Blacklist

by Geneva Lee

  He waits for me to finish when I finally pause. “We rarely know when we’re about to lose someone. That’s why it’s called loss. You can’t plan for it. You just live with it.”

  “Well, it sucks,” I say flatly. I stare at the plain tombstone. “She was so much more than this.”

  “Tell me about her.” He sits, pulling me down next to him.

  “She loved old country music and art. You saw her paintings. I’ve never been able to see them like she did. She saw beauty in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.” My thoughts wander to my father again. I shake my mind free. This isn’t about him. It’s about her. “She used to say ‘some days are diamonds, Adair. Treasure those days.’ I didn’t understand what she meant, but I do now. I always thought she was complaining about the bad days and how little good days we have. But she was reminding herself that a better day was coming. She just had to look for it and treasure it. I wish I’d treasured my days with her more. I wish I could have said goodbye.”

  I can’t help staring at the small shoots of grass that are growing where they dug up the spot for her coffin. “She’s been down there long enough for grass to grow. She’s been down there so little, it’s still mostly dirt. I’m stuck in this hellish limbo between holding on to her and letting her go.”

  “You don’t have to let her go.” Darkness coats his words and I wonder again about his family, but I don’t dare bring it up. I wonder if he visits his mother’s grave.

  “I should have brought flowers,” I realize as I stare at the bare grave. “She’s dead and I’m still fucking things up.”

  “Next time,” he promises. “Do you think she’d be mad at you?”

  I shake my head. “No. She’d hug me and tell me she loved me,” I choke on the last bit. She’s the only person who’s ever said it to me. I strain my memory trying to recall daddy saying it, but I can’t. Maybe no one ever will again.

  Sterling wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug.

  “I don’t like hugs,” I warn him.

  “Too bad, Lucky. You’re getting one.” He doesn’t release me and instead of waiting quietly for it to be over, I find myself melting into him. He’s warm and solid and real. Sterling for all his bad attitude and quick temper is something I didn’t expect: safe harbor. I keep trying to tell myself I’ll survive this, hoping I’ll find the conviction I need to actually do so. I keep looking for the words—for proof that I can. But it was never about believing in some thing. I know because I found someone to believe in: him.

  28

  Sterling

  Present Day

  Adair’s friends swarm to the Barrelhouse like moths to a lantern. Soon it’s not just Poppy and Kai, it’s the whole crew. They’re not here to watch Kai perform, they saw him last weekend. They want to bask in some of his attention. The truth is that most of them have been sitting around waiting on something their entire lives: their family’s company, a trust fund, an inheritance. In the meantime, everything’s been handed to them. They’ll never know what it’s like to become someone. They were born to someone, which means they’ve never had to try. And why would they when money means famous friends willing to share the limelight?

  The drinks flow as quickly as Jack can pour them. He even assigns a dedicated waitress to our table, but he refuses to take my credit card to start a tab.

  “It’s on the house,” he says, sliding it back to me. “The performance will have us written up in every paper in town—and you better be careful, Sterling, or I really might steal that girl.”

  My lips curve into a smirk, but my eyes linger on Adair. “You can try, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

  Most of the group is busy doing shots, but I can’t help noticing that Oliver Hawthorne has broken off from the crowd. He’s dressed in an expensive suit, fresh off whatever job his nepotism has secured. He wastes no time chatting up a single woman at the far end of the bar.

  “Keep an eye on that one,” I tell Jack. “He’s got shifty fingers.”

  Jack knows exactly what I mean. Oliver won’t get any drugs past him tonight. Ava sashays over and links her arms around me. As usual, Darcy is at her heels.

  “You sure you don’t want something?” Ava asks.

  I shrug her off me and force a smile. “Someone has to be the designated driver.”

  “We have drivers,” she says.

  “I think it’s sweet of you,” Darcy says, leaning against me on my other side. They’re like a pair of bad pennies—always turning up. They haven’t left me alone since they arrived, which I imagine is all part of Adair’s plan.

  But Adair has gotten quite cozy with Jack’s reserve whiskey. She practically sloshes as she pushes herself between me and Darcy.

  “Are you hitting on my man?” she says. Her accent, which is usually barely noticeable, deepens to a full southern.

  “Your man?” I repeat under my breath, amused despite myself.

  “Isn’t that what you are?” She turns, forgetting Darcy, and wraps her arms around my neck. “Unless you changed your mind.”

  I brush a strand of sticky hair from her forehead and let myself pretend she means it. “Never, Lucky.”

  She’s too drunk to care that I just broke the rule she made earlier.

  “Good.” She gives me a sloppy smile. Then, she lurches forward and kisses me. She tastes like whiskey and bad decisions, and I want more than a single shot of her.

  “Get a room!” Kai whoops.

  Adair breaks away from me and giggles. “Is that all you got?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s what she said.”

  “I don’t think that works the way you meant it to,” Poppy informs him, shaking her head.

  “Let’s dance.” Adair pulls me toward the dance floor.

  “I need to talk to Jack for a second,” I say, directing her toward her friends. They swallow her whole. Adair never fits in more than when she finally lets go. She’s never known what she has, never appreciated what she’s got. She’s always felt like she’s on the outside, but I see what she can’t. They’re always there, waiting to welcome her inside the inner circle. Most people would kill for that invitation.

  Jack’s wiping down the counter. It’s near close, but he hasn’t said a thing to his guests from Valmont.

  “They’re going to drink all your booze if you’re not careful,” I warn him. “Moderation is one lesson they’ll never learn.”

  “It’s worth it,” he says, leaning onto his elbows so no one can hear us. “I’ve been serving the Wests someone else’s whiskey all night. It’s the little things.”

  “I think we might finally get a moment alone with that one.” I tip my head toward Oliver, who’s broken off from the group again to talk to one of Kai’s loitering fans. I’ve been watching him all night, looking to see if he’s up to his old tricks. It seems like he no longer relies on pharmaceutical aids to get women. Someone must’ve clued him in that money would be enough. That doesn’t change what he did years ago. He might not have confessed to being the one who drugged Adair that night. He might not have known she was the target.

  He’s still on my list.

  “I’m on it,” Jack says. “You take care of the others?”

  “My pleasure.”

  Considering I don’t drink, it’s been a long time since I closed down a bar. And closing down a bar in Nashville is a bit of a feat. They stay open well past most cities, even if the hours don’t follow the law to the letter. But this is a city built on rebels and whiskey, bootleggers and booze. The party doesn’t stop until someone says it does.

  Poppy is the first to throw in the towel.

  “I need to go home,” she announces, peeling off her shoes to rub the balls of her feet. Kai stands behind her massaging her shoulders.

  I wave Jack over to let him know he can finally send his staff home. He takes a seat at our hightop while we wait for cars to arrive.

  “Thanks for staying open.” Kai slaps him on the shoulders and I s
wear Jack Archer looks like a school girl.

  “Where’s Cyrus?” I ask Poppy, realizing he never came in.

  “Don’t you think a better man has replaced him?” Kai asks with a grin.

  “He’s in New York on business,” Poppy says. “Kai is standing in.”

  “Thought I’d stay in town for a while. We just wrapped my latest record,” Kai explains. “I needed a break from it all.”

  That I get. “I’ve been to LA before. I completely understand.”

  “I don’t know why you record out there,” Poppy says. “There are plenty of studios here.”

  “Los Angeles is a bit more progressive than here,” he says.

  “Jack has a record label,” Adair blurts out.

  “You do?” Kai asks him.

  Jack shrugs it off, instantly looking uncomfortable. “It’s just a little thing.”

  “We should talk,” Kai says.

  “Sure.” Jack remains calm. No doubt, he doesn’t expect Kai to remember this when he’s sobered up. He might be surprised. Kai isn’t like the rest of them. He doesn’t come from money. He knows what it’s like to climb the ladder.

  “Take me home,” Poppy begs her friends.

  “Your Uber is on the way,” Kai tells her, checking his phone.

  “You’re not really going home,” Adair whines, pulling on my sleeve. “Everyone is leaving.”

  Darcy and Ava left hours ago in search of better options when Adair staked her claim on me, Money in tow. No one noticed when Oliver left and no one seems to care now. That’s good since Jack orchestrated his exit. I’d be having a chat with him soon.

  “I don’t want to go home,” Adair declares after Poppy and Kai hug everyone goodbye. It’s a mark of how intoxicated she is that she enthusiastically returns their embraces.

  “You can stay here as long as you want, honey,” Jack tells her, “but not much is happening and the kitchen is closed.”

  “Oh my God.” Adair’s eyes widen and I immediately sense her drunken brain is hatching a plan. “Hennie’s!”

  She knows the path to my heart is paved with Hennie’s hellfire chicken. “You want to eat at this hour?”

  “Did you see how much I drank? Maybe you don’t have to take me.” She pauses and turns a flirtatious gaze on Jack. “Maybe Jack wants to.”

  “I don’t think so, Lucky.” I haul her over my shoulder before she can protest. She laughs all the way back to my car. I tuck her into the passenger seat, saying a prayer for the leather upholstery that she manages to keep the bourbon in her belly. Adair is all smiles as we drive toward the closest 24-hour Hennie’s Hot Chicken. Her feet are up on my dash and she’s drumming her thumbs on her stomach to the song on the stereo.

  “Remember the first time we came here?” she asks with a happy sigh. “Some days are diamonds…”

  I nod, gluing my eyes to the road so that my mind doesn’t wander too far back. My brain’s been trying to take a permanent trip down memory lane all night.

  “When was the last time you had hot chicken?”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Still can’t hack it?”

  “Yesterday,” I tell her

  “Bullshit!”

  “Why do you think I finally returned to Nashville?” I dare a glance at her and wish I hadn’t. She’s silhouetted against the window, city lights painting her hair with glowing neon. She’s the answer to my own question.

  Adair leans over the console between us, her palm dropping between my legs. Her chin rests on my shoulder. “I thought you came back for me.”

  “I thought we were going to pretend.” I pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. I lift her hand from my lap, hoping it doesn’t turn her sweet mood sour. “We’re here.”

  Owing to the alcohol content in her bloodstream and the neon skillet blinking orange flames on the sign, she’s too distracted to be offended. She’s the one always drawing boundary lines, but it didn’t take much to blur them. I’d known that much bourbon would, but there’s no glory in taking advantage of a situation like this. She lowered her guard tonight, proving she isn’t being completely honest with anyone. Not even herself. Adair never has been. But the most action she’s getting out

  of me is whatever she orders off the menu inside.

  She leans against me, using my body as a prop, while she studies her options. Finally, she groans. “You know what I like.”

  “Yes, I do, Lucky,” I say darkly. Her breath hitches for a moment and suddenly there’s no one else in the world. I force myself to return my attention to ordering food.

  She doesn’t object when I order one of damn near everything. We cozy up in a corner booth, sitting close to one another because I’m afraid she’ll fall out of her seat if I don’t put myself between her and open air. A comfortable familiarity threatens to overwhelm me with my arm around her. It’s sentimentality—nothing more. When the food arrives, Adair eats like she used to back in college.

  “Glad to see you still have an appetite,” I say.

  “I know. I’m never giving up carbs.” She reaches back and pats her ample rear. “But it’s catching up to me.”

  “I like it,” I say honestly.

  She screws up her nose as she dredges a fry in the ketchup on my plate. “Admit it, I don’t have the body I used to have.”

  There’s no way we’d be having this conversation if she were sober. That means she’s probably not going to remember it in the morning, so there’s no harm in being honest with her.

  “I did love it,” I admit. “But now?”

  “I knew it,” she says with a sigh, shoving her plate away and looking defeated.

  I grip her chin and tilt her face toward mine. “Now? I want to worship it.”

  Her eyes flutter open in surprise. “Really?”

  “You were hot before. Now you’re a goddess.”

  “That’s not a commonly held belief,” she says. “The last guy I dated…”

  “What?”

  “He told me that I needed to go on a diet,” she confesses.

  “And you believed that dick?” I ask. I wish the guy was here right now so I could wring his neck until he lost a little weight of his own.

  “I dumped him,” she says brightly. “Nothing comes between me and my French fries.”

  “Or my French fries, it seems.”

  “I’m adding to my figure,” she says, swiping another from me. “I’m told you prefer me curvy.”

  I draw her closer. “I do.”

  “Not that it matters,” she hedges, daring another fluttering glance at me. “Because we’re not sleeping together.”

  “No, we’re not,” I confirm.

  “Honestly, that seems like a bit of a loss,” she says.

  “Does it?” I can’t help but smile.

  “It’s not like—”

  I cut her off with a kiss. It’s not like the one earlier. This one is purposeful and lingering. I savor the softness of her lips under mine, teasing my tongue across hers, until I can’t remember why I’m supposed to stay away from her. Pulling away, I try to remind myself. “Don’t make this complicated.”

  “Let’s not pretend we’ve ever been anything but complicated,” she whispers and offers me more of her.

  29

  Sterling

  THE PAST

  “Things are getting pretty serious between you two.” Cyrus shoots a mini basketball at the hoop he’s hung over our door.

  I look up from my book in time to see him make the shot. “We’re friends.”

  He snorts as he walks over to retrieve the ball. Passing it from palm to palm, he shakes his head as though he doesn’t believe that’s possible. “I see the way you look at her. And she’s got you reading some girly book, too.”

  “It’s for a class,” I tell him, dropping the copy of Persuasion on the coffee table.

  “Sure. That’s like your third novel by that chick this month.”

  “Jane Austen,” I correct him. “Not some chick.�
�� Cyrus isn’t terrible but he’s not exactly intellectual. He might be counting how many books I’m reading, but I can’t help noticing he hasn’t cracked one yet. At least, not while I’m around.

  But, unlike some of the other people in Adair’s inner circle, he doesn’t treat me like the servant class, so I keep this observation to myself.

  “Ok, then what are your plans next weekend?” he asks. “There’s going to be a Halloween party at—”

  “I’ve got plans,” I cut him off. The last thing I need is an invitation to another Valmont party. So far I’ve managed to avoid them since the night Adair got drugged.

  “It’s funny because Adair said the same thing when I invited her.” Cyrus drops the ball onto his desk and turns on me. “Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence.”

  I shrug. “Okay, it’s not a coincidence.”

  “Seriously, man? It’s Halloween. I happen to know it’s her favorite holiday. Have you even asked her about it?”

  “She told me she wanted to skip it.” I frown, not sure what to make of this information. On one hand, Cyrus has known her almost her whole life. On the other, like most of her old friends, he doesn’t see what she’s going through. Maybe it was her favorite before her mom’s death.

  “So you two are just going to sit around and read books?” he asks, picking up the novel and staring at it like he’s never see one before.

  Cyrus had come home last weekend to find Adair and I curled on the couch, her nestled between my legs, clothes on, reading books. I think he would have been less mortified if he’d walked in on us naked. He’s been acting weird ever since.

  “Come on. Convince her to come. Adair’s a lot of fun when she loosens up and you can’t tell me you’re not interested in her.”

  “I’ll talk to her about it.” At this point, I’ll promise anything to get him off my back. If Adair doesn’t want to go to some stupid party, there’s no way I’m going to try to talk her into attending. Cyrus must consider this a victory because he grabs his Beats and flops onto his bed.