Whiskey Girl

by Adriane Leigh

  I paused at my truck, hand hovering on the door before I took an extra second and turned to look at her, commit her to memory one last time.

  She stood in the parking lot, just as I’d left her, but this time, her arms were wrapped around her waist and tears tracked down her cheeks.

  “Christ.” I suppressed the roll of my eyes before I shoved both hands into my pockets and went back to her. “Jesus, Augusta, don’t fucking cry.”

  Her usually pretty pink lips twisted into something angry, ruthless. “If you think I tracked you all the way out here to this hellhole just to get in bed with you, then you have changed.”

  “Changed?” I roared, fists balling with anger in my pockets. “I’ve changed? You disappear for ten years, and you’re telling me I’ve changed? I used to think if you waltzed back into my life, I’d take you back without question. But now that you’re here, Augusta, I’ve got a fuck of a lot of questions. So many fucking questions I’ve been drownin’ them in whiskey tryin’ to chase them out of my head. I let that pain marinate real good. Only thing I could find to help me heal.”

  “Heal?” She breathed. “This is you healed?” Her brows knitted together. “I’d hate to see the before.”

  My glare refused to unchain her, head shaking. “Where the fuck did you go, Augusta?”

  FIVE

  Augusta—Twelve Years Before

  “Stuck! I feel stuck, you bastard! You ruined all the best parts of me, you and that freeloading daughtah. If Mama would’ve left me everythin’ like she promised, bet your ass I wouldn’t be here right now…” The carefully manufactured sadness lacing my mother’s voice never ceased to drive me to the brink of insanity.

  Did she think we felt bad for her?

  She’d grown up wealthy, of the genteel class, as she always said. But she’d squandered her inheritance on priceless art and Vicodin, as far as I could tell. And now she spent her days blaming us. The low baritone of my father’s tired, vodka-slurred words echoed up the stairs, losing their stamina as I descended out of my upstairs window. My fingertips clutched at the roof’s edge, dirty Converse covering my bare feet as I launched off the roof and landed on the soft earth.

  Moonlight lit the fields of bluegrass in silver, highlighting the stately white pillars that anchored the wide wraparound porch of the home I’d grown up in. I snuck through the line of hemlocks that flanked either side of our driveway, picking my way along the shadows until I was confident I was out of sight, and earshot, of the house at 101 River Ridge Drive.

  I skipped past the trail that led through the woods and out onto the ridge overlooking the river, and I headed for Fallon’s house. I’d done this walk at midnight so many times, I could find my way along the twists and turns of the old country road with my eyes closed.

  I was surprised by the liking I’d taken to Fallon Gentry.

  Something about the way he’d watched over me when he thought I was about to jump off the bridge. I’d known then we’d be friends.

  I don’t know if it was fate that found Fallon up there on that bridge at the same time as me, but from the moment we met, we seemed to be savin’ each other.

  Dark clouds shadowed the moon as I sped up my steps, more anxious than ever to get to Fallon and not be so…alone.

  While it might have been true that I lived at 101 River Ridge Drive with both of my parents, most days I’d rather I lived alone over listening to them spew the hatred they did. Their example of marriage had me ruling it out for the rest of eternity. Sneaking out to Fallon’s house since he’d sorta saved my life on that bridge had become my saving grace.

  “Hundred and two days,” I said a few minutes later when he opened the window.

  “What?” A wild lick of hair fell in front of one eyebrow. My fingers itched to push it away. I resisted.

  “That’s how long we’ve known each other. Hundred and two days. I counted.”

  He looked behind him once before climbing out of his bedroom window. “How long’d that take ya?”

  “Shut up.” I launched my fist into his bicep, and he laughed.

  I loved his laugh. Like, really loved it.

  I swear, sometimes it woke me up out of my fantasies in the middle of the night.

  And if I was lucky, it was reality.

  More than once, I’d fallen asleep in Fallon’s arms, too tired to go home. The comfort of his warm body and the cool quilt pulling me under. I slept the most peacefully in Fallon’s arms, there was no doubt about it. And not just because Mom and Dad weren’t in my ear hollering all night, but because being with him was as easy as being me.

  There’d been a few close calls, but it hadn’t taken me long to realize that Mom didn’t even check on me before school in the morning, and Dad was already out the door long before I woke up. I was free from ten o’clock till six in the morning, easily.

  “So what’s going down at Chez la Branson tonight?” The gravelly edge in his voice twisted my insides upside down. Fallon definitely had a rebel, bad-boy thing about him, a few too many tattoos for the likes of Chickasaw Ridge, but I think they fit him perfectly, plus he’d told me each of the stories behind them. They were art, an extension of him.

  I huffed, looping my arm in his elbow and trailing him down the mossy path to the edge of the field. “I think she knows about Iris.”

  “The mistress?” Fallon’s warm hand wrapped around mine, filling all the lonely holes in my heart almost instantly. “Why?”

  “Mom saw some emails.” I was thankful when Fallon dropped under the first oak tree we came to that bordered the field, throwing his jacket on the grass so we could lie on it.

  He nestled me back into his chest, adjusting me easily, before his nose tucked into my hair and he sucked in a soft breath. “They been fighting?”

  “Yeah,” I breathed, stubborn tears pricking my eyelids. “More than usual.”

  “S’okay, Ms. Branson, that just means more time for us.”

  Us.

  I loved when he said that word, rolling it off his tongue and pooling in my insides like warm butter.

  “I just wish they didn’t make my ears bleed.”

  “I’ve heard them go at it. Think I’d set up a tent and camp out in the yard if I had to listen to that all the time.” He pulled me a little tighter, that still-too-long lock of dark hair whispering at his eyebrow, begging for me to tuck it where it belonged.

  “You gonna get a haircut anytime soon?”

  One eyebrow shot up, and a cocky grin danced across his face. “Not as long as you keep askin’ me about it. Better to stand out for something than nothin’ at all.”

  I pursed my lips, digging deeper into his hard chest.

  “And as for the other stuff, you’ll get through. You’re the toughest girl I know, Augusta Belle.”

  “Toughest?” I tried to keep any ounce of desperate hope out of my voice. “You once said I was the saddest girl you’ve ever met. That still true?”

  “Truer now than it ever was.” Fallon held a fingertip to my hairline at my temple, a sad grin settling on his lips. “I’d save you if I could.”

  “You already have,” I whispered, tears pricking at the backs of my eyelids as I sucked in a breath of the cool night air, praying for at least the thousandth time that something would happen to make my parents see that all the fighting wasn’t just destroying the other, it was destroying me too.

  And then Fallon Gentry had shown up.

  Sometimes I thought God sent him to be the answer to my prayers.

  I didn’t even know if I believed in God, but maybe I should start if it meant more good things like Fallon would start popping up in my life.

  “Saving you is the pleasure of my life, Augusta Belle.”

  A stubborn trail of salty hope fell down my cheek as I focused on the soft rising and falling of Fallon’s chest.

  “Love you, Fallon Gentry. One of these days you’re gonna be a star and leave this town, and I’ll still be sitting here, under this tree, wondering wh
ere my white knight went.”

  “Enough daydreaming, you’ve got school in the morning. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t get you to school on time?”

  “Boyfriend?” I swallowed the sudden ball of nerves in my throat. “Really?”

  “Well…” His fingers stroked the underside of my wrist and sent goose bumps skittering in every direction. “Figure we’ve been actin’ like it…”

  “Does that mean I have to wash your laundry or anything?” He shook his head, awkward grin slipping into the familiar crooked one I was used to. “You make me want to skip school.”

  “You can’t. If you’re not there, you can’t graduate, which means you can’t move out of that house, which would make you doomed to hell forever.”

  I huffed, hating how right he always was. “What kinda girl would I be anyway if I accepted an offer from the first guy who came along, one who didn’t even know my birthday?” I countered.

  “Fine.” His fingers threaded through mine, cementing our physical connection. “Does this mean you’re finally going to tell me how old you are?”

  I pressed my teeth into my bottom lip, eyes glinting as our gazes held. “July nineteenth.”

  His face turned into a scowl. “You know, in a few keystrokes I could find out everything you never wanted me to know.”

  “But you won’t.” My breaths began to match his, eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because,” I yawned. “You like me too much to piss me off. And where’s the fun in me telling you everything anyway?”

  “I swear, Augusta Belle…”

  SIX

  Fallon

  “I swear, Augusta Belle, if you don’t make me madder than a goddamn hatter.” I stomped across the parking lot, hand pushing through my hair and dead set on the last swallows of a nearly dry bottle of Jack that I knew was kicking around the back of my truck.

  “Agh! That’s not even what that means!” she screamed. “You mean—”

  I spun, retracing my bootsteps and catching her chin between my fingers before she could finish her sentence. “You lost the right to tell me what I mean ten years ago.”

  She narrowed her eyes, jaw hardening as she pulled herself out of my reach. “You want to know what happened to me back in Chickasaw Ridge, Fallon?” Her normally singsong voice was threaded with fire. “You think you’re ready for that?”

  “You think you’re ready for what the fuck happened to me? You’re still the selfish little girl I used to know if you think you’re the only one who was affected by you leaving.”

  “I didn’t leave.” Her voice was suddenly quiet, but the ferocity in her eyes still flaring bright.

  She was even more gorgeous when she was angry. Still didn’t know what the fuck I had done to deserve this kind of torture.

  I thought running from her memory had been hell, but it was here. Five-foot-two and mad as a motherfucker, rooted in front of me now.

  “I didn’t leave, Fallon. You should know that.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

  “How the hell would I know anything?” I tossed my arms in air, mind out of control as the possibilities warred within me. “Christ, I thought you were dead, and can ya blame me? Wouldn’t have been the first time.” She narrowed her eyes, and I knew my arrows had hit their mark.

  “Done yet?” The chill in her voice rattled my bones.

  Bitterness rose in my throat, that whiskey bottle calling my name louder than ever. “Just gettin’ started, sweetheart.”

  I turned back to my truck, pulling the door open when a flash of black sped past my head, followed by a pair of red Converse stepping up onto the running board.

  Augusta Belle and her backpack were perched in the front seat.

  I ducked out of the back, muscles tremoring with need for the numb escape they were used to, knocking my head against the frame as I went. “Fuck!”

  “You shouldn’t allow yourself to get so stressed. Not good for your health, and the way you’re already taxing that liver…”

  “Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?” The slow pounding in my head grew to a deafening decibel. “You’re not coming with me, Branson. No fucking way.”

  “Sure am.” The confident grin gracing her face boiled my insides.

  “No—” I yanked her backpack out of the car and held it in the air “—you’re not.” I dropped the backpack in the dust at my feet, then climbed into the truck. “Now, get out.”

  “Not going anywhere.” She crossed her arms, settling in.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I kicked the door open, throwing myself out, boots first. “Why the hell not?”

  “Aw.” Her eyes whipped up and down my form, drawn tighter than a crossbow. “You look like a spoiled schoolboy with your hands on your hips like that.” She tilted her head, blond waves falling over one shoulder. “Or my mother.”

  I growled, dropping my hands to my sides, stupidly self-conscious for the first time…well…since the last time I saw Augusta Belle.

  I trekked around the front of my truck, throwing the passenger door open and climbing up into the cab, lips hovering just out of reach of her succulent, pert, stubborn-as-hell little mouth. “Please leave, Augusta.” My palm pushed up the curve of her thigh, soft, worn denim rubbing against my fingertips and grating on every last nerve. “Don’t make me do something we’ll both end up regretting.”

  The delicate little concave indentation of her throat flexed as she swallowed before her head began a slow shake. “I didn’t come this far to have you drive off into the sunset, booze in hand, without even talkin’ to me.”

  “And how far did you come, exactly?” I pressed an inch higher, hovering just out of reach of the top of her thigh, eyes burning up the space between us.

  “Not far.” She swallowed again. “You think I’d let you come anywhere near the state of Tennessee and not hunt you down?”

  The fog cleared for a minute, whiskey haze burning off for the first time in days. “I don’t even know what town I’m in.”

  A small huff pushed past her lips. “Figures. Cherry Valley? Tennessee?” She waited for me to say something. But instead, I hovered silently, unpacking the years it’d been since I’d crossed the Tennessee state line.

  Heady peaches and honey filled my memories as the feeling of home settled over me. I guess in the back of my mind somewhere I knew I was in Tennessee, but these hills and hollers all looked the same after a lot of late nights playing music. The notion that she was back hadn’t even occurred to me. The Bransons never had family outside of Chickasaw Ridge that I’d heard about, so when she’d disappeared, she’d vanished and left me without a trail to follow. “Where you living?”

  Her little hand grazed my bicep. Made me angry how this woman’s touch still had that same old thrilling effect on me. “I’m back home. For now. Workin’ on puttin’ the house up for sale.”

  “Oh.” I moved away, pushing a hand through my hair and letting the knowledge that her parents had probably passed settle in.

  “I’m desperate for a shower, though. Your next stop is in Memphis according to your website, so that should only take us a few hours if we get on the road.”

  “Wait, I have a website?” I plopped down on the seat beside her. She scooched, making room for my big body. Still, our bodies touched, elbows rubbing, thighs kissing. I settled one arm across the seat behind her, reminding me just how easy it was, being with her. Not a thing had changed. Except everything. Some errant lightning stroke of pain struck my heart thinkin’ about all we’d been through, wonderin’ if there was even a possibility of starting over for us.

  I didn’t think so.

  Augusta Belle Branson had torn my heart from my chest. No way was I letting that thief back inside.

  “Tons of websites. The Fallon fangirls are still loud and proud. But I also talked to your sister,” Augusta stated. “Said she hasn’t talked to you in almost a year, beyond a text once in a
while. I’m afraid to ask, but is this what you’ve been doing? Playin’ music at night and drinkin’ and drivin’ all day? Because if that’s the case, you need me even more than I thought.”

  “No.” Realization that it was exactly what I’d been doing went down like a jagged pill. “Not all day. And I don’t need your shit. I’m doing fine.” The words were hollow even as I said them.

  I jumped out of the truck, heading around the front and tossing her backpack into the cab before climbing behind the wheel and turning over the engine. “I’ll take you to Memphis, but that’s it. After that, you and me, us—” I pointed back and forth between us “—ends.”

  Her face fell a fraction, but she recovered quickly. Someone else may not have caught it, but even after all these years, it felt like I knew her better than the back of my hand.

  Augusta Belle Branson was embedded like barbed wire around my soul.

  SEVEN

  Fallon

  “I wanna break away…be myself sometime…but all I see is pouring rain…all I get is more of your pain…” My fingers tapped out an absent rhythm against the steering wheel, my mind matching a melody to the somber words that’d been playin’ in my head the last few days. “You only get a little while to shine before you fade away…but out here on the highway, your ghost is more than I can take…”

  “That’s beautiful.” Augusta breathed, reminding me she was there.

  Hell.

  I’d done a damn good job ignoring her the first thirty minutes on the road. So well she’d stopped asking me about myself and minded her own damn business.

  I flipped on the radio, cycling through a few country stations before I settled on a Johnny Cash song.

  “You gonna talk to me at all this trip?”

  I shook my head, lips tight, eyes trained on the pavement.

  She groaned, adjusting in her seat before she unbuckled her seat belt, turning in the cab and reaching for her backpack. I heard the zipper a moment later before she yanked the long-sleeved shirt off her torso and balled it up, throwing it behind her. She appeared front and center on my bench seat a second later, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. “Can we stop at a rest area? I have to brush my teeth. I didn’t have cash to stay at a hotel last night, which means no sink to brush my teeth this morning. Y’know that furry feeling your teeth get? Yeah, that’s what I’m dealing with right now.”