The Traveller

by HJ Bellus

  “Made a deal with Hart’s dad. He knows too much about his daughter’s death, so I promised him that I’d take care of his bitch wife. One week. You sign and go on tour or Maria is cut off.” He flicks his business card at me. It flutters down to the ground before landing on the tip of my boot.

  Blake adjusts the lapels on his suit jacket, turns his back on me, and then strides away. Just like that, my world is once again turned upside down. All of the firsts are erased, and I’m spiraled right back down into a shell of a human being.

  My knees knock together with his words on replay in my head. He’s holding all the cards and struck where he knew it would hurt. I can’t…I just can’t go on tour. What if they find me? I don’t want to leave Hart or this place. My music is just that, my music. Nobody else’s. This is what happens when you put yourself out there. Consequences, Savannah, these are consequences of living.

  My thoughts make my stomach swirl in a turbulent storm. The price of experiencing life is devastating, but without devastation, I never would’ve lived. The bile rises up the back of my throat, my vision going dark, and all I want to do is run, but my legs won’t work.

  “There you are.” Peaches glides up to me, patting my shoulder. “Need you at the bar. I have to take a call in my office.”

  I nod, unable to form words.

  “You okay, Vannie?”

  I nod again and shake the fear away. “On it.”

  She rushes past me. Once her office door slams shut, I bend over and pick up the business card tucking it in my front pocket. The piece of evil burns hot through my denim shorts, reminding me of Blake’s words. Is he bluffing? Does he know I’d protect Hart at all cost? It’s a low fucking sucker punch either way.

  I shake it all from my head, making my way back out into the bar. Milo is behind the bar making drinks. I go right back to my section, taking and running orders to the customers. Typically, I’m singing along with the bands to myself, even swaying to the beat when no one is looking. But not now. Blake took all of that away with one simple encounter.

  The only positive right now is the bustling bar. I glance around to see the devil himself, but he’s nowhere to be found. He always sits at the same table with a smug look on his face. His seat is empty. He promised in his threat that he was leaving right after his proposition. The asshole probably didn’t want his face pounded in by Hart.

  Snippets of the past come floating back as I serve drinks. Hart warned me that Blake would pay him back for that fight, then Hart’s words to his father about being involved with the man who had something to do with Belle’s death. I shudder.

  I pass over the order of drinks to Milo and lean on the bar waiting for her to fill them. The cool wood does little to calm my inner dialogue. I have to figure out how I can find out if Blake is really paying the medical bills without asking Hart. If he even gets an inkling of his threat, he’ll kill Blake, that I have no doubt about.

  I have no doubt in my mind, if push comes to shove, what I’ll choose. Maria is the most amazing person I’ve ever met for several reasons.

  “Shug.” A soft whisper assaults the shell of my ear then strong arms wrap from behind me.

  Hart’s hand settles down on my front pockets. His hand right over that business card that holds my future.

  “You smell so good that I could eat you alive.”

  It’s time for a poker face. Hart can have no idea. He doesn’t deserve any of this pain when he’s giving me the world.

  “Hey.” I twist around in his arms. “I missed you.”

  I cover his lips before he has a chance to respond. I kiss him like I’ll never be able to do it again. It’s inappropriate in the middle of the bar and during my shift, but all my cares are gone. I just need Hart.

  When I pull back, we are both breathless.

  “You okay?” Hart runs his hand down my face.

  “I am now.” I smile up at him.

  And it’s no lie either. It’s the Hart magic making all my worries fade away. He answers with another searing kiss. We don’t break apart until the plastic tray nudges me in the elbow. Duty calls, and it’s me pulling away from him with my palms planted on his chest. Hart only grins down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  How in the hell am I supposed to leave this guy who has given me the world?

  The answer is, I can’t.

  “Back to work I go.” I kiss the tip of his nose like he’s done to me so many times. “Have a seat, sexy sir, and I’ll be back to get your order. Don’t you dare let anyone else take your order!”

  I pluck up the tray with one hand and perch the other on my hip.

  “But I’m thirsty,” Hart whines.

  I give him the coined stern Peaches glare, and he sits smiling. Marching off to deliver all the drinks makes the routine I’ve learned to embrace soothe all my nerves. Blake fades away into a distant memory. There has to be another answer to this cluster fuck. There just has to be, and I won’t give up until I find one. I will not run. I refuse to. I’m also adamant about not letting Hart kill a guy and be sent off to prison.

  “Hey there, sexy.” I pet the shoulder of the patron in front of me. “Anyone help you yet?”

  Yep, I just pressed my tits into his back. Hart peers over his shoulder with his stoic face on. It’s the sign he has something up his sleeve.

  “Been sitting here for a good ten minutes and no one has taken my order.” He swivels around on his bar stool. “Thought about wearing my cowboy hat tonight, but figured my smile would get me a drink.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m here to help you.” I step between his wide spread legs. “What do you like?”

  Hart leans forward with his full lips grazing the shell of my ear. “I have a sweet tooth. I really, really like a particular taste, it’s very sweet, close to honey with a zing I can’t put my finger on. This taste consumes my motherfucking mind on a daily basis.”

  My legs squeeze together, wishing more than ever that he’d just slip his hand down my pants before the next order is called. It’s as if he read my mind. His fingers glide up underneath my very short shorts. Hart wastes no time finding my favorite spot. The one he strums just like I play my guitar. His fingers are more talented than mine with the way he plays me.

  I’m close. So fucking close with my arms laced around his neck asking, pleading for more. He sinks two fingers in me then rolls his thumb over my clit. I do my best to pretend I’m resting on the bar, waiting on the next order. But I’m sure my face gives away all my tricks.

  Hart’s fingers are gone right before I’m about to drown in him. I pull back pissed and upset, wanting him to make me feel like the damn queen of the universe. But it’s his next move that freezes my tongue and the swat of my hand. Hart brings his hand to his mouth and then he proceeds to lick each of his fingers off.

  “I left some for you.” He brings his fingers to my mouth, resting them on my bottom lip. “This is my favorite flavor. Have any whiskey to match it?”

  My lips part for him as he gently nudges his fingers in my mouth. I taste it. Even tilt my head pondering the flavor. I play the act that this man has taught me to. He’s made me the star of the show.

  “I know exactly what you’d like, big boy.” I pat his shoulder once again and slowly back away. “The taste is familiar.”

  I take three more steps away from the man who owns me because if I don’t, I will let him have his way with me in this bar. I brush my forehead with the back of my hand wondering how in the hell he’s brought this out in me. It’s more than the best dream. Better than Christmas morning when little girls get their ponies or any other imaginable, perfect gifts.

  Peaches is back behind the bar slinging drinks. She’s a damn natural making this place run like a well-oiled machine. I give her a wink, and she knows exactly what I just ordered. A whiskey neat for her nephew. After typing in my order, I lean on the bar, fighting the urge to go back to my favorite customer.

  My mind begins playing the mind game of all mi
nd games. Am I an addict? Do I have to have him to survive? It’s a vicious cycle haunting me. Maria, Peaches, Hart, all of their loving and adoring faces cycle in my mind. I know the answer. It’s what I have to do.

  Peaches slides me his whiskey neat then begins placing the other drinks on my tray. I stride over to Hart, standing on my tiptoes and reaching over his shoulder to put the drink in front of him. I let my free hand wander down low into his lap.

  “Your second favorite drink.” I kiss the side of his cheek. “I love you, Hart.”

  The rest of the night flies by and before I know it, it’s time to get on stage and sing. The whole set I had planned is long forgotten. I sing from the hurt in my soul. Each song filled with everything I have for Hart and the life he’s given me. If it happens to be taken away, he will know just exactly how deeply I love him.

  My final song of the evening is an acoustic version of ‘What We Ain’t Got’ by Jake Owen. My vocal chords strain as I push all the emotions from deep in my boots into the song. My fingers gracefully strum the guitar as I pour everything out. When I’m forced to sing out the word goodbye, I nearly collapse in a heap of pain right on the stage. But then I make eye contact with Hart while singing the song.

  He’s there like he always is. Solid and steady, gripping his drink while listening with his full attention. His face is somber, and I wonder if he understands what’s going on right now. This song is for him, to let him know I’ll never love another man as long as I live. He’s my forever and always will be. I hold the last note for an extra beat and then drop my head. There’s an eerie pause in the bar then a light applause.

  The song was somber with my performance making it worse. My fingers tremble, pulling my guitar up and over my head. The gelatin feeling in my legs makes it difficult to walk. Once behind closed doors, locked away in the bathroom, that’s when I finally crumble to the ground in a messy heap of hurt. Seven days to spend, one hundred sixty-eight hours to show Hart how much I’ll love him forever.

  18

  Hart

  “Mom, this isn’t a good idea,” I repeat once again.

  But like always, I’m out voted by the women in the house. This shit is unfair. I’m like their damn whipping boy. And since they have their friendship necklaces locked around their necks, you’d think Vannie and my mom run the world. The best purchase I ever made. The two women lit up when I gave them the cheesy necklaces. Apparently, the cheap metal means more to the women than I’ll ever understand.

  “Hart, I’ve gone to the Western Day parade in the town I grew up in since I can remember.” Mom shakes her finger at me. “I’d take you and Belle when you were younger. It’s one thing I’ve never missed and don’t plan to this year.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, trapping all the things I want to say to her. Like she’s too sick, this is going to make her tired, and that I want her to conserve all her energy to live longer. It’s selfish, I know, but doesn’t make any of it easier.

  The glimmer of happiness in my mom’s eyes is the only thing driving me forward. I know the Western Day’s celebration in her hometown has always been one of my mom’s favorite events to attend. It’s a short drive from Nashville, and she’s right. She did take Belle and me every year. I remember begging for corn dogs and cotton candy then basically pushing down Belle to get all the candy from the parade.

  “Okay, Mom.” I brush my hand through my hair. “Let me pack snacks and then get some bags.”

  “Bags?” Vannie turns her head in question from her spot on the couch.

  “For the parade. If I’m going to a damn parade as an adult, you bet your ass I’m pushing down little kids for candy.”

  “Candy?” she asks.

  “Another first for you, Shug.” I wink at her then get shit ready for my girls.

  I listen to Mom and Vannie’s conversation from the kitchen.

  “You’ve never been to a parade, dear?”

  “One, but I had to stay in the car while my foster parents took their children to it. The father in that house didn’t care for me.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Nine. I did see some of the floats and horses from back of the Suburban.”

  I shake my head and try to focus on packing the bags for the day road trip. I’m impressed that Vannie now can so easily talk about her past. She’s comfortable and feels safe and that alone makes me proud. On the other hand, I’m fucking livid about what she went through. If I could, I’d go and pay a little visit to all her former foster parents who treated her like shit. She’s opened up more and more over the last week about some fucking horrendous things she went through.

  Her performance last night at the bar makes me wonder if those haunted memories provoked her moving performance. It was chock-full of pain and sorrow. Every single person sitting in the bar felt it. Fuck, I had tears in my eyes watching my beautiful girl sing up there.

  She does belong on the big stage, but I get why she doesn’t want to. I can’t even imagine how many fucking monsters would come out to get a slice of fame and money. She’d be fresh meat dangling from a stake for all the predators.

  “Peaches,” I holler from the kitchen. “Get your ugly ass out to the car. We are blowing this popsicle stand.”

  I hear growls and groans coming from the hallway, and I know she’s on her way out. The girls are working on another word search puzzle in the recliner. I pack everything out to my car. Yes, we are taking the least comfortable car, but it was at my mom’s request. It guts me knowing everything we’re doing will be the last.

  I have her blankets laid out in the front seat with a few pillows. Vannie and Peaches have Mom all ready to go when I get back inside. I scoop up her fragile body that’s diminishing on a daily basis, but her soul is still wildly alive. After getting her arranged in the front seat, Peaches crawls into the back. Vannie tries to follow her.

  “Sit up here.” My mom pats the middle part of the seat.

  “Peaches will be all alone then,” Vannie responds.

  “I’m hung over and really didn’t want to be around people. Sit your ass up there.” Peaches flops down on the backseat, covering her eyes with her forearm.

  “Alrighty then,” Vannie whispers.

  I chuckle, catching the reference from Ace Ventura the movie. Another first of ours, making Vannie watch movies that are so dumb they make you laugh like a lunatic.

  “Get in, sweet cheeks.” I palm her ass when she climbs in, knowing that I won’t be getting any of her until tonight.

  Vannie nestles in comfortably, wrapping her arm around my mother and giving her all of her attention. My mom is the only person that Vannie could give all of her attention to, and I wouldn’t get jealous. I settle for laying my hand on the inner part of her thigh as I drive. No music playing, just the chatter of my two girls and the snoring from Peaches in the backseat. The sweetest song I’ve ever heard.

  Mom decided telling embarrassing stories of me from when I was younger is a smart idea to pass the time on the drive. She holds nothing back in the embarrassment department.

  “When he was five, he learned at school that Dick was a nickname for Richard. He begged me for weeks to change his name so everyone would call him Dick.”

  Vannie’s laughter fills the cab of the car.

  “He made Belle and me call him Dick for a good three months before giving it up.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Vannie staring at me.

  I shrug. “Hey, Dick is a cool name.”

  Mom continues rattling off more and more stories. It takes me back to good days when Mom, Belle, and I took care of each other and lived carefree. My dad’s drinking hadn’t gotten too out of control yet. His temper was still there, but with the three of us, we managed to get by.

  “One day I was baking cookies for the kids and heard them playing in Belle’s room. They were either playing like best friends or beating the crap out of each other. There was no middle ground.” Mom laughs lightly, remembering. “I could
hear them playing some version of one of their made up games, and Hart kept calling Belle cocksucker. The first time I heard it, I knew I must not have understood. But then he continued. Every time he’d call Belle a cocksucker, she’d answer with no worries in the world.”

  I can’t help but laugh at hearing my mom say cocksucker.

  “When I busted into the room and demanded answers, my sweet, little Hart just shrugged his shoulders and informed me he thought it was a nickname.”

  “Are you serious?” Vannie blurts out. “He was playing that innocence card back then, too?”

  “Oh no, sweetie, this time he really was. Told me he heard his dad call the dog cocksucker all the time and he thought it was Spanish for dog.”

  I shake my head at the memory with a smile dancing on my face. “I never have mastered Spanish to this day.”

  “He was also so curious,” Mom says.

  “Some things don’t change,” Vannie adds.

  “When he was about six, he came out of his room very concerned.”

  “Mom!” I glance over to her, knowing exactly what story is coming next. It’s her favorite one. “Let’s change the topic.”

  “No, no.” She pats Vannie’s leg. “She has to hear this one.”

  “I agree. You’re outvoted. Sorry,” Vannie squeals then claps her hands together.

  “Anyway.” Mother carries on having way too good of a time. “He came waltzing out of his bedroom still in his pajamas with a worried look on his face and sleep still covering his face. I can still see his crazy blond hair shooting in every direction. There were tears brimming in his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me his pee-pee turned into a stick.”

  Mom erupts in laughter, and even though I hate this story, I’m smiling happily to hear my mom laugh.

  “He began sobbing, just sure it was going to fall off, and he’d turn into a little girl with his wiener gone. It took me a long time to quit laughing and gain my composure to explain to him what was going on.”

  The girls giggle for a long time then begin poking jokes at me. Another last involved with my mom that I’ll cherish forever. Ironic how the two women I love the most are experiencing their firsts and lasts. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white, fighting the nasty cycle and struggle to enjoy the day.