by T. S. Joyce
“Why didn’t you tell us you had a sister?” Remi asked. “I’ve asked you like six times about your family, and you’ve only answered, ‘Does not compute.’ And you’ve been talking to her about us?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rhett said, smearing butter on a cornbread muffin. “All bad stuff.”
“What the hell, man?” Kamp asked. “Do we seriously not know each other at all?”
And then another argument was off to the races.
Under the table, Rhett squeezed her leg comfortingly. Clever man.
Just like that, Rhett had distracted everyone away from asking any more in-depth questions about what was wrong with her.
Chapter Fifteen
Goodbyes had never bothered Juno before. They just hadn’t. She’d never drawn them out or overthought them. She was just tough about see-ya-laters.
Today was different.
Everything was different.
She hadn’t checked her phone while she’d waited to meet Sara. Hadn’t checked it in the truck on the way to Rusty’s. Hadn’t checked it while the Crew ate lunch together. Perhaps that was because the conversations were so funny and interesting, but she knew it was more than that. Her life used to be staring at the glowing screen of her phone, building her career. But one day of an actual break from it, and she felt happier, steadier. And for that single day, she’d actually lived.
Kamp and Grim and Remi had said their goodbyes in the parking lot of Rusty’s Fried Chicken. She’d teared up. For the first time ever, she’d teared up on a goodbye, and it wasn’t just for Remi either. It was for the wild boys who would go on arguing and bleeding each other in those mountains long after she was gone. Life would go on here, and she would not. And missing a single moment of “living” made that ache come back again in waves.
“I understand you have to finish what you started,” Rhett said from the driver’s seat. His hands gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles had turned white. “You’re a special kind of woman. You see things through.” He sighed and arched his bright blue gaze to her. “But this morning I wished on that dumb house number that you would stay.”
“You wished on 1010?”
“Remi said it works sometimes. I poked my finger right in the middle of one of the zeros and pretended it was your boob. Then I made the wish.”
“You’re not supposed to say the wish out loud or it won’t come true.”
Rhett frowned at the car parked in front of them in the airport passenger unloading zone. “Won’t come true anyway. I don’t believe in that stuff, and look at you.”
Indeed, she was cradling her suitcase in her lap. Her lip was trembling, and she was going to lose it again. Rhett shoved open his door and got out, walked around the front of the truck, and opened her door for her. He helped her settle the suitcase on the sidewalk and pulled his guitar case out of the bed of the pickup.
“I want you to have something from me.”
Juno nearly choked on nothing. “W-what? No, Rhett, I can’t take your guitar.”
“A gift for a gift, and it’s the only material thing in the world that means anything to me.”
“A gift for a gift? What did I give you?”
Rhett gave her a sad smile and turned around. Slowly, he lifted his shirt up to expose deep healing slashes down his back. “Claiming marks.”
And Juno…the girl who prided herself on being tough, the girl who prided herself on being strong, lost it right there in front of that airport. Twin tears raced down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook as she clasped her hand over her mouth to keep her sobs all caged up.
She had done that, hadn’t she? How had she not realized? How had she not thought of what she was doing when they were together? Her bear had taken over that part of her story and tried to tell her, “This man is mine.” But she’d been so consumed by the chaos of the day and the implications of her sickness that she hadn’t realized just what she’d done.
Claiming marks looked different for everyone, but they could never be shoved under the rug and excused away. Thinking back, her bear had known just what she was doing.
She’d claimed Rhett.
“I can’t…” He swallowed over and over, rubbing his hand down the scruff on his jaw. There was heartbreak in his eyes. “I can’t watch you cry, or I’m gonna lose my pride and beg you to stay. You make me happy, and it’s been a long damn time. I thank you for that. Come back if you get bored with that old life. Okay, Juno?”
She couldn’t answer. All she could do was nod her head once before he bolted for his truck. He didn’t look back at her until he was pulling away, and the hurt in his eyes made her squat down next to his guitar and hate herself for doing this to them.
And as she rested her hand on that old guitar, the instrument that had known real love and real music, the dam that had broken and freed the water also freed her. A small splat sounded against the ground, and then another and another.
It wasn’t only her tears that painted the concrete as she watched Rhett’s taillights disappear.
Her nose was bleeding again.
Her time was running out, and the reasons for her to leave for even a night were evaporating one by one. Everything that had once been important didn’t seem to matter, and everything that hadn’t mattered before meant everything to her now.
Somehow, that man had broken her together again.
She’d been searching for him her whole life and hadn’t even known it, and the second she’d seen him, her soul had recognized his.
And right then and there, she swore to herself she would finish what she had to and come back home before the end of her days.
Because that’s what Rhett was.
Home.
Chapter Sixteen
This was pop music, not country like the Beateaters had labeled themselves. It was catchy, the lyrics were easy, and every song sounded exactly the same. With the right marketing team, their debut album would probably sell a ton.
Juno sat in the back of the smoky bar, wincing against the pyrotechnics and flashing lights, surrounded by people who couldn’t take their eyes off the Beateaters. She’d sat through their entire set, but her head hurt and her heart wasn’t in it. It was back in a little trailer park in Rogue Pride territory that she’d left yesterday.
She couldn’t wait for tonight to be over.
“Look at this!” a girl beside her exclaimed. She was staring at the glowing screen of her phone and leaned over to her friend to show her. Probably a picture of a cat playing piano or something.
Oh, good grief, the Beateaters were getting a standing ovation. They weren’t done. Juno gritted her teeth and clutched her satchel with the contract, counted to five for patience.
There was murmuring around her, though, and people weren’t as enthralled with the band as they had been. Couples and trios were staring at their phones and whispering to each other.
Annoyed, she finally asked the girl next to her, “What’s going on?”
“Rhett Copeland. He’s playing at some bar!”
“What?” she said, her voice wrenching up an octave. “Can I see?” She pulled the girl’s phone to her. “Is this live?”
“Yeah! It’s streaming live. He’s at some bar called Sammy’s.”
What the fucking fucking fucking fuck? The video was shaky, and the bar was crowded and dark. Looked just the same as she remembered it. Dark wood floors and old street signs on the walls. On the stage where her father had played a hundred concerts sat Rhett. Just him on a single stool, with another stool beside him serving as a tabletop a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He wasn’t playing his guitar because she had it. Instead, he was playing the old guitar her father had bought her from the pawn shop all those years ago.
She teared up the second he leaned toward the microphone. He didn’t look nervous at all. His smile was easy and relaxed, and the gray T-shirt he wore clung to him just right. It was V-neck, and he wore a couple of thin leather necklaces. His belt was made of worn leather, his jea
ns had holes in the knees, and his hair was messed up just right.
“This is a song I wrote a couple days ago,” he said into the mic, his voice deep and sexy. “I met this girl, and she loosened up my muse. And I’m gonna ramble here for a moment, but y’all…my muse was a mess for a while. So me being able to hear a song in my head again…well, that’s a big deal to a dried-up songwriter. And I owe it to her.” He looked right into the camera and said, “Juno Beck, I’m in your hometown. I talked your dad into letting me use your guitar tonight since you have mine. It’s waiting here for you. Come on, get it, girl.”
Someone in the audience yelled, “Or come get him!”
He chuckled and lifted a shot of whisky with a wink. “Yeah, what that guy said. Or come get me, Juno. I’m gonna play here every night until you walk through that door.” He grinned at the audience. “Are y’all ready to hear some music?”
The crowd was so loud it made the sound go staticky. The girl next to her was leaning over her shoulder, watching it with Juno. “God, whoever he is talking to is so lucky.”
Oh, that girl had no idea just how lucky.
Rhett took the shot of whiskey during the cheering, set it down neatly on the stool next to him, and gripped the neck of the guitar. He closed his eyes, and then he sang the first line of a song, his deep baritone voice with that southern accent ringing out clear as a bell. The crowd went still.
The first time I saw her standin’ there, I knew I was done
She was the one
Gonna wreck the wild right outta me.
He strummed the guitar on the last word and the crowd turned into a chorus of girl-screams.
Juno sat there watching the video of him playing, from the first word to the last of the song. He was mesmerizing. Around her, the world didn’t exist. It was just her and Rhett, and he was singing right to her. When he finished the song, he told the audience, “That one’s called ‘Juno’s Song.’”
The cheering was deafening. God, what she would give to feel the energy of that place right now. Because that’s what music did. It healed the heart and spoke to something deeper than the mind. She knew Rhett was filling that room with joy tonight and giving people a concert they would never forget.
The next song was his biggest hit, the one everyone in Sammy’s would know. And they did. They sang every word, the lights on their cell phones held up high and swaying as Juno sat there watching in a bar hundreds of miles away, tears streaming down her face, so damn proud of him.
This…this was what she’d gotten into the industry for. This is what she remembered from her childhood.
This was the important grit.
Chills rippled up her arms on the first line of the next song. It was a tribute to the great old singers of country. He stopped mid-song to lift a shot to the crowd, and they kept singing for him while he took the shot. He closed his eyes, bobbed his head, and played guitar for his audience, leaned into the mic a few lines later and picked it back up for them at the chorus.
He was doing it acoustic—his whole set.
No drums, no lights show, no tambourine, no extras. Just him and an acoustic guitar making magic happen in an old bar that had built her. Stripping it back down to the basics—an instrument and a voice.
She’d been doing this wrong, hadn’t she?
She’d been trying to change the industry, searching for someone with that it-factor to feed to a big label so they could get their songs to the masses.
But look what he was doing.
“Hey, Juno!” Timothy, the lead singer for the Beateaters, greeted her.
“Juno?” the girl whose phone she was using asked. “The Juno? Juno Beck? The Juno that Rhett Copeland is singing to?” Her voice was super high-pitched right now.
Juno handed back her phone. To Timothy, she said, “That was a great show. You’ve been working really hard as a band and Halfstone Records would like to offer you a contract.” She pulled the thick stack of papers from her satchel along with a pen and handed them to Timothy. Behind him, his bandmates were freaking out. As they should be. This was a big deal. They really had worked hard to get where they had. This just wasn’t her place and didn’t speak to her heart. “Let your lawyers look over it. Negotiate if it’s something that means a lot to you, and when it’s signed, send it back to Manny Drummund at Halfstone Records. The address is on this envelope along with the postage.” She shook Timothy’s hand, and then his bandmate’s one by one.
“Wait, where are you going?” Timothy asked. “Party with us tonight! We’re celebrating! You made this happen!”
“Oh, you don’t need me to celebrate. You did this for yourselves. Congratulations. I have a flight to catch.”
The girl near her squealed. “To go see him, right? To go get your guitar back from Rhett Copeland?”
Juno winked at her and picked up the handle of Rhett’s guitar case. She hadn’t let it out of her sight since he’d given it to her. Her nose didn’t bleed if she had it with her. It had become her friend. Juno made her way out of the bar, smiling as the murmurings behind her got louder. Rhett’s reappearance was spreading like wildfire, and apparently so was the mention of her, because a few people followed her out of the bar, taking pictures. Of her? Why? She hadn’t done anything. Rhett was the magic one.
And as she made her way to her rental car, the emptiness that had sat like a bowl of cement in her center filled up. She was making her move. She was doing what she’d been meant to do all along. She just hadn’t been able to see it.
Guitar tucked in the passenger’s seat, Juno answered her vibrating phone. It was Manny.
“You knew where Rhett Copeland was?” he yelled. “And you didn’t tell us? You didn’t sign him? You didn’t do anything about it?”
“I gave the Beateaters their contract. I think they’ll sign.”
“Rhett! Copeland!”
“Hey, Manny? I quit.”
“What?”
“I really fuckin’ quit.” God, it felt good to say that. The emptiness was completely demolished now. She’d gone out on her own terms, followed through with her commitments, finished her job. It was a loose end that she’d needed to tie up before the end, and she’d tied the hell out of it.
“What are you gonna do?” Manny demanded.
Juno grinned and started the car. “I’m gonna go live while I can.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sammy’s Bar hadn’t changed a bit. Still had the same gravel parking lot, same old street lights. Same door she’d walked through a hundred times before. The parking lot was full, and not just the lot, but all along the main drag as far as she could see. Cars were shoved in any open space. Outside, there were crowds gathered, probably because Sammy’s had reached capacity inside. But the crowd didn’t seem to mind. They were bundled up, standing around outdoor heaters, watching a big canvas screen on the side of the building. Music hummed from inside and outside, the video feed matching the lyrics. They were streaming a live feed out here to the people who couldn’t fit inside.
Kong and Layla had upped the technology of this place. Nice.
She recognized a few old friends from Damon’s Mountains and waved to them as she made her way to the door. She expected Kong, the old silverback gorilla shifter whose mate owned the bar, to be running security, but another familiar face was there instead.
Don’t lose it, don’t lose it.
Brighton Beck was standing there, tall as an oak and wide as a barn, dark eyes dancing as he watched her approach.
“Hi Dad,” she murmured.
As he hugged her, he said in a forced whisper, “Hi, Juno-Bug.”
“Were you in on this?”
Dad smiled wickedly and shrugged. “I like him.”
She giggled. “Me too.”
“His Crew is crazy.”
Now she was really laughing. “Agreed. Are they here?”
Dad nodded, kissed the top of her head, and then let her in the door.
The place was packed, but
everything melted away the second she locked eyes on Rhett. And, oh, his smile. He stopped mid-song. “Holy shit, y’all, there she is.”
The crowd turned to her and erupted in cheering. She knew some of them. Vyr was here, and Damon, Uncle Denny, Kellen, Tagan, Clinton, Kirk, Bash, Mason, Haydan. All their mates, too. It seemed like everyone had come down from Damon’s Mountains for this.
Home. Home. Home was here in Rhett’s smile.
“Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes, woman,” Rhett said into the microphone. “I fuckin’ missed you.”
“Awwwwwwwww!” came a few dozen girl voices at once.
“Booooo,” Grim called from the bar.
“Yeah, boooo and barf,” Kamp called, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Remi was beside him cracking up.
“I have the worst friends in the world,” Rhett said with a chuckle. “Juno!” He squinted under the stage lights at her. “Whatcha got there?”
She lifted his guitar case. “A trade,” she called.
“Atta girl. I have a surprise for you, and for all of y’all tonight. A couple of special guests who wanted to come show this good ol boy how it’s done.”
Juno frowned as the crowd cheered. And then she saw them. Dad and Uncle Denny were making their way to the stage.
“Oh my gosh,” she whispered under her breath as they pulled their old guitars off the stands against the wall and climbed up onto the stage with stools in hand. Rhett was pouring them three shots of whiskey. Dad and Uncle Denny gave him bro hugs, and as they settled onto their own stools, Rhett leaned into the mic again. “I grew up with my eyes on one inspiration, and this is a dream come true for me tonight, playing with the Beck Brothers. Now, Juno’s dad told me her favorite song, one he wrote for her mother, Everly. This one’s called ‘Goodish Intentions.’”
The crowd went nuts, and suddenly Mom appeared right beside her. She already had tears in her eyes. Juno leaned into her side hug and rested her head on Mom’s shoulder as the boys began to play the song that had most touched her heart as she’d grown up. This song is what had made her believe in love.