Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

I do look up at Olivia’s words, though. Her eyes are popped wide open, her jaw dropped to catch flies. I glance at table twelve. I see four women dressed in their Sunday best, probably fresh from church and here for a late lunch. My lips stretch in a smile automatically, even though I don’t feel like smiling at all. The women flash back small smiles of pity before their heads nearly knock together as they whisper.

About me.

“You, obviously,” she confirms.

“How do they even know?” I whisper, not bothering to pretend there’s nothing to know. There’s no use.

Olivia leans in close. “Willow, you could’ve won at Hank’s poker game last night with how straight your face was after Bobby’s show. That was already fuel on the fire of ‘is Willow okay?’ and ‘what did that Tannen boy do now?’” She waves her hand in front of her face, staring vacantly. “And if that wasn’t enough to raise some concerns, Bobby’s truck was seen flying through town around three in the morning, not headed toward your house or his, and he was alone.”

My stomach rolls. Did he already leave? So easily? And who was out at three in the morning to see him go?

Tears threaten again, hotly stinging my lids, and I sniffle.

“Oh, shit. Shit!” Olivia hisses. “Go to the back. Check the spreadsheets or whatever. Go, go, girl. Never let ’em see ya sweat or cry.”

She’s so nice, giving me an excuse the way she does Unc when he needs a rest. Any reason to hide out for a little bit and pull myself together.

“Thanks,” I manage to whisper. I wish I were strong enough to walk with my head held high, not caring about the nosy Nellies here to wallow in my misery. But I’m not. I virtually run for the office.

I shut the door before the waterworks come, pooling in my glasses. I yank them off angrily, dropping them to the desk as my face floods with fresh tears.

He’s gone.

All it took was me giving him a nudge, and he left. That affirms how much he wants that life.

I did the right thing.

I know I did.

It hurts right now, but in the long run, Bobby will have his deal and his dreams of filling stadiums, fans singing his music, and living like a country superstar, and it will be well worth this pain. That happiness—his happiness—will make this pain seem insignificant. I hope.

I’ve got today’s shift to get through. After that, I can spend the entirety of Monday breaking down and no one will be the wiser. I promise myself a full twenty-four hours of tears, ice cream scooped straight out of the pint with bark-thin chocolate as a makeshift spoon, and an actual hot bath. For now, I swallow down my loss, wipe my face, and steel my nerves.

Hours later, I’m doing okay, mostly passable as a ghost thanks to Olivia’s help.

She’s running interference for me, shooting daggers at customers if they aim for the bar and shooing them to tables so they can’t pester me with questions. She does let Richard sit down in his usual spot, but thank goodness, he doesn’t say a single word about my red eyes or hanging head. In fact, I think he might be planted there as a buffer for anyone who gets past Olivia.

“Keep ’em coming, Willow. Draft and water back, please.”

I nod, getting his usual.

Still, I can feel the town’s eyes, hear their whispered questions, taste their hunger for gossip. I want to hide, be invisible again.

Maybe going back to the city is a good idea?

I’d said that last night as a push to get Bobby to go to Nashville, not actually intending on doing it. But there, I get lost amid the sheer volume of people. Nobody knows me, my name, or my business. I can be outside everything, photographing it as an observer without getting involved. Without getting hurt.

The door creaks open, but I don’t look up. I haven’t all day.

“I’ll sit wherever I damn well please, Olivia, and I’d suggest that you don’t get in my way,” I hear a deep voice bark.

At that, my head lifts. Brody?

No, it’s all of them. The gang’s all here, literally. Minus Cooper, Cindy Lou, and Mama Louise, who’s probably pulling grandma duty.

Olivia shrugs, mouthing ‘sorry’ as she lets them pass. I guess even her skills have some boundaries. I don’t blame her. Brody’s scary on a good day. Right now, he looks like he could pluck someone’s head from their shoulders with his bare hands. Brutal would probably toss it around like a football. Which might be a bit amusing if I wasn’t sure it was my head they want to roll.

Anyone else I could’ve handled. Not well, but I could’ve managed. The Tannen-Bennett gang is another matter entirely.