Rough Country (Tannen Boys Book 3)

by Lauren Landish

  I mutter, “What am I going to do?” The truth hits me so hard, I feel the world spin.

  I gave up everything for her! Everything.

  “Fuck it, I’m out of here.”

  “What?” Brody says, but I’m already gone. Running for my truck, I hop inside and grab the spare key from the visor.

  The trucks growls to life, and I spin out, leaving Brody in a cloud of dust behind me. I think I hear him call my name, but I don’t stop, don’t explain.

  I’ll fill him in later.

  Willow thinks I should go to Nashville and try to get a contract? Fuck that. I already have one. One I gave up for her. But if she doesn’t want me, I’m going to take it. Guess Jeremy’s getting his way, after all.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 23

  Willow

  “Eff-why-I, do not, under any circumstances, go wandering by table twelve. They’re here solely to gawk and stare,” Olivia snaps loudly, fully intending for table twelve to hear her. Her ponytail swishes through the air as she throws a ‘dare you to say something’ look their way.

  “At what?” I ask, getting her drinks—three diet colas with a cherry juice splash, one club soda with lime.

  I’ve kept my head down all day so that no one will see how red and puffy my eyes are. They’re the most obvious consequence for spending last night bawling in my bathtub. I’d planned on soaking, letting the heat take away some of the pain of heartache, but I didn’t make it that far. I’d climbed right on in, still dressed in my work clothes, and curled up to cry for hours. At least the toilet paper had been close by so I could blow my nose. It’s red and irritated now too.

  But with my head down, my heart heavy, and my mind elsewhere, I have no idea what’s happening around me. I’m going through the motions robotically—read order, get glass, pour drink, set it out for Olivia.

  I do look up at Olivia’s words, though. Her eyes are popped wide open, her jaw dropped to catch flies. I glance at table twelve. I see four women dressed in their Sunday best, probably fresh from church and here for a late lunch. My lips stretch in a smile automatically, even though I don’t feel like smiling at all. The women flash back small smiles of pity before their heads nearly knock together as they whisper.

  About me.

  “You, obviously,” she confirms.

  “How do they even know?” I whisper, not bothering to pretend there’s nothing to know. There’s no use.

  Olivia leans in close. “Willow, you could’ve won at Hank’s poker game last night with how straight your face was after Bobby’s show. That was already fuel on the fire of ‘is Willow okay?’ and ‘what did that Tannen boy do now?’” She waves her hand in front of her face, staring vacantly. “And if that wasn’t enough to raise some concerns, Bobby’s truck was seen flying through town around three in the morning, not headed toward your house or his, and he was alone.”

  My stomach rolls. Did he already leave? So easily? And who was out at three in the morning to see him go?

  Tears threaten again, hotly stinging my lids, and I sniffle.

  “Oh, shit. Shit!” Olivia hisses. “Go to the back. Check the spreadsheets or whatever. Go, go, girl. Never let ’em see ya sweat or cry.”

  She’s so nice, giving me an excuse the way she does Unc when he needs a rest. Any reason to hide out for a little bit and pull myself together.

  “Thanks,” I manage to whisper. I wish I were strong enough to walk with my head held high, not caring about the nosy Nellies here to wallow in my misery. But I’m not. I virtually run for the office.

  I shut the door before the waterworks come, pooling in my glasses. I yank them off angrily, dropping them to the desk as my face floods with fresh tears.

  He’s gone.

  All it took was me giving him a nudge, and he left. That affirms how much he wants that life.

  I did the right thing.

  I know I did.

  It hurts right now, but in the long run, Bobby will have his deal and his dreams of filling stadiums, fans singing his music, and living like a country superstar, and it will be well worth this pain. That happiness—his happiness—will make this pain seem insignificant. I hope.

  I’ve got today’s shift to get through. After that, I can spend the entirety of Monday breaking down and no one will be the wiser. I promise myself a full twenty-four hours of tears, ice cream scooped straight out of the pint with bark-thin chocolate as a makeshift spoon, and an actual hot bath. For now, I swallow down my loss, wipe my face, and steel my nerves.

  Hours later, I’m doing okay, mostly passable as a ghost thanks to Olivia’s help.

  She’s running interference for me, shooting daggers at customers if they aim for the bar and shooing them to tables so they can’t pester me with questions. She does let Richard sit down in his usual spot, but thank goodness, he doesn’t say a single word about my red eyes or hanging head. In fact, I think he might be planted there as a buffer for anyone who gets past Olivia.

  “Keep ’em coming, Willow. Draft and water back, please.”

  I nod, getting his usual.

  Still, I can feel the town’s eyes, hear their whispered questions, taste their hunger for gossip. I want to hide, be invisible again.

  Maybe going back to the city is a good idea?

  I’d said that last night as a push to get Bobby to go to Nashville, not actually intending on doing it. But there, I get lost amid the sheer volume of people. Nobody knows me, my name, or my business. I can be outside everything, photographing it as an observer without getting involved. Without getting hurt.

  The door creaks open, but I don’t look up. I haven’t all day.

  “I’ll sit wherever I damn well please, Olivia, and I’d suggest that you don’t get in my way,” I hear a deep voice bark.

  At that, my head lifts. Brody?

  No, it’s all of them. The gang’s all here, literally. Minus Cooper, Cindy Lou, and Mama Louise, who’s probably pulling grandma duty.

  Olivia shrugs, mouthing ‘sorry’ as she lets them pass. I guess even her skills have some boundaries. I don’t blame her. Brody’s scary on a good day. Right now, he looks like he could pluck someone’s head from their shoulders with his bare hands. Brutal would probably toss it around like a football. Which might be a bit amusing if I wasn’t sure it was my head they want to roll.

  Anyone else I could’ve handled. Not well, but I could’ve managed. The Tannen-Bennett gang is another matter entirely.

  I go ahead and pull a pitcher of draft beer and a stack of glasses, setting them down in front of Brody. His eyes are dark, burning with fury and accusations, and his jaw is clenched to bite back whatever venom he wants to pour over me.

  Ever the angel, Katelyn pours the beers, spreading them out on the napkins I lay down. The Tannens glare at me, Shayanne included. The Bennett guys are doing the stoic-faced looks, backing Brody, Brutal, and Shayanne.

  “What the hell, Willow?” Shayanne yells.

  My shoulders climb up an inch and my head drops an inch down. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  The truth is, I’m not sorry. Not really. It hurts, I hate it, and I wish it hadn’t been the only way, but I don’t regret what I did. It’s for Bobby’s own good. One day, they’ll all see that and understand.

  But I can’t explain that. I won’t tell them about Jeremy’s visit, about how Bobby lied to us all.

  I know that deep down, they love Bobby and are doing what they feel is right to protect him. I wish they could see that I’m on their side.

  I love him. I’m protecting him too.

  “Is it true? Did he really leave last night?”

  I’m as bad as the gossipy lunch ladies from earlier, but I have to know. Did he go to Nashville that easily?

  Brody snorts. “Fuck yeah, he did. Climbed in his truck with his pants undone and no shirt on—good thing we’ve all got extras stashed—and peeled out of the driveway in a cloud of dust. Thought he was chasing you down, but he texted this morning. Said he was almost there
and would be in touch.”

  I sigh in relief. He’s okay. He’s in Nashville or almost is. He’ll probably have a record deal signed with NCR by the end of the day. His dream will come true in no time.

  “Thank you for telling me,” I say quietly.

  “Won’t be telling you shit anymore. That’s for damn sure.” Brody’s eyes narrow. “Though that won’t be a problem since you’re leaving town too.”

  I guess he heard that part last night.

  “Yeah. I don’t know how soon, but . . .” I stammer, trying to find a way to explain something I hadn’t even really considered doing. I don’t want to go home.

  I am home!

  Even without Bobby, this town, and these people, this life has become my home. One I never thought I’d have, one I certainly didn’t expect to find here that first day as I drove in. But fate knew better, putting me right where I belong.

  Great Falls. Home. Just missing the one person who makes it warm and filled with love.

  “Yeah,” I finish lamely.

  Brody picks up his beer, chugs it, and lays a twenty on the table. “We’d better get home before Mama Louise gets dinner on the table. Bye, Willow.”

  It sounds like a last goodbye.

  The rest of them follow suit, giving me sad smiles or small waves before following Brody. Except Shayanne.

  She leans over the bar, arms reaching for me. I flinch, absolutely certain she’s going to choke me or hit me or something painful. I’m right . . . she hugs me tightly, hissing in my ear, “I am so fucking mad at you. Don’t be a stranger, girl.”

  Then they’re gone.

  Richard lifts an eyebrow my way, having not interfered in any of that. Some bar security he is! I give him the smallest hint of a smile, letting him know I’m okay.

  Around dinner rush time, Unc shows up and claims a table for the Sunday night poker game. Doc Jones is close behind with a jar full of coins in his arms, and the three of them get down to business. It looks like it’s a Texas Hold ’Em night.

  Olivia keeps everything running for the rest of the evening. I guess I help, but I don’t really remember any of it.

  The knock on my door is loud, so loud it wakes me up from a dead sleep. Bleary-eyed, I make my way to the door, swinging it open grumpily. “What?”

  “Rise and shine, girl. The day’s half over.” Unc sounds entirely too chipper and way too awake, considering it’s not even noon.

  “What are you doing here?” That’s what I mean to say, but it comes out jumbled and broken from my scratchy throat.

  “Thought you might want to talk about what happened. Even brought bribes.” He holds up a white bag that I know holds Darla’s doughnuts and a cup of coffee that I can smell from here. Strong caffeine and sugar overload . . . party of one.

  I grab for the goodies, giving Unc my back and assuming he’ll follow me into the kitchen. He does, closing the door behind himself.

  I grab a plate and open the bag. “You didn’t want a bear claw?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, I ate a couple of doughnut holes. That was more than enough for me.” He pats his flat belly. “But I had some oatmeal this morning, Mom.”

  The small joke does lift my lips. He knows I’m always keeping track of him to make sure he’s eating and drinking enough every day and doesn’t look too tired or seem too pale.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  Straight to the core, no tip-toeing around for Unc. No way, that’s not his style.

  “I can’t.”

  No one can know why I did what I did, what I gave up so that Bobby can have his dream come true. That’s between me and the jagged shards of my heart.

  Unc grunts, looking disappointed. I bet he thought the doughnut and coffee treatment would get me to spill my guts. In any other situation, it probably would.

  “Fine. Keep your business to yourself. Of anyone, I can damn sure understand that.” Somehow, he has managed to keep his cancer diagnosis out of the grapevine. As far as I know, the only people who know are him, Doc Jones, Mom, and me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Wanna know what I’ve learned?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer but keeps right on rolling. “When it gets bad and you want to lay down and die, because at least then you wouldn’t be in pain, you need a distraction. Like how they get women in labor to do all that huffing and puffing.” He demonstrates, filling his cheeks and making a hee-hoo-hee-hoo breathy sound. “Don’t know if it does anything special for the baby, but it gives the mama something to do. Distraction.” He nods like he’s made some groundbreaking discovery. “So, you wanna go fishing with me?”

  “Fishing?”

  Why in the world would he think fishing would distract me? The idea of sitting still on a boat in the middle of the lake, being quiet so I don’t disturb the fish, sounds like the exact opposite of what I need. Out there, I won’t have anything to do but listen to my screaming heart.

  “Yeah . . . fishing,” he repeats with new emphasis. I realize what he’s actually asking and murmur my recognition. Quietly, though no one’s here but us, he says, “I’ve got a checkup in an hour. Come with me.”

  All the stuff with Bobby and my broken spirit freezes. Unc needs me. He needs me so much that he’s asking outright for me to go with him. I can thaw out my mess later, cry some more, and remind myself why I did it. But right now, Unc’s appointment is the distraction I need. And I’m the help he needs.

  I shove the rest of the pink doughnut with sprinkles into my mouth, mumbling around it, “Give me five and I’m ready.”

  I expected to sit in a patient room with Unc since he called this a check-up. But we’re in the doctor’s small office, seated in two chairs with our knees nearly bumping against the front of the desk. The artwork on the walls draws my attention, as usual. It’s bland, boring, and abstract. Its primary purpose is to be unoffensive, forgettable, a simple space filler. Mom would hate it. I do too. Its emptiness reminds me of my own, devoid of meaning.

  That’s not true, Willow. Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not meaningless, I’m just Bobby-less.

  Same difference, it feels like.

  Unc reaches over and takes my hand. His palm is soft, but the remnants of calluses remain from his years of hard work. The skin feels paper thin, his bony knuckles prominent. I grip him tightly, needing to believe that he’s okay and that we have time. I’m thankful that I’m here.

  The door opens and a white-coated man walks in. He’s younger than I’d expected for some reason, probably in his early forties at most, with perfectly combed hair, reading glasses on the tip of his nose, and kind eyes. He must both love and hate his job as an oncologist, being the bearer of both prayed-for good news and life-ending news.

  He’s got a poker face that could match Unc’s, not clueing me in about today’s appointment.

  He sits down in the leather executive chair behind the desk, flipping through the papers in the folder he holds. “How’re you feeling, Hank?”

  Unc shrugs. “Guess that depends on what you tell me, Doc.”

  The doctor smiles at the gruff answer. “Fair enough. Let’s go over your numbers . . .”

  He launches into a spiel of numbers and acronyms that don’t mean anything to me. He might as well be speaking another language. Well, I guess he is. He’s speaking Doctor-ese, or Cancer-ese, or something else that only some people understand.

  Unc nods along, seeming to get it.

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “but I have no idea what any of that means. Can you spell it out for those of us without M.D.s?”

  The doctor smiles serenely, looking from me to Unc, who gives a grunt of permission. “Of course. You must be Willow?” I nod, surprised he knows that. He’s too far out from Great Falls to be part of the gossip chain, so Unc must’ve mentioned me. “What it boils down to is . . . it’s working. Hank’s cancer is responding to the meds, so his blood levels look better than they have since he first came to me. The latest scan shows improvement too.”
<
br />   I sigh in relief. “So he’s okay?”

  The doctor’s head tilts in a way that reminds me of a curious dog. “Well, not yet. But he’s well down the road there, and I think the worst of it is past us.” To Unc, he says, “Stay the course. Keep taking your meds, rest when you need to, eat nutrient-dense food that stays down, and keep your appointments. We’ll do a full-panel blood check again in two weeks, but call me in the meantime if anything changes. If you go more than twenty-four hours without keeping food down, feel like something’s off, or have any questions or concerns, I’m only a phone call away, anytime, day or night.”

  Unc chuckles. “I’ll hold you to that, Doc. You know the hours I keep.”

  They laugh like that’s a long-running joke between the two of them, and Unc stands to shake the doctor’s hand. “You sure I can’t talk you into coming by for a hand or two?”

  The doctor laughs even harder, shaking his head. “No way. I didn’t forget that you’re a card shark. I like my money where it belongs, in my wallet, not yours. Nice to meet you, Willow. You two can head up to the front when you’re ready.”

  And with that, the doctor leaves us alone. Unc sinks back down to the chair.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters, a vacant look in his eyes.

  I smile, taking his hand again. “That’s good news.” Maybe he didn’t hear that? Or it hasn’t sunk in yet?

  “It’s better news than I imagined. I’ve been feeling better, a little bit, mind you, but I thought maybe it was the calm before the storm. You know how people get a surge of energy sometimes right before they die, like God knows they need to handle their shit so it’s not stacked on someone else’s shoulders? But maybe I’m just . . . feeling better.” His voice gets softer, losing the gruff edge it usually has. “I’m better.”

  Tears spring forth again, and this time, they’re happy tears. Why our eyes leak for every emotion on the spectrum—happy, sad, mad, surprised—I’ll never know, but the overwhelming joy runs down my face into my smile.