“The tree house?” he suggested before he thought.
The barest flicker of tightness flashed across her face, and he wished the words back, for all the good it did.
“Not ready for that,” she said, and although her tone was even, he could tell it was an effort. Which he appreciated she was making.
“Sorry,” he said. “Down to the river, then? Our rock?”
Another flicker as he mentioned the outcrop of limestone that jutted into the river at the edge of the property, but she nodded.
“All right.”
They started walking. The rock had been carved out over the years by occasional floodwaters, until it had an almost bench-like shape to it, where you could sit and dangle your feet in the water. Water moccasin bait, Aunt Millie used to say.
And he and Zee had shared it so many times, since that night that had turned both their lives upside down. She’d cried in his arms, apologizing as she did. He’d asked her once why she kept saying she was sorry, and she’d said she could only do this with him because True had too much to carry already.
“But he’s the one crying for the same people you are, Zee,” he’d told her then.
His words had reached her, and she and True had drawn even closer. And a few years later, he’d turned those moments into a song, and “Crying Alone” had become one of the band’s most enduring hits.
And I feel like crying all over again, for yet another loss.
He shook off the thought as Zee glanced up at the tree house as they passed. Her expression was shuttered, unreadable, even for him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“A lot of things. But mostly because that place—” he nodded toward the big post oak “—isn’t the beautiful memory for you that it is for me.”
“Oh.”
“Was it really that bad, Zee?” He grimaced at his own words, thinking he shouldn’t start this, that her mellow mood wouldn’t last if he did, but he was driven to know. “I always thought it was…incredible. Or am I just being a guy and romanticizing my first time?”
She stopped in her tracks. Stared at him. There was no mask now, she was startled. “Your first time?”
He frowned. “Well, ours, but I meant—”
“That was your first time, too?” she clarified, still staring at him.
His frown deepened. “Of course it was.”
“But you had girls all over you at school.”
He grimaced again. “They never paid any attention to me before the accident. I was just that weird kid to them. After, I guess I suddenly got ‘interesting.’ Or worse, to be pitied. You think I wanted that?”
“I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I hated that.” She was still staring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“Because I thought you knew. That you were…my first, too.”
“How could I?” She gave him a sideways look. “You were so…good at it.”
For a moment he just stared at her. And couldn’t help the silly grin that spread across his face. “I was, huh?”
“Quit smirking, or I’m taking back those cinnamon rolls.”
And that quickly she was the old Zee again, quick with a comeback and always teasing him. He wasn’t certain what had just happened, but it gave him hope.
*
Zee savored the last bite of the second cinnamon roll she’d eaten. She hadn’t intended on two, but nothing about this day was going as she’d thought it would.
…you were my first, too.
She’d been wrong. All this time she’d been wrong. She’d assumed he’d already taken that step with one of those popular girls who’d suddenly noticed he was alive, now that he’d become a tragic sort of figure at school. She’d assumed because he had seemed to know every step, every way to kiss her, touch her, to make her tremble, make her ache for him. He’d been gentle yet fierce, and it had been, as he’d said, incredible.
So if it wasn’t experience, what had it been? Her seventeen-year-old self would have answered it had been because it was destiny. The self that had done without him ever since had a different opinion, but she didn’t want to think about that just now. They’d healed a part of the breach at least today, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that.
“You understood, back then, that I needed to share my grief with True.”
He gave her a half-shrug that was reminiscent of her brother, and wondered if that’s where he picked it up or if it was just a male thing. Like that smirking, self-satisfied grin at his own prowess.
“But you didn’t share yours.”
“I did, with you. And Aunt Millie. Sometimes.”
Her mouth quirked. “And then you went off by yourself and wouldn’t let us help you.”
“I needed to be by myself. To…process it.”
She thought of wise words she’d recently heard. “Deck called it holing up somewhere alone until he could chew through it.”
“That’s what I felt like,” he admitted. “Like I needed to den up like a wounded animal, until I healed.” He looked down at the bakery bag his fingers were worrying at. “Or died.”
She ached at the familiar words that so well described the feeling she never wanted to experience again. “And instead you turned it into a thing of beauty, a song that touched millions of people.”
He smiled, but wryly. “I think you might be overestimating a bit.”
“I’m not. Last time I looked, the video for it was up over two and a half million views.”
He blinked. “Was it?”
She gave a little laugh. “And that you don’t know that is part of your charm, Mr. Head Scorpion.”
“I…haven’t been keeping track of much lately.”
And there it was again, that sensation that there was more going on with him than simply the loss, albeit tragic, of a bandmate who’d been with them only a few months. But she sensed that if she asked, he would avoid answering. Whatever it was, he clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it.
So instead she asked, “Do you ever get tired of playing the same songs? The big hits?”
He shrugged. Male thing, she decided. “Those songs are what bought us the ticket for this crazy flight. They’re what people want to hear. Besides, it’s different live.”
She tilted her head to look at him quizzically. “How?”
“The feedback. Instantaneous, from the audience. It fires us up.”
She nodded slowly, because that made sense to her. “So…you still like it. The touring, I mean.”
“What was it that other Texas boy sang, about the road going on forever, and the party that never ends?”
“A lot of Texas boys have sung that song,” she said wryly. “But sometimes the party has to end, so you can clean up the mess.”
She hadn’t meant it to be a jab, just an observation on the lifestyle, but he went very still. And in that instant she knew, deep in her bones, that she’d been right, that this man who had been the boy she’d adored was battling something more than he’d said.
“Yes,” he said after a moment, and his voice was low, harsh. “Sometimes the party has to end.”
And it hurt just to see his face, because he looked as bleak, as desolate as he had in the days after both their lives had been ripped apart.
Chapter Ten
It nearly took him down this time. That dark, swirling cloud closed in, and it was all he could do to fight it off. But he had to—he couldn’t let it overtake him now, not with Zee sitting right here. Not when they were having the most…not pleasant, but non-antagonistic conversation they’d had in years.
“Jamie,” she whispered, and there was an undertone in her voice that told him what must be showing in his face. He fought the cloud, clung to her voice, that voice that had once been the only one he ever wanted to hear.
“You know what I used to think when it got really crazy, when I nearly stepped off the edge?”
“What?”
“I used to think, ‘Man, Zee
would chew me out for that.’ And I stepped back.”
She was staring at him, looking almost stunned. “I…I’m glad, then. Surprised, but glad.”
“Why surprised?”
“I didn’t think you thought of me, or home, at all, once you were out of here.”
“Zee—”
“I didn’t mean that as a slam, or an accusation,” she said quickly. “And I always knew Whiskey River couldn’t hold you.”
“But it never let go, either. Ever.” He waited a moment, expecting her to ask why, then, he never came home. She was looking at him as if the question were hovering, but she didn’t speak the words. Finally, he asked her. “Why are you happy here?”
She gave a puzzled shrug. “It’s home.”
“You never wanted more?”
She looked toward the river, glistening under the spring sun. “To see? Yes. To stay? Never.”
Suddenly the intro riff of “River Song” rang out. It was a bit disconcerting anyway, but when he realized it was the ring tone on her cell, it was even more so.
“Wow,” he said rather hurriedly, “a call actually got through out here.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t look at him as she dug the phone out of her pocket. He saw the photo on the screen as she put it to her ear. True.
“I’m out at Millie’s,” she said into the phone. A pause and then, rather acerbically, “Yes, he’s still alive.”
Jamie went still. Was her brother teasing her about not killing him? Or did True think he was in worse shape than he was and might do it himself?
He wasn’t that deep. Was he?
Not yet.
He clung to those two words as she finished her call, then got to her feet.
“I have to pick up the speakers that just came in. The last of the sound system for the wedding.”
He got up himself. “Deck’s really doing it up right, isn’t he?”
“For a guy who was so near hopeless not that long ago, it’s amazing. But he wants the best for Kelsey. And she’s smart enough to let him do it.”
“Smart enough?” He’d had no doubt Kelsey Blaine was smart—it had been obvious when he’d met her on the Hope flight. But he wasn’t sure how it applied to this.
“Deck’s never had the chance, or the need, to really give to someone. Kelsey knows how important that is, so she’s letting him.”
“I…think I get that,” he said, giving a slow nod.
“She’s a very smart lady. Especially about creatures who are hurting, equine or human.”
Deck had told him, with surprising straightforwardness, how close he’d been to the edge before Kelsey had thrown him a lifeline.
Zee looked at him considering for a moment before she said, “You want to come? Give you a chance to see their place. You never got to before, did you?”
“I… No.”
Her mouth tightened so slightly he doubted anyone would notice, except someone who had once been attuned to every flicker of emotion in that lovely face.
“No to which? Or was that both?”
“I haven’t been there. But you have to go into town to pick up the speakers, don’t you?”
“Only to the package pickup out on the highway, outside of town. True told them to hold them there rather than wait for whenever the delivery truck would get there.” She gave him a sideways look. “You can hide in the car, Mr. Celebrity. We’ll keep you a secret a while longer.”
“Look, it’s just that—”
“I get it,” she said. “But you do know the Whiskey River grapevine is as efficient as ever. Sooner or later it’s going to get out that one of our most famous sons is back.”
He did know. From personal experience. He just wanted to put it off as long as possible. But the lure of having more of this non-battling conversation with her was too much to deny.
“At least you didn’t say infamous,” he said.
“That I wouldn’t know,” she said, “since I try to always follow Aunt Millie’s advice.”
He grinned at that—he couldn’t help it. “Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear?”
She grinned back. “Exactly.”
And in that moment they were those two kids again, thrown together by tragedy and finding, to their surprise, a connection they’d never expected. He felt lighter than he had in months.
“You just want me to do the heavy lifting,” he said with over-the-top accusation.
“This from the guy who could put the skinny in skinny-dipping right now?” she countered.
Skinny-dipping with Zee. Now that was a scenario with potential.
Whoa. Where the hell had that come from?
He looked away. Fought off the sensations that had rocketed through him on the thought. Focused on gathering up the remnants of the tray of cinnamon rolls they had demolished. “You keep this up,” he said, gesturing with the bag without looking at her, “and I’ll put on twenty pounds.”
“Since you need ten, I’ll take the extra.”
As long as you take the rest, too.
He bit his lip. It had to be reflex. Just being in this place, back home, was making the old feelings, thoughts and ideas well up again.
The old urges too, apparently.
Since he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get him in deeper, he said nothing as they got in her car. He realized this meant he’d be dependent on her for a ride back, and wondered if he should rent a car. Or even buy one, although that smacked of permanency.
The moment he thought it he felt a twinge. His mind skittered away from it. Like a cockroach away from the light, he thought sourly. Because that’s what he did, apparently. Keep people’s expectations where you want them, so you don’t have to deal with the discomfort of disappointing them. He wondered how much of his life had been ruled by that premise, born of the first time he’d walked away from Whiskey River.
And Zee.
Because he’d known. Oh, she hadn’t cried, or wailed at him, or even begged him to stay. It might have been easier if she had. But she hadn’t, she’d merely looked at him and nodded. Been cool as could be as they packed up their gear in the old van Boots had driven from Austin, and headed out that last time. She watched them go, calm, accepting…if you didn’t look at her eyes.
He’d carried that last glimpse of those devastated blue eyes with him every moment of his life since.
He stayed in the car as she went in to pick up the gear True had ordered, but got out to help as she arrived with a large flatbed dolly. The four big boxes wouldn’t fit in the trunk, so they put two in, then the other two in the backseat. The businesslike discussion of how to arrange them was the first time they’d spoken since leaving Millie’s. And the silence settled in again when, cargo secured, she pulled out of the lot and headed back north.
It wasn’t all that far from Aunt Millie’s to Deck’s place, he thought. He could walk back. He knew that because everybody knew where the place they dubbed the castle—for the big stone turret that overlooked the river—was. As a kid, he and his friend Antonio had even snuck out there once. That was when it was standing empty, a monument to whimsy, and long before a certain recluse of a writer moved in.
They’d done it on bikes, and it hadn’t seemed far at all.
Does anything when you’ve got the energy of a twelve-year-old?
His mom hadn’t been happy when she’d found out. She went into her “What if you’d gotten hurt?” lecture. He had, wisely for once, stayed quiet, but that wasn’t because he’d suddenly gotten smart, it was because he was trying to figure out how the hell she’d found out.
He and Antonio had finally pieced it all together; how the mailman had seen them headed north in town, then one of the Kellys had seen them leaving the city limits, and finally old man Roper who owned the land next to the castle, where Kelsey’s rescue now was, now had spotted them going by. It had been his first personal experience with the Whiskey River grapevine, which was nothing if not efficient.
&n
bsp; And two years later his loving, worried mother was gone, never again to hug him close even as she lectured him.
In that instant, the grief hit him all over again. It was as powerful, as fierce as it had ever been. For that moment he was that fourteen-year-old boy, remembering True’s girl Amanda arriving with Aunt Millie to break the news, with a broken, sobbing Zee in tow.
He didn’t think he’d made a sound, but Zee looked over at him. And frowned. In a worried, not an angry way. “Jamie?”
He sucked in a breath. The pain receded. He’d come to believe the only thing anyone ever gained was that moments like this were fewer, farther between. But when they came, it was as if it had been yesterday.
“Sorry,” he muttered, guessing what he must have looked like. “I just…slipped back to that day. The accident.”
Zee looked back at the road. And then she sang softly, “‘There is a way to time travel, just lose someone you love.’”
He went still. “Time Travel.” It wasn’t one of their big hits, probably because he couldn’t bear to sing it very often, so it was rarely on their set list. But their rabid fans had found it, embraced it, so the video had a ton of views, and it had been downloaded so often he’d lost track of the number.
“You gave so many people help with that song,” Zee said. “Including me.”
“Most people assume it’s about the end of a love affair,” he said, his voice rough.
“I know. But the first time I heard it I knew it was really about much more.”
“I knew you would. If anyone would, you would.”
They might have lost everything else they’d had, but they would never lose two things. They had that terrible common bond of being orphaned in the same instant. And Zee was the one who ever and always understood the music.
He almost told her. It almost spilled out, right there in the car. Because she was the one who always understood. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because putting it into words, especially to her, would make it real.
And he wasn’t at all sure he could live with that particular reality.
Chapter Eleven
Whiskey River Rockstar (Whiskey River Series Book 3) Page 6