On My Way To You (Broken Love Duet 2)

He loves you.

I close my eyes.

Reed doesn’t know me. If he did, he’d hate me almost as much as Mitch does.

Almost as much as I hate myself.

CHAPTER 5

Reed

“How you all doin’ out there tonight?” I call out in the microphone, like they even give a damn.

The place is packed, but they’re not here to see me. They’re here to get drunk or get laid—and most of the time both. I used to dream that I’d fill stadiums with fans waiting to hear my music. I’ve almost given up that dream.

Jake was right about one thing. Going to California would probably be a better career plan. I’ve never really wanted to leave Macon. Hell, I never really wanted to leave Callie. I love singing. I love writing songs, but as much as I love those things, they can’t compare to the love I once held in my heart for Callie Street…Callie Lane.

Tonight ends that. I’m going to let Callie go. I should have done it the minute she said I do to my brother. Still, I’ve held on for whatever reason. Getting Katie’s text tonight proved that I was just being stupid. Callie wants me to mend fences with my brother and be friends. If she wants that, then I can at least pretend to do that. I won’t let her see how much it cuts me up, but I’m done trying to make her see that I’m still here waiting for her and for the future that neither of us got to experience fully.

No more.

“How about we kick the night off with a little bit of old school country?” I ask, pretending they’re listening to me.

I lead out with an old George Strait tune. When in doubt you can’t go wrong with George—especially in Texas. It helps that I know the words by heart. I start singing about a man wishing his woman would come back, running to him in a truck or a plane…. Perhaps it’s fate that Jeff and Katie come in and right behind them are Callie and Mitch. I’m proud of myself because I don’t miss a beat. My gaze moves back over the crowd and out onto the dance floor. It’s already getting crowded. Most of these dance floors do when I sing a slow song about love. Heartbreak, it would seem, is universal.

Reluctantly, I look back toward the door. Katie and Jeff have started moving through the crowd toward the tables. Callie and Mitch are still standing there. Mitch is grinning at me—but it’s not a smile that normal people would give their family. It’s the kind I’d like to plow my fist into. Instead, I force myself to grin as the song hits a break and I don’t have to sing. Then, I concentrate on the chords, choking the fuck out of the neck of my guitar—wishing it was Mitch’s neck. When it’s over, I launch straight into another song, this one George, too. This time about a fool hearted memory. It seems fitting. From there, it feels as if I’m on autopilot. I just sing songs left and right. I have a usual set, and I do sing some of those, but tonight—for obvious reasons—I pick songs I get lost in. I even throw in old rock songs. I figure Bob Seger is good for any occasion, and luckily, the clientele at the bar seem to agree.

I’m not sure how many songs I do before I call for a break. I figure it’s been more than normal because my voice is almost hoarse. I put my guitar in the stand and get up. I know I’m going to have to go over to the table where everyone is and act like I’m fine. As I step down off the stage, a couple of girls come over.

It could go to a man’s ego the way they tell me how good I am. The way they give unspoken invitations in their eyes. Hell, most times, they just come out and ask me to go back to their place—or a hotel. Shit, sometimes it’s a room in the back of the bar. I’ve taken a few up on their offers. I’m not ashamed of it. It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me at home.

I sign my name on their napkins or paper. Gathering a few numbers as I go, I explain I have friends waiting on me.

I walk over to where I tracked Callie earlier. I’m not going to lie, I’m relieved to find Mitch isn’t here. With any luck, I’ll be back on stage before he gets back.

“Reed! I swear you get better every show,” Katie says, getting up to hug me.

“Hardly,” I laugh. “How are you, blondie?”

“God, I hate that nickname,” she complains, but she’s smiling.

“Hey, Jeff, I didn’t know you could dance,” I joke. He and Katie got up during one of my songs. It was a slow dance. Jeff mostly stood there, but he had Katie in his arms, so I don’t guess he was complaining.