Page 35

After kissing Tate senseless, only breaking apart when a passing truck honks its horn at us, we make our way to the county clerk’s office. We have to wait seventy-two hours, putting a slight delay on our road trip, but it’s the perfect excuse to laze around in a local motel while I lose myself in the bedsheets with my fiancé.

I’m not throwing my life away. I’m building one, and if it makes me this happy, how could I ever live to regret it?

TODAY, YOU SAID YES

The love we have is endless

Like the ring wrapped around my finger

And I’ve never been prouder to wear the proof

On my left hand, until the end of my days

FOURTEEN

TATE

“Ah, I’m not allowed to sign body parts anymore. Especially that one.” The crowd closes in, cornering me until the sharp edge of the bar digs into my spine. So much for my disguise.

Where’s Talia? I can’t see through the quickly growing group. She always hated it when I got hounded like this, and I cringe thinking back to the last time fans accosted us. Howard is going to have a field day when he undoubtedly sees these pictures plastered all over the internet. And then the paparazzi will know where to find me. Fucking brilliant.

I catch the attention of Chris, the door security, who was glued to his phone while I was getting mauled. He ambles over, taking his sweet ass time, and claps his hands, capturing the crowd’s attention.

“All right, everyone, let’s give him some space,” he instructs lazily.

No one listens.

“I really need to get going, folks. But I appreciate the support.”

Again, no one listens.

Someone pinches my ass. Another hand strokes my face.

“Seriously, back up.” My tone picks up a decibel.

A loud, ear-piercing whistle silences the room. The crowd parts, revealing Jimmy Forrester, the Smokey Barrel’s owner. “Now, how about everyone returns to their tables and gives Mr. Brooks here some space?” His voice is stern yet friendly. It also helps that he’s nearly seven feet tall and built like a tank.

I sag in relief when they finally release me and disperse. Some continue snapping photos of me from across the room, but I ignore them.

Jimmy saunters over, adjusting his bolo tie. He’s a larger-than-life character, and I don’t get the chance to thank him before he’s hauling me into a bear hug, squeezing the air from my lungs as I suffocate against his potbelly. He releases me, holding me by the shoulders as he looks me up and down.

“As I live and breathe, the prodigal child returns.” He chuckles. “Good to see ya, kid.”

“And you, Jimmy.” I blow out a breath. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Your fans sure are enthusiastic. They travel far and wide to see where the famous Tate Brooks performed before he got too big for our little stage.”

“Now, you know that isn’t true. I’ve always got time for you.”

He pops a bushy eyebrow. “You sure about that? We haven’t seen you around for a while.”

Guilt sinks into my stomach. When Talia and I left Texas, we planned to live in Nashville until she finished college, but because we were married and wanted our own space, she didn’t qualify for student housing. We managed to scrape by with what savings we had, but rent in the city was extortionate. Then we heard of a small town a stone’s throw away from the campus, where we found a much more affordable apartment. Jimmy hired me to do odd jobs, as I wasn’t old enough to bartend. A month in, their Tuesday night performer moved away. Parker was the one to convince Jimmy to give me an audition to fill the spot. The following week, I was the Smokey Barrel’s newest evening entertainment. Talia would study in the back, watching me perform, and it became our perfect little routine.

It paid the bills and meant Talia could concentrate on school until she was hired at the firm. I loved working here. Then, the talent scout visited one evening, and the rest is history—one I so desperately want to rewrite.

“I hate to cut this short, but have you seen Talia?” I whip my head around, searching the room.

“Hmm. Last I saw, she was sitting with the girls.” Jimmy smiles and nods at customers as they pass. When he returns his gaze to me, his jolly expression shifts. “She ain’t been herself since you up and left. I hope you’ve got your kneepads at the ready, because you have some groveling to do.”