Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

I can see the moment he realizes I’m here. His expression goes stormy and he covers the few feet between us in three strides. He scoops me into his arms, hugging me tightly. “Willow. Fuck, sweetheart. I missed you.” He holds me like he’s already lost me, like he wants to absorb me into him and take some small part with him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing him in and feeling his solidness against me. I memorize him, knowing this will be the last moment where it all seems okay. This will be the memory I pull out at night when my heart is breaking from seeing another headline claiming country sensation Bobby Tannen is dating some country pop star.

“Language,” Mama Louise whispers, but it seems to be out of habit.

“I missed you too,” I murmur against his skin, pursing my lips to lay a small kiss there too. An invisible mark only I’ll know is forever there.

“Tell us all about it while we eat. I’m starving,” Brody orders. “While you’ve been out gallivanting, we’ve been doing actual labor, you know.” He’s giving his brother shit. It’s how they say ‘I love you’ in their own gruff way. Bobby has told me how much Brody went through to keep their family together, so having one on the verge of leaving the flock must be hard, even if it’s a sign that they’re all doing well.

“Yeah, okay. But first, there’s something I need to say.”

Bobby grinds his teeth together, the muscle in his jaw working overtime. Tension works its way through his body in an instant as he stands tall. Even his hands fist at his sides. He looks as though he’s going to battle, warring with invisible forces that only he can see.

“This weekend was . . . well, I’ll tell you all about it, but you need to know . . . I didn’t get the contract.”

Three, two, one. Silent shock lasts an entire three seconds while we wait for him to shout ‘gotcha’ or laugh at the joke. When he doesn’t, the reactions are slow to come as the truth sinks in.

“What?” Mama Louise breathes.

“Those fucking idiots!” Brody snaps. And for once, Mama Louise doesn’t correct his language.

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Shayanne snarls, instantly riled up in her brother’s defense.

I touch Bobby’s arm and he looks down at me. “I’m so sorry, Bobby.”

His nod is stiff, then he hugs me again, even tighter than the first one. I rub my hand along the muscles of his back soothingly. “So sorry,” I murmur again.

He sniffs once, and as if nothing happened, he straightens both his face and his back. “Like I said, I’ll tell you about the weekend. It was good.” He shrugs. “Just didn’t work out.”

“Let’s sit down so we can eat while it’s still hot,” Mama Louise instructs.

Bobby ducks under the Congratulations sign Cooper spent all afternoon making, taking the time to point at it and give the kid a fist bump of appreciation, but no other mention is made of its now-inappropriate message.

We move to the long table on the back porch. The light strands dangling from the rafters look festive, as though this is the party we thought we were going to have.

“Mama, think I’m gonna need a beer with dinner tonight. Anyone else?” Mark says gruffly.

Hands lift around the table, and Mark and Katelyn hand out drinks. Beer to some, wine coolers to others, and a bottle of root beer to Cooper.

Everyone passes serving platters around the table, and Bobby tells Mama Louise, “Thanks for dinner. Making all my favorites is a real nice touch.” His plate is piled with fried chicken, fried okra, green beans made with bacon, thick macaroni and cheese with bread crumb topping, and a buttered biscuit.

Mama Louise nods, macaroni-filled fork in her hand as she tells him, “Best get on with it.”

Bobby shovels two bites in first, delaying the inevitable. I want to kiss him so he doesn’t have to tell this story. I don’t want him to relive the pain of his dream not coming true, especially when we thought it was such a sure thing.

As we eat, he tells us about the trip.

“The first meeting was weird. Big ol’ fancy office and a whole group talking about me like I was a loaf of bread on sale.” His laugh is forced, but we pretend not to notice. “The show, though, was awesome. I sang several songs, including a new one I wrote this weekend.”

His eyes turn to me. I could fall into their depths, swim in the darkness there, and not even miss the sun and moon if I were surrounded by him. Click.

“You’ll have to play the new one at Hank’s,” Brutal says. “Hank says he’s got the stage all warmed up for you this Saturday.”