Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

“Tell me, Willow.”

She flinches at my harsh tone, but I’m too on edge to be gentle with her right now. I feel like she’s walking on eggshells for me, but I’m not capable of that the way she is. I’m more of a boot-stomping, destroy shit type.

“You can’t do this.” It’s a cried plea, but I still don’t know what she’s talking about.

I narrow my eyes, worried. “Do what, exactly?”

She twists her hands, and I want to hold them in mine, stop her nervous fidgeting. Stop her mouth from whatever poison it’s filled with because even the smallest dose already burns with destructive force, ruining me.

“You were amazing tonight. When I see you on that stage, you light up with this . . . joy. I can feel, the whole audience can feel, you letting us into your soul through the lyrics you write, the notes you sing, the chords you play. It’s beautiful. And after, it’s like your mind is peaceful, resting from the release. Almost like . . . sex.”

“Thank you?”

As difficult as words are for me, I can understand exactly what she’s saying. I feel that transformation with every performance—the progress from my skin feeling too tight to feeling at home inside myself. Like the show is a purging of all my emotions and a cleansing that allows the sunshine to wash through me.

But as sweet as the words are, they don’t sound like the lead-up to anything good.

“You need to go back to Nashville. Talk to Jeremy Marshall, talk to other agents, and play bars there. Whatever it takes. You need to chase that dream and not let anything hold you back. Not your family, not your responsibilities, not . . . me.”

My jaw falls open. “What are you talking about?”

“You can do it. Bobby, you deserve that deal. If anyone deserves their dream coming true, it’s you.”

I have a moment of panic. She knows. How could she know? The only person I told is Mama Louise, and I know she wouldn’t have spilled. That woman’s mouth is a steel trap.

“I didn’t get the contract. I told you that,” I growl, mad that she’s making me lie to her again. The lie is bitter, stinging my tongue, singeing my soul. I wish I’d never told it, but I couldn’t figure out another way to explain it to my family and Willow.

Pain flashes in her eyes and tears instantly flow down her cheeks.

Anger, hot and bright, washes through me. I’m mad at myself, furious at Jeremy for his stupid conditions, and hurt that Willow is digging into the wound I’m trying to let scab over.

My voice is too loud, but I can’t hold it down. “Are you disappointed in me? Ashamed that I didn’t get the contract and am just a farmer who sings a little?” I’m used to arguing with my brothers, with Shayanne, who will rear right back up at me. Willow does not.

Even smaller, she shakes her head. “No.” Her voice weak and shaky. “Of course not. You’re—”

Reason fights its way through my blood roaring in my head when I see her reaction. She doesn’t need to be handled with kid gloves and is tougher than she thinks she is, but not now. Not like this.

Be easy with her, Bobby. For fuck’s sake, be a little gentle.

I stand up, stepping toward her to take her arms in my hands. She needs to hear this and hear it loud and clear. Bending down so that I’m eye to eye with her, I spit out, “I love you. I want you. I want to be here, with you.”

I hope it’s enough. It’s all I have, all I can offer—my heart.

“I’m leaving,” she whispers.

“What?” I shout.

She licks her lips, eyes tortured. “I’m going home, back to the city.”

“You can’t! What the fuck, Willow? Why?” Louder and louder, barked demands for answers pour forth. “Did Hank do something? Did he tell you to leave?”

I push back from her, needing to see her, read her mind. Something, anything that will tell me what the fuck is going on.

“Son of a bitch!” I scream. The pain of losing her is already rushing through my blood, superheating it to a boil. The fear of life without her is dark and heavy, its thick tentacles pulling me under. I instinctively resort to what I know, how I’ve always handled emotions that feel too big for my body to handle. I spin, throwing a punch at the wall. The sheetrock shatters beneath my fist.

“Ahh!” Willow screams.

I’m on the verge of an apology. I didn’t mean to scare her. I’m just frustrated and terrified and confused.

But the door blasts open, hitting the wall behind the frame.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Brody bellows, Rix right behind him in the hallway.

“We’re fine,” I tell Brody. “Get out. This is between me and Willow.”