didn’t sound so exciting right now.

My eyes traveled around the small bar, taking in all the people around me. A man in black chaps was making out with a woman in a sinful red dress, one size too small. I averted my eyes, feeling like a voyeur.

The barmaid, a woman with long black hair and multiple facial piercings, faked being interested in a twenty-something wasted man with braided blond hair, a long beard, and shabby clothes. All for tips. Or could he be her type?

And I was there, in a corner, drinking by myself like a real champ.

None of them were people I could interact with. All busy in their own lives.

Damn, what was I doing here?

“Riley, darling, are you still there?” The sound of my mother’s voice, laced with concern, brought me back to her.

“Yeah, Mama. Still here. I haven’t moved.” I lifted the whiskey to my lips and chugged the rest of it. Thanks, Jack, I said to myself, raising my glass to the sky. Mr. Daniels had become quite the friend of mine over the past few months. We’d always been close, but our friendship had grown stronger lately.

“Did you hear anything I said? About you coming home five Saturdays from now? And celebrating your father’s birthday?”

“Sure, Mama.”