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“Aren’t all the Bridgestones?”
They reached the end of the hall. Cal was so intent on Mack’s words, he didn’t notice that every single person on the floor had stopped to look. It wasn’t until Mackenzie glanced over his shoulder and raised an imperious eyebrow that he realized he was under scrutiny.
“Don’t mind them. It’s not often a bona fide superstar walks onto this ward.” She nodded. “Here we are.”
Mackenzie pushed open the last door on the left, and they entered a large, private room. There were no flowers or balloons or cards. The blinds were half drawn, allowing a small sliver of light that didn’t do much. There was a bed with a bunch of blinking machines surrounding it, and a beat-up-looking guy in the middle. Bent’s right leg was in a cast. His head was swathed in bandages. His face was puffy and black and blue. Yet even in that state, there was no mistaking the strong Bridgestone lines.
“He’s on some pretty heavy-duty pain meds and has been sleeping a lot, which is good, so I can’t tell you when he’ll wake up, but you’re more than welcome to stay until he does. Can I get you anything?” She was looking at the machines and making notes on her tablet.
“I’m good.”
“Okay. I have rounds but will check in later. If you need anything, just pull that rope over the bed and I’m sure the nurses will come running like gazelles.” She chuckled and took two steps back. “Oh, wait. I have a letter for you. I’ll be right back. It’s at the nurse’s station.”
She disappeared before Cal had a chance to say anything, but was back moments later, a crisp white envelope with his name scrawled across it in hand. Mackenzie gave it to him and, with a wink, was gone. A glance told him that it was written by his sister Vivian. He recognized the loopy penmanship instantly. He opened it. The words inside were few, but the message was clear.
I was toldyou were coming back, so I’ve decided to leave town early. I know you’ll look after little Nora, because despite what most folks think, I know you’re a good man. Also, you owe this family. I can’t be here right now. It’s too long a story to tell. Ryland needs some guidance. Who knows if Scarlett will show up, and Bent will need time to heal. Pick up Nora at the Sundowner after school. Millie was grabbing her. I’ve told Bent, and he’s good with this.
Viv
PS. Don’t screw this up.
Cal read the note twice,the words blurring the second time around. This is what his family was. Scattered like fall leaves, pulled thin by time and pain. And the thing of it was, he couldn’t be mad at his sister—he’d cut and run years ago and never came back. But little Nora? What the hell did he know about looking after a little girl? He’d never even met her. Then there was Millie Sue. The past, it seemed, was gunning for him, and he didn’t have the tools to stop it.
More tired than he was willing to admit, he plopped onto the chair by his brother’s bedside and stayed there for a couple of hours until he gave up hope that Bent would actually wake. Cal was running on zero sleep and a whole lot of worry, thinking a cup of coffee or a shot of whiskey was what he needed, when Bent’s right eye slid open. He tried to speak, but Cal shook his head and scooped the cup of water from the table beside the bed. Gently, he placed a straw between his brother’s lips and held it there until Bent stopped drinking. Then he set it down in the exact spot he’d grabbed it from. He took a moment. Gathered his thoughts.
“You look like shit,” he said, voice low and rough.
“I feel…” Voice gravelly, his brother worked the muscles in his throat. “Worse than I look,” Bent managed to say, the words slow, as if he was taking time to get them right.
For a good long while, the brothers looked at each other in silence. So many things to say and not enough balls to say them. Eventually, Bent swallowed and, after a bit of a struggle, spoke. “How long you here?”
The sentence was short, but loaded with emotion. Cal heard it in the unspoken words that filled the gaps. Five years ago, a different Cal would have searched for a way out. He would have called Ivy and told her to fix this—to hire the best people to look after his family so he didn’t have to feel guilty about not doing it himself.
“As long as it takes,” he replied softly, surprising himself because he meant every word.
Relief eased the pain on his brother’s face, and Bent nodded, wincing again. “Good,” he rasped. “Shoulda rolled the truck years ago.”
Cal frowned, not sure what he meant.
“Might have brought you back sooner.” Exhausted, Bent sank into the bed just as Mackenzie walked back into the room.
All business, she took Cal by the arm. “He needs to rest. Bent might be our miracle, but he’s still got a ways to go. I’ll let you know how he does tonight, and if all is well, you can maybe bring Nora by tomorrow.”
Cal left the hospital the same way he’d come, through the back. Then he walked uptown to the Dodge dealership, glad he’d worn boots and the warm coat Ivy had bought for him while they’d still been in Sydney. Dirk Madison owned the place, a familiar face from his youth, and less than an hour later, he drove off in a brand-new truck that cost a small fortune, a top-of-the-line fully loaded Laramie. It was big and mean and safe. Ten minutes after he left the dealership, Cal was parked at the back of the Sundowner. He cut the engine and sat there for a couple of minutes. He was a confident man. Cocky, some would say. But being back here made him feel off balance. Made the ground feel unsteady.
This was where he began. Him and Millie up on that stage. And this was where it had all gone to hell. He stared across the lot at a building that looked exactly as he remembered, weathered roof a mud gray to match the rest of the place. Then, before he lost his nerve, Cal pulled up his collar and headed inside.
It was dark, the way most honkytonks are, with neon signs and bad artwork on the wall. It smelled of beer and grease and memory, and after sliding onto a stool, he ordered a beer from a young lady tending bar. She was friendly, but with his cap pulled low, he was pretty sure she had no idea who he was—and that was fine with him. He kept his head down, and no one attempted to talk to him. That was the way it was out here. Folks minded their own business until you made their business yours.
Cal nursed his beer and slowly began to relax. A man joined the girl behind the bar. Something about him looked familiar, but he didn’t pay much attention because his thoughts were elsewhere. His brother. The accident. A niece he’d never met.
Millie Sue Jenkins.
He’d thought about this moment many times. Thought of what he’d say. How he’d act. He used to tell himself they were both older and, hopefully, wiser. That the past could stay where it was because they were grown-ups now. They’d moved on. Lived their lives.
Of course, all that sounded good when you were halfway across the world, sucking on a bottle of Jack at three in the morning. But to be here, in this place, none of it felt good or right or even possible.
He noticed the girl tending bar pointing somewhere behind him, and Cal swiveled on his chair, trying to find what she saw. His body hummed with the kind of energy he usually felt just before stepping on a stage in front of thousands of screaming fans, because he knew.
