An Everyday Hero

by Laura Trentham

  A man rapped an empty beer glass in front of her. “Another one, please.”

  “It’ll be a minute, sir.” She turned to Edgar. “We need to tap another keg.”

  He gave her a salute and disappeared into the back as a folksy version of “Brown Eyed Girl” quieted the crowd. Most of the people at the bar turned to watch. The man’s voice was older and rough around the edges but pleasant. Also familiar. She stood on her tiptoes and caught a glimpse over someone’s shoulder.

  Aaron Nash. A middle-aged, journeyman musician who had been a regular staple in Nashville’s dive bars long before she’d hit the circuit. He was well past his prime. Record executives were after young, attractive singers they could wring dry before moving on, and Aaron had only ever been an average songwriter.

  Although considering he was performing and she was waiting for a keg to get tapped, who was she to judge success? Edgar rolled the new keg over and deftly changed the hoses.

  “He’s pretty good, huh?” Edgar nodded to the beat.

  The offending string twanged and made her shoulders hunch. “Yeah, he is.”

  Aaron launched into a set of classic rock and good-old-boy country. Songs everyone knew the words to and soon a chorus of a few voices joined in a sing-along. The mood in the bar lifted even higher.

  Aaron might not be the most innovative musician, but he could read a crowd. No doubt his tip jar would be overflowing by the end of the night. The wall of people at the bar thinned out. It was then she noticed him.

  Emmett stood in the shadow of a vertical support beam close to the wall, wearing his cargo pants, a plaid button-down, and a frown. His arms were crossed, and he gave off a general fuck-off vibe that seemed to be working.

  He wasn’t looking at the crowd or at Aaron, but at her. She had a feeling he had been watching her for a while. Instead of being freaked out like she had been with Ryan, a seed of gratefulness sprouted in her heart. He’d come.

  She tapped Edgar on the shoulder. “Can you cover for a couple of minutes?”

  “Go on. Things will be slow until the singer takes his first break.”

  Greer slipped out from behind the bar. A scrum of partiers moved into her path like a herd and she stopped to let them pass. A hand landed on her arm from behind. Annoyed, she shook free and glanced over her shoulder. It was Deputy Wayne Peeler, except he wasn’t in his tan uniform but jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Surprised to see you working at the scene of the crime.” His toothy, predator-like smile set her on edge.

  “All recovered?” She darted a glance toward his crotch before shuffling a step away. Her path to Emmett was still blocked by the milling group.

  “Good as new. Want to give it a look-see out back?”

  “Uh. No.” The crowd in front of her thinned, and she took another step away. “See ya.”

  “Got yourself a pity project, huh?”

  She stuttered to a stop and half turned. “Excuse me?”

  “Him.” Wayne chucked his chin toward where Emmett had straightened, his hands balled at his sides.

  Greer stepped in front of Wayne, her back to Emmett in case he could read lips. “He’s not a pity project.”

  “What is he, then?”

  “He’s none of your business.”

  Wayne gave a snort of disbelief. Rumors of her grocery store sojourn with Emmett had trotted through Madison like the Pony Express. Even her mother had asked her deliberately vague yet leading questions about Emmett.

  She performed an about-face and weaved her way around people and tables to Emmett. Nothing about his slightly aggressive stance changed. But something was different. He’d gotten a haircut. It made him look more mature, yet reminded her of the Emmett from high school at the same time. The thick waves were only partially tamed and fell over his forehead. Her fingers itched to push through his hair and explore, like she’d imagined doing so many times stuck behind him in class. She trapped her hands in her back pockets.

  “I wasn’t sure whether you’d actually show.” She had to raise her voice to be heard but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

  “What’d Wayne want?”

  “Wanted to give me a hard time about the other night.” She couldn’t verbalize the sexually tinged threat that emanated off Wayne. It was something she’d dealt with enough as a single woman working late nights in Nashville but hadn’t expected to face in Madison, her safety net. But she’d impugned his masculinity the night of her arrest, and he was the type of man who had to reassert it somehow.

  With Emmett’s gaze still intensely focused over her shoulder, he leaned closer so she could hear him over the music and crowd noise and said in a lowered voice, “I never did like the Weasel.”

  “Yeah, me neither, but now that he’s got his panties in a wad, it’s best to leave him alone to untangle them.”

  Although Emmett didn’t smile, he transferred his gaze to her and the ready-to-pounce tautness of his body eased. “You’re surprised to see me?”

  “Well … yeah. How many times have you left the cabin since you hunkered down there?”

  “Three times, if you count right now.”

  “I’m honored.” Her sarcasm was tempered with honest-to-goodness honor. She couldn’t fathom how difficult it must have been for him to step out of his fortress of solitude and into the chaos of Becky’s. It was like facing a phobia of spiders by wallowing in a vat of them.

  “Don’t get used to it. After this I’m going to need a month of alone time to recover.” While amusement lightened the words, she sensed the real desire in him to retreat as soon as possible. “Have you been catching up with old friends?”

  “A few, but mostly everyone just wants their drink. Ryan was here for a while, though.” She bit the inside of her mouth. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think he was working up the courage to ask me out.”

  “Doesn’t sound crazy at all.” His statement made her heart swell and pump a few beats faster until he added, “In school, he went after anything with legs, boobs, and a decent face. The ink is barely dry on his divorce, though. He’s probably looking to rebound if you’re into that.”

  It took a hot second to unpack his implications. Legs, boobs, and a decent face—was that how Emmett saw her? Real empowering. What niggled at her even more was the fact he didn’t seem at all bothered Ryan might ask her out.

  Which was fine. They were just friends, after all, and Emmett was giving her friendly, useful advice. Advice that made her want to punch him in the face. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind when I accept his invitation.”

  “Why in the world would you say yes?”

  “Maybe I’m looking for a rebound. You said yourself he’s a nice guy. Do you know any other reason I shouldn’t go out with him?” She tensed.

  His jaw tightened and his blue eyes narrowed. “No reason at all. Go for it. Enjoy your rebound with Ryan. How’s the bartending going?”

  Enjoy her rebound? What an asinine thing to say. Hurtful too, considering … No, she couldn’t consider it. Instead, she forced a smile but it was brittle from the blistering tension between them. “Crazy busy but oddly enjoyable. It feels good to put in an honest day’s—or night’s—work. Edgar hasn’t held my jukebox-fighting antics against me.”

  Emmett raised his hand, and she waited for his move, but he only tucked a piece of escaped hair behind her ear with a gentleness that belied the almost ferocious look on his face. The shiver his touch invoked was nothing like the distaste from Ryan’s brief but sweaty hand-holding. Her breath caught, waiting for his next move, but there was none. He resumed his fuck-off stance.

  “When did Becky start bringing in live entertainment?” He leaned into her even though they were already close enough to hear each other. His scent muffled the stale smoke and beer of the bar, and reminded her of the cabin and night air.

  She swallowed past a sudden lump and fiddled with the strings of her apron. “Since tonight. Aaron’s been gigging for a long time, though.”


  “You know him?”

  “The Nashville music scene is smaller than you might think. If you’re out there playing shows, you eventually meet all the other wretched souls trying to break through.”

  “You’ve really given up?”

  Her feelings about leaving Nashville and abandoning her dream were complicated. “I wonder sometimes if I’d worked a little bit harder, hustled for one more show, written one more song, if it would have made a difference.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “That dream is dead.” She never wanted to relive the humiliation of the Bluebird. “I need to figure out what’s next.”

  “You should ask Becky about playing one night.” Emmett’s lecturing, know-it-all tone on top of his blessing for her to date another man rubbed salt on the still-oozing wound.

  The thought of stepping in front of a bar full of people had her breaking out in a panicked sweat. She wiped her forehead with the bar towel stuck in her back pocket. “You are so full of it. Another lecture about giving up and how I should get back in the game. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re going to turn into a hermit who collects cats. People will whisper about your strange ways and you’ll become a cautionary tale for children. Poor, crazy, old Emmett Lawson. Been waiting to die for fifty years. And when you do, your army of feral cats will eat your face off.”

  “At least I didn’t half-ass the last decade of my life. I gave everything for what I believed in. Even my fucking leg.” He hunched even closer until they were face-to-face and whisper-yelling.

  “That’s not fair. I put my heart and soul into my music until it sucked me dry. You think my dream was to be thirty and bartending for a living?”

  “You think I want to be a cripple?” A bitterness to match her own laced his voice. “You think I want to relive all those men’s deaths every time I close my eyes? Grow the fuck up, Greer.”

  He turned and stalked out. She was torn between anger and shame. Yes, her troubles paled in comparison to his, yet he’d made it sound like she was a quitter. She wasn’t. The trouble was her panic onstage had finally overtaken any pleasure she’d once gotten from performing.

  The thought of losing their friendship punched a hole in her gut. He would probably be perfectly happy at the cabin with an army of cats, but she couldn’t imagine not being able to spar with him. She’d been mean because he’d hurt her feelings like she was a teenager. Maybe she did need to grow up. An adult apology was in order. Could she catch him in the parking lot?

  She took a step toward the door when Aaron’s smoky voice registered. “I’m going to take a quick break, but I’ll be back.”

  A wave of people crashed over toward the bar. She couldn’t leave Edgar on his own. It would be a sprint to get everyone served before Aaron took up his guitar for his second set. Aaron sidled up to the edge of the bar.

  She traded two longnecks for cash and cocked her head. “What can I get you, Aaron?”

  A shot of surprise crossed his face. “Greer Hadley? Damn, girl, what are you doing in this backwater slogging beers?”

  “I grew up in this backwater.”

  “Gimme a Coors Light. Trying to keep my girlish figure.” His laugh was like sandpaper.

  She uncapped a bottle and plopped it down. “Your A string is a smidgeon sharp. It’s driving me bonkers.”

  “You kids with your perfect pitch…” He shook his head and took a drag off the bottle. “These folks are drunk enough not to care.”

  “True.” When Aaron tried to pull out money, Greer waved him off. “On the house. You want another to get you through the set?”

  She didn’t wait for his affirmation but handed over another bottle of beer. He saluted her with it, smiling but with a quizzical look on his face. “Are you taking a break from Nashville for the summer or did you leave for good?”

  “For good, I think.”

  He gave a slow nod. “I think about leaving sometimes—I have a standing offer at my brother-in-law’s insurance agency—but performing is like a drug. I get a high, even in a place like this.”

  He returned to his stool, and everyone followed like he was the Pied Piper. It was an amazing feeling to be able to command a crowd like that. The rush of performing was a drug to her too, but her addiction had turned dangerous to her psyche.

  Customers flitted to the bar while Aaron played his second, and last, set. A final rush of partiers got drinks when last call was announced. Wayne still hung around the periphery but didn’t approach her again.

  As the last song of the night, Aaron played “The Fireman,” classic George Strait. The crowd’s off-key and off-tempo singing almost drowned out his voice. Becky joined Greer and Edgar behind the bar to change out the register drawer.

  “Looks like my experiment paid off,” Becky said. “Live music plus drinks has loosened pockets.”

  Edgar was counting out the bills from the tip jar. “You got that right. This is the most tip money I’ve ever seen.”

  “You two split that up however you want.” Becky propped the drawer on her hip. “You did good tonight, Greer. You want to work tomorrow night too?” At Greer’s nod, Becky made a note in the ledger lying on top of the drawer. “Let me know how many hours you want each week, and I’ll work you into the schedule.”

  “Thanks for taking a chance on me.”

  Becky flashed a smile before disappearing. Greer turned back to Edgar, who had divided the tips into two unequal piles. He pushed the larger stack to her.

  “No. We should split it down the middle.” She pushed the bills back.

  “But I was late. You worked more hours. It’s fair.” He nodded.

  “You did all the heavy lifting of a barback on top of bartending.” She took the stacks and deftly recounted, splitting them equally and shoving half at Edgar. “I insist.”

  He shook his head but smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Things have been tight lately with the baby. Who knew something so small could be so expensive?”

  Aaron walked over with his guitar case. “I’m out of here. Good to see you again, Greer.”

  They exchanged a handshake. His fingers rasped over the back of her hand, his calluses the work of years. She watched him walk out the door to the next gig and felt a shot of both relief and jealousy.

  By the time Becky emerged from the back, Greer and Edgar had cleaned and organized the bar area for the next day. “You kids are done. I’ve got you both down for tomorrow night too. Another musician is coming so expect a busy but lucrative night.”

  Greer waved good-bye and pushed out the front door into the sultry night. She looked to the sky and felt her world expand from the windowless bar to the stars. A deep breath cleared her lungs with earthy scents from a nearby farm.

  She didn’t know what she wanted, but it wasn’t to toil away for someone else slogging drinks the rest of her days. She felt … empty. At one time, music would have filled the void. Now she foundered for purpose and clarity.

  Clumps of people had moved the party to the parking lot, laughing and talking. While everyone seemed friendly enough, she knew better than to take chances. She dug through her purse for her travel-size can of pepper spray.

  “I feel like it’s my duty to protect the male citizens of Madison and see you to your car.” Wayne materialized from the shadows of the wall. She yelped and clutched her purse closer.

  She waved the can of pepper spray in his face. “You were about two seconds from being miserable. You should never sneak up on a woman in a dark parking lot. What if I was packing heat?”

  He gave a dismissive huff. “This is Madison, not Nashville.”

  Madison had a dark underbelly, just like any town, but instead of arguing the point, Greer walked around the side of the building toward the back of the bar. She hadn’t considered how isolated and dark her parking space would be at midnight. Passing by a hollering group of questionably legal boys, she was even slightly grateful Wayne had hung around.


  She unlocked her car using the fob, and Wayne stepped ahead, but instead of opening her door for her he blocked her path. All she wanted was to climb behind the wheel and be alone. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You owe me, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” She forced her voice to remain cool even as her insides jostled. The group of young men had moved on, the sound of engines firing and gravel crunching leaving her and Wayne too alone for her comfort.

  “You humiliated me.” He banged a hand on the roof of her car.

  She gripped the pepper spray tighter, her finger on the trigger, and took a step back. “What do you want, Wayne?”

  “I want you to go out with me. I’ll even take you to the country club.”

  It was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth. Her answer was cold and short. “No.”

  His lips thinned and red burnished his cheeks. “Is it because Beau and I are friends?”

  “No. It’s because you don’t even like me.”

  His gaze trekked down her body and back up, leaving her craving a bath. It was all about dominance and pride with Wayne. “Give me one good reason why you won’t go out with me.”

  He shifted and blotted out the interior car lights. His face was a dark blob, and as if she were answering a Rorschach test, she said the first thing that popped into her head: “Emmett.”

  Wayne reared back and muttered, “Just like fucking high school. I should have known.”

  “What are you talking about?” She still had hold of the pepper spray and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  “He could have any girl he wanted back then. Guess not much has changed. Even down one leg.” He took a step toward her. She tensed, but he sidestepped around her.

  “He’s waiting for me. I’ll see you later.” She winced at her knee-jerk politeness. She had zero desire to see him ever again.

  She had the car on the road in less than five seconds. Distracted, she tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel. It wasn’t until she was at the stop sign where one direction would take her home and one would take her to Emmett’s cabin that she noticed the headlights behind her.