Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

Instead, I pull out my phone and send Shelby the videos from last night. Why didn’t I think to bring something with a bigger screen with us? We were right at the mall. I could’ve grabbed something.

“I wrote a song for you. Do you want to hear it and tell me what you think?” Shelby asks.

By the excited noises, I’m guessing Bethany’s answer is an enthusiastic yes.

Shelby strums a few upbeat notes and launches into a cute tune that consists of a bunch of words that somehow rhyme with Bethany in Shelby’s sassy twang. Her talent keeps on amazing me.

With tears in her eyes, the mom wanders into the hallway.

Even for a cynical bastard like me, this whole scene’s overwhelming.

The mom sniffles and then startles when she notices me leaning against the wall. “Are you Shelby’s husband?”

“Uh.” Fuck, I feel shitty even being here. “Her boyfriend.” What an inappropriate moment to test out that word for the first time. “And driver.” I force a smile, trying to keep things light. I’m sure the woman has enough darkness in her life.

“Well, thank you.” She sighs and glances into the room again. “When Bethany first got diagnosed, we were in the hospital a lot and somehow we got hooked on that show. We watched episodes of Redneck Roadhouse constantly. Bethany was obsessed, and she adored Shelby. This means a lot to her.”

Words. Think of some. How do I respond to that? “I’m happy we could make it work out,” I finally say.

Awkwardness crawls up and down my skin. I’m not good at small talk in regular situations, and certainly not in ones when I’m intruding on a stranger’s suffering. “Can I get you anything? A soda, coffee?”

Not that I want to run away. It’s more that I want to do something…useful.

“A Pepsi? There’s a vending machine at the end of the hallway.” She points in the opposite direction. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll be right back.”

The heavy feeling from Bethany’s room chases me down the hallway. It takes a second to locate the small lounge full of vending machines. And when I finally do, I stop and stare at the machines for a few seconds, not looking at anything in particular.

How the hell does Shelby do this?

How many visits has she made? One? Two? Ten?

I feed the machine and punch the button a few times, grabbing a couple of cans to take back with me.

When I return, Shelby’s showing the little girl the video of the duet with Dawson, explaining how nervous she was and how nice he is. The kind of behind-the-scenes information that makes Bethany’s eyes go wide.

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t make it last night,” Shelby says. “But I brought you a couple things.” She turns and raises an eyebrow at the mom. “Is that okay?” she whispers.

Mom nods quickly.

That’s my cue. I set the soda cans on the windowsill and grab the bags we brought. I hadn’t noticed last night, but apparently Shelby packed T-shirts and other concert merchandise with her before leaving the venue.

After the presents, they take a bunch of pictures. Shelby hugs the mom and Elaine before stepping out.

“I’ve got this.” I take her guitar case from her and wrap my hand around hers.

Shelby’s quiet as we navigate our way out of the hospital. The heels of her sandals click over the shiny tiles, emphasizing how little there is to say.

Inside the truck, she bursts into tears.

“Shhh. Shelby, come here.” I don’t bother asking what’s wrong. Seeing such a sweet little girl so sick and in pain would be rough on anyone, let alone someone who’s lost her little sister. I flip the middle console out of the way and slide closer, pulling her into my arms. “Shhh. I got you.”

I hold her while she trembles and sobs for several minutes. Finally, she takes a deep breath and draws away.

“Here.” I reach into the back seat and snag a box of tissues, then hold them out to her.

“Thank you,” she whispers and dabs at her eyes. “Shoot. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I set the tissue box on the dash, so she can grab more if she needs them. “That was sweet. What you did. You made that little girl so happy.”

She sniffles and dabs at her cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

After blowing out a long breath, her gaze darts everywhere, never landing on me. “About what?” Her bottom lip trembles.

“‘Empty Room?’”

Finally, she meets my eyes. “You’re an attentive one, aren’t you?” Her words come out flat. Not teasing. Not hostile.

I brush my knuckles over her cheek. “If you’re talking, I’m listening.”

After a few more seconds of silence, she says, “My sister’s name was Hayley…”

“Shelby and Hayley. That’s pretty.”

One corner of her mouth curves up. “She was almost four years younger than me but we were tight as ticks when we were little. No one messed with my baby sister without gettin’ an ass whoopin’ from me.”