by Ava Miles
Clayton settled his rear end on the edge of his desk and put his coffee cup on the Grand Ole Opry coaster. If his friend was going to punch him, he didn’t want to be holding anything that could burn either one of them.
When Rye finally looked at him, he raked his gaze over him from head to toe, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “I know you were with her this morning. It’s all over you. Dammit, I can even smell her magnolia perfume.”
He fought the desire to curse a blue streak. Then he remembered his mama’s advice about telling Rye how he felt, and he kicked his leg out, steeling himself for the embarrassing task.
“I know you want to beat me senseless, and part of me doesn’t blame you. The thing is, I love your sister, Rye.”
The words didn’t catch in his throat, he was surprised to realize. In fact, his voice had the power of truth behind it.
“I love her, and yes, I was with her. And I’m going to keep being with her because she’s…the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me woman-wise.”
Rye shot to his feet and crossed the distance between them. “Of course, she is. She’s an angel!”
His tone suggested he was spoiling for a fight. Clayton wasn’t going to give it to him.
“I couldn’t agree with you more. I know she’s too good for me, but I love her and she loves me. You and I are going to have to find a way to be okay about this because…dammit, I don’t want to lose you as a friend. You mean too much to me.”
Grabbing the desk with both hands, Rye leaned over. Clayton knew he’d chosen to put his hands there rather than around his neck. It was a start. He stood up and lowered his hand to rest on his friend’s shoulder. It coiled away from his touch.
“I’m in all the way with her, Rye,” he told him softly. “This feels right. I tried to stay away from her, but my heart wouldn’t let me. I promise you I’ll do right by her. Always.”
The sound Rye made was like a punctured tire leaking air, and Clayton knew the fight had gone out of him. His friend straightened and met his gaze dead on.
“I believe you.”
Clayton lowered his hand from Rye’s shoulder and picked up his coffee, taking a long sip as his friend walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it.
“I had some pretty dark thoughts while I was waiting for you,” Rye told him, kicking his feet onto the coffee table.
“In your shoes, I would have as well.”
“But then I figured if she was willing to miss her morning law classes for you, you must be really important to her.” Rye lifted a shoulder. “Don’t tell her I said this, but when I first heard about you two, I wondered if it was first love for her. I don’t think there’s been anyone else.”
He wasn’t going to correct his friend’s assumption.
Rye laughed, though without his usual humor. “You know, I don’t think she’s ever missed a class before.”
“She hasn’t,” Clayton told him. “Until today. I told her I loved her last night.”
Rye nodded. “I see.”
Walking over to sit beside his friend, he rested his coffee on his knee. “I know how passionate she is about the law, not to mention the volunteer work she does at the legal clinic. You don’t need to worry about me standing in the way of that. It’s one of the reasons I love her.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that after the bubbleheads you’ve dated,” Rye said, rubbing his forehead.
Bubbleheads. Guilty as charged. Now he was with a woman who was likely smarter than he was, and he loved that—her mind was as beautiful as her heart.
“She wanted me to take most of the day off with her, but drew the line at shirking her promise to help one of her clients this afternoon.”
“That sounds like the Amelia Ann I know,” Rye mused, the corner of his mouth rising now. “She has a big heart. When my family disowned me, she was the only one to refuse my mama’s edict. I’ve never told her this, but it was brave of her.”
“Yes. Are we okay then?”
Rye glanced over. “For the moment…but I can’t say I won’t get all weird when I see y’all together. Especially if you lay one on her in front of me.”
Like he was going to engage in PDA with Amelia Ann in front of her family. “I can live with that. I’m sure I won’t be comfortable myself the first time I come to a family gathering with her. She asked me to come this Sunday, but I told her I wanted to talk to you first. By coming here you saved me a visit out to your place.”
Rye’s chuckle reminded him of all the trouble they’d gotten into together over the years. “I came to the office because I didn’t want Tory to interfere again. I love that woman, but she won’t give me an inch on some matters.”
“Nobody’s ever called you on your shit quite like her.”
“Except you and Georgia Belle.”
That sweet nickname for his mama had been his daddy’s doing. His mama’s middle name was Belle, and sometimes Daddy had called her that alone. The thought of his daddy made him think of those fireflies again. Not that he was about to say a word of it to Rye. He’d already said enough.
“Clayton, what are we going to do when your mama leaves us?” Rye asked. “I have to admit…I get a funny feeling in my chest every time I think of it.”
He did too. “She told me part of the reason she was leaving was because she wants to give me space to become my own man—all the way.”
They lapsed into silence for a while, Clayton drinking his coffee while Rye put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
“I always thought of Georgia as the mama I would have chosen if I’d had a choice,” his friend admitted.
He’d known it all along, although Rye had never spoken the words aloud. “You should tell her that, Rye. It might make her cry.”
“Shee-it, bubba, it takes a lot to make your mama cry.”
He noted his friend’s ears turning red. “She’d cry at that. She thinks of you as a son, you know.”
“It never bothered you?” Rye asked.
“Nah. Why would it?”
Rye kicked at the coffee table. “Makes me feel small, hearing you say that.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, if you can share your mama, it would be small of me not to share my sister.” He stood and strode to the window. “Shit, you know what I mean.”
His own ears were turning red now. “I do.”
In a whirl, Rye turned and flung out his hands. “Okay. Are we done with this whole talking thing?”
His mouth quirked. “Yep. For at least three lifetimes.”
“Thank God. Now tell me you have something we can discuss business-wise.” There was a plea in his friend’s voice.
“I do actually. It involves Megan and the leak. I have some ideas on how we might make one final effort to draw Gunner out.”
He outlined his recent conversation with Megan and his thoughts about it. By the end of it, Rye was staring out the window again.
“Tammy hasn’t said anything more about the concert,” his friend told him. “I don’t think she wants to put any more of her personal information out in the open.”
Clayton wondered if that would change after her emotional talk with Amelia Ann. Whatever they’d talked about had bled them both out, sure as shooting. He hoped Amelia Ann would share it with him at some point.
“I won’t do anything about it if Tammy isn’t willing to be involved,” Clayton said.
“I know you won’t. I just…dammit, I want this whole leak business behind me and my family. It would have been so much easier if Mama would just confess.”
Clayton agreed. “You still think it’s her?”
“I can’t think of anyone else who would have done it, and given her reconciliation with Tammy and Daddy, she has a lot to lose by admitting it now. Even Rory and Annabelle have been warming to her, although it’s more like cold water turning tepid. Rory still remembers how she used to be. Annabelle less so.”
So, Mama Hollins was gaining ground
. It was going to hurt a lot of people if she was unmasked.
“I’ll talk to J.P.,” Rye said. “See if he knows which way Tammy’s blowing about this right now. If she hasn’t told the preacher kid yet, she’s still stewing on it. We might have to wait her out, which impacts your plans.” His eyes—so like Amelia Ann’s, Clayton realized with a start—were hard when they met his. “She’s been hurt enough. I don’t want anything we do to make her feel worse.”
He thought again about how emotional Tammy and Amelia Ann had been the night before. Yes, Rye’s family had been through their fair share of pain.
“Let’s let things play out then,” he said, not seeing another way forward until they knew Tammy’s mind.
“Maybe we should call Megan off,” Rye said in a defeated tone. “Let it go. Tory has been pushing me about this for some time. If she can’t find hard evidence, why are we still keeping her on the payroll?”
Clayton fought his knee-jerk reaction to spew words about punishment and revenge. Somehow he couldn’t muster it today. “It’s up to you, Rye.”
“The longer it goes on, the more I wonder what we’re doing. Are we sinking to Gunner’s level? It’s pretty dirty business.”
“Exposing your family like that in the media redefined dirty.”
Rye shook his head. “Yes, it did, and it hurt a lot of people. Okay, let’s see what Tammy decides. And I’ll think on it more. If Tammy does agree to tell her story and we use her in the media to poke at Gunner, we’re opening a huge can of worms.”
Maggots, more like. “Yes.”
Clayton continued to sip his coffee as Rye stared out the window, his hands gripping the sill. His friend wanted to punch something, he could tell, and he felt the same way. They were over a barrel and both of them knew it.
“How about we grab a bite?” he told his friend. “It’s been some time since we’ve done that.”
Rye walked over and shoved his shoulder with one hand. Clayton had to dance out of the way as coffee spilled on the floor.
“Dammit, Rye.”
“Oh, it’s just a little coffee,” he said. “Did you up and turn into a wimp when I wasn’t looking?”
If there hadn’t been a teasing glint in his friend’s eyes, Clayton might have shoved him back. Instead he just grabbed some napkins from one of his desk’s drawers and mopped up the spill. He’d expected to get punched or strangled when he walked through that door—getting shoved was hardly something to create a fuss about. They’d made great strides today as friends.
“Come on, bubba,” Rye said, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him to the door. “Lunch is on me.”
As they walked out, Clayton gave in and nudged Rye in the ribs. Soon they were wrestling and horsing around like they used to as young men at Vanderbilt.
And it felt good.
Chapter 32
Susannah never tempted fate by allowing others to see her art before she was finished. With Amelia Ann due to arrive in a few minutes, she surveyed the finished collage on her office computer. Any niggling fear she’d had these past weeks that her talent wasn’t big enough to express this horrifying topic finally disappeared. She knew from the way her heart fluttered when she looked at it that it was one of her most powerful pieces.
The effect she’d gone for was stark and simple. The details were what stood out and grabbed the viewer by the throat. The swollen, cut lip from a recent beating, the shame in a pair of downcast eyes…then the beaming smiles of the same women after they’d escaped their living nightmares.
The progression told its own story visually. Added to the media features, no fan at that concert would easily forget this night. Or the faces of domestic violence.
She was so happy to have had a hand in spreading that awareness.
Arranged on the coffee table, in the order she’d ranked them, were the stories of the women Amelia Ann had sent her to review. While reading their stories, she could have sworn she’d heard their voices telling her the tales. And learning about their suffering and joy had helped her glimpse beyond the two-dimensionality of their photos and see into their souls. She knew her piece was stronger for it.
Everything was on schedule. Soon she would be presenting this collage—after Clayton’s input—to Rye and the rest of the group. Oh, how that thought made her nerves jump like heat lightning in the wide expanse under her heart. To make matters worse, Jake would be there too. It had been tough to stop thinking about what it would be like to see him again. Of course, every time she went by her brother’s house, she hoped to run into him, but it hadn’t happened yet. Part of her wondered if he’d view her differently after seeing this piece of her soul.
There was a knock on the door, and she went to answer it.
Amelia Ann raised a red velvet wine bag tied with those killer bows she was so good at arranging. “I love your townhouse,” she said, giving her a hug. “The bold blue door suits you.”
Painting it had been one of her first acts as the new owner. Previously it had been a generic white—so not her style.
“Come on in,” she said.
After shedding her light fall jacket, a rich plum color, Susannah noticed with approval, Amelia Ann scanned her den. “I love your place. It has a homey feel. And I wondered what you’d choose for your personal art. I like the landscapes, but the women…well, they rock the house.”
Susannah couldn’t agree more. Two paintings of women who could have graced old Chanel ads hung in the room—one in a dramatic floor-length green gown holding a martini, the other in a curvy bold red dress standing on a French balcony overlooking the Seine. She loved to imagine herself as a bohemian artist in 1920s Paris, staying out late with other artists, talking about light and color and meaning.
“You said you needed to be somewhere later, but if you brought wine, surely you have time for a glass?”
A flush spread across Amelia Ann’s cheeks. “Yes, but I need to…oh, heck, I’m bursting to tell you. I’m seeing Clayton, and things are…in the stage where you want to spend every spare minute together.”
Susannah felt her brow rise of its own volition. “Really?”
Well, she’d suspected Amelia Ann might have a personal interest in Clayton, but she’d thought him too cold and stiff for her vibrant friend. There had to be sides to Clayton she hadn’t seen, and he’d obviously shown them to Amelia Ann. She only wondered how Rye had reacted to the news.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Amelia Ann said. “You’re wondering about my brother.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, deciding one glass of wine might not be enough for this story. “To start.”
“Rye’s coming around, thank heavens. Daddy and Tammy are okay with it. J.P. knows too, I expect, but I haven’t talked to him. Oh, and Clayton’s mama discovered us together at his house and was downright unpleasant. It’s been a whirlwind. And I won’t lie, I’m freaking out a little right now just from talking about it…I’ve been trying so hard to be confident in the face of everything. I need to calm down.”
“What you need is a glass of wine,” Susannah said and headed into the kitchen to find a corkscrew. Heck, she needed a drink too. Her mind was reeling. Clayton wasn’t exactly what she considered settle-down-with material, but it wasn’t her place to make that call. What her friend needed right now was support, not another naysayer.
Amelia Ann came in behind her as she was topping off the second glass. She handed it over without a word, and her friend took a healthy sip.
“Thank you,” she said, appearing calmer now. “I think I’ve staved off any hysterics.”
Hysterics. She almost laughed at the word, which was so Amelia Ann. “How about we sit down, and you can tell me more about it?”
“I will,” Amelia Ann said, her eyes scanning the room now, “but first you simply must show me the collage. I can’t wait to see what you’ve created.”
“You don’t want to hear my top three rankings for the media features first?” she asked, ju
st to be a tease.
“No! We can do that later. I want to see what you’ve done.”
Since Amelia Ann was almost jumping up and down, she said, “Okay, I suppose I’ve put you off long enough. It’s in my office.”
She led the way down the small hallway connected to the den. Darting into her office, she jimmied the mouse so the image would reappear on her computer screen since it had gone into sleep mode.
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “See what you think.”
Her friend’s sharp intake would have concerned her had she not seen the tears in her eyes.
“Oh, my gosh,” Amelia Ann said in a hoarse voice. “I knew you were good, but you’ve outdone yourself. It’s amazing.”
“I had incredible subjects,” she responded and fussed with the hem of her pink top as Amelia Ann wandered closer to the screen, entranced.
“I adore the color backgrounds,” she said. “I wondered how you’d handle the lack of uniformity in the pictures. My God, the block color makes the women’s faces sure stand out, doesn’t it? It’s the most radical piece I could ever imagine on domestic abuse. This is going to look incredible on the giant concert screen. Oh, heavens, I’m already crying buckets. Thank you, Susannah!”
They gravitated toward each other like two magnets and hugged.
“You did great,” Amelia Ann whispered. “It’s sure going to make a difference.”
“We’re doing great. I’ve never done anything that’s felt this important before, and I feel blessed to take part in it.”
“You’re right,” Amelia Ann responded. “That’s how I feel when I…”
They edged back. Susannah knew her friend was weighing whether she were ready to share something else. Shelby and Sadie worried their lips too when they were finally preparing to share a secret. After heaving a deep breath, Amelia Ann told her about her volunteer job at a legal clinic in East Nashville.
Add another thing to her nightly prayers. Susannah sat back in her office chair in shock. “So all of these stories and photos—”