Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Not really.” She glances at the clock. “How far is the mall from here?”

  “A little out of the way but not too bad. Why?”

  “Can we swing by? I want to pick up a couple things.”

  “Okay.”

  Good thing she mentioned it when she did. I hang a quick left and slow my speed on the rolling country roads that eventually lead to the Stonewell Mall.

  “You can drop me off and I’ll just run in.” She points to the big box electronics store at one end of the mall.

  “Hell no.” I’m offended she thinks I’d let her run around a strange place she’s never been before by herself. All she needs is some dickhead from last night recognizing and harassing her while I’m sitting in the truck with my thumb up my ass. Not happening.

  I back Murphy’s truck into a spot and help her down. “You know what you want?”

  “I have an idea.”

  The electronics store has seen better days. Guess most people order shit online now. But it doesn’t seem to faze Shelby. She heads to the middle of the store and picks up an MP3 player and a gift card. For a second she stands there, biting her thumbnail, her gaze roaming over the aisles.

  “What else do you need?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure.”

  She ends up grabbing a pair of pink headphones before hurrying up to the register. When I offer the clerk my card, Shelby pushes my hand away. “This stuff isn’t for me.”

  The girl’s barely making any money from this tour but she’s buying shit for a kid she doesn’t even know?

  “I got it,” I assure her, shoving my card into the machine’s slot when the clerk gives me the okay.

  “Rooster,” she sighs.

  “We can argue about it later. We’re running late.” I grab the bag and take Shelby’s hand, hustling her out of the store.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Thank fuck Heidi gave us specific directions. Empire Med is huge. And although I recently spent a lot of time here when Murphy was in the hospital, I don’t think I would’ve found my way to the children’s wing easily. It has its own separate entrance a few blocks away from the main building.

  I pull into a parking spot and hop out. While I’m unloading Shelby’s guitar and bags, I catch her still sitting in the passenger seat with her eyes closed.

  By the time I make it to her side of the truck, she’s jumping down onto the pavement.

  “I can take something.” She reaches for the guitar case but I shift sideways.

  “I’ve got it.” I lift my chin toward the front of the building. “Go on. I’m right behind you.”

  Inside is more homey than hospital-y but it’s still a sterile environment. Splashes of color and cartoon-filled posters attempt to make it kid-friendly but somehow it just makes the place more depressing.

  A slender woman with chestnut hair wearing a green-print wraparound dress meets us by the front desk.

  “Shelby Morgan, right? I’m Elaine.” She holds out her hand. “I can’t thank you enough for making time today.”

  “No problem.” Shelby’s soft voice doesn’t carry far.

  The woman’s confused gaze darts between Shelby and me.

  Shelby touches my arm. “This is my friend, Logan. He offered me a ride today.”

  I’ve offered you a lot more than a ride. But this isn’t really the time or place for off-color jokes. My hands are full, so I simply nod at the woman.

  She thanks me and asks us to follow her down the long, wide corridor.

  “Bethany is so excited. She really wanted to see you in concert last night, and we were trying to make that work. But her doctors couldn’t give the okay for the outing.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Shelby says.

  We stop at a nursing station and Elaine confers with a woman in scrubs. They ask Shelby a few questions before allowing us to continue.

  We walk to the end of a long corridor before stopping outside the last room on the left. A big window at the end of the hallway looks out into the parking lot. Elaine knocks on the door. Shelby turns and leans up on her tiptoes. “Can you send me the video you took last night?” she asks in a low voice.

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” She takes her guitar case from me, tucking it close to her body, careful not to knock into anything while entering the small hospital room.

  Not wanting to intrude on the moment, I hang back, setting the bags on the windowsill behind me.

  “Bethany, someone’s here to see you,” Elaine says in a cheery voice.

  “Hi!” Even from where I’m standing, Shelby’s bright smile lights up the whole damn room. “Are you Bethany?”

  “That’s me!” a little girl squeals.

  The mom, who doesn’t look much older than Shelby, rests her hand over her heart. “Thank you so much, Shelby,” she says. “This means a lot.”

  “I’m glad it worked out.”

  “She’s having a good day, so…”

  Shelby puts her arms around the woman’s shoulders, leaning close to say words that don’t reach me.

  “Hi.” Shelby approaches the bed and Elaine hurries over to push a chair next to it for Shelby.

  There’s not a lot of room to move around but somehow, Shelby sets her case down and pulls the guitar out. Their conversation’s soft and easy; most of it I can’t make out and I don’t dare move any closer or intrude. If my big ass could blend into the wallpaper, that’d be ideal.

  Instead, I pull out my phone and send Shelby the videos from last night. Why didn’t I think to bring something with a bigger screen with us? We were right at the mall. I could’ve grabbed something.

  “I wrote a song for you. Do you want to hear it and tell me what you think?” Shelby asks.

  By the excited noises, I’m guessing Bethany’s answer is an enthusiastic yes.

  Shelby strums a few upbeat notes and launches into a cute tune that consists of a bunch of words that somehow rhyme with Bethany in Shelby’s sassy twang. Her talent keeps on amazing me.

  With tears in her eyes, the mom wanders into the hallway.

  Even for a cynical bastard like me, this whole scene’s overwhelming.

  The mom sniffles and then startles when she notices me leaning against the wall. “Are you Shelby’s husband?”

  “Uh.” Fuck, I feel shitty even being here. “Her boyfriend.” What an inappropriate moment to test out that word for the first time. “And driver.” I force a smile, trying to keep things light. I’m sure the woman has enough darkness in her life.

  “Well, thank you.” She sighs and glances into the room again. “When Bethany first got diagnosed, we were in the hospital a lot and somehow we got hooked on that show. We watched episodes of Redneck Roadhouse constantly. Bethany was obsessed, and she adored Shelby. This means a lot to her.”

  Words. Think of some. How do I respond to that? “I’m happy we could make it work out,” I finally say.

  Awkwardness crawls up and down my skin. I’m not good at small talk in regular situations, and certainly not in ones when I’m intruding on a stranger’s suffering. “Can I get you anything? A soda, coffee?”

  Not that I want to run away. It’s more that I want to do something…useful.

  “A Pepsi? There’s a vending machine at the end of the hallway.” She points in the opposite direction. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’ll be right back.”

  The heavy feeling from Bethany’s room chases me down the hallway. It takes a second to locate the small lounge full of vending machines. And when I finally do, I stop and stare at the machines for a few seconds, not looking at anything in particular.

  How the hell does Shelby do this?

  How many visits has she made? One? Two? Ten?

  I feed the machine and punch the button a few times, grabbing a couple of cans to take back with me.

  When I return, Shelby’s showing the little girl the video of the duet with Dawson, explaining how ne
rvous she was and how nice he is. The kind of behind-the-scenes information that makes Bethany’s eyes go wide.

  “I’m so sorry you couldn’t make it last night,” Shelby says. “But I brought you a couple things.” She turns and raises an eyebrow at the mom. “Is that okay?” she whispers.

  Mom nods quickly.

  That’s my cue. I set the soda cans on the windowsill and grab the bags we brought. I hadn’t noticed last night, but apparently Shelby packed T-shirts and other concert merchandise with her before leaving the venue.

  After the presents, they take a bunch of pictures. Shelby hugs the mom and Elaine before stepping out.

  “I’ve got this.” I take her guitar case from her and wrap my hand around hers.

  Shelby’s quiet as we navigate our way out of the hospital. The heels of her sandals click over the shiny tiles, emphasizing how little there is to say.

  Inside the truck, she bursts into tears.

  “Shhh. Shelby, come here.” I don’t bother asking what’s wrong. Seeing such a sweet little girl so sick and in pain would be rough on anyone, let alone someone who’s lost her little sister. I flip the middle console out of the way and slide closer, pulling her into my arms. “Shhh. I got you.”

  I hold her while she trembles and sobs for several minutes. Finally, she takes a deep breath and draws away.

  “Here.” I reach into the back seat and snag a box of tissues, then hold them out to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers and dabs at her eyes. “Shoot. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I set the tissue box on the dash, so she can grab more if she needs them. “That was sweet. What you did. You made that little girl so happy.”

  She sniffles and dabs at her cheeks.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

  After blowing out a long breath, her gaze darts everywhere, never landing on me. “About what?” Her bottom lip trembles.

  “‘Empty Room?’”

  Finally, she meets my eyes. “You’re an attentive one, aren’t you?” Her words come out flat. Not teasing. Not hostile.

  I brush my knuckles over her cheek. “If you’re talking, I’m listening.”

  After a few more seconds of silence, she says, “My sister’s name was Hayley…”

  “Shelby and Hayley. That’s pretty.”

  One corner of her mouth curves up. “She was almost four years younger than me but we were tight as ticks when we were little. No one messed with my baby sister without gettin’ an ass whoopin’ from me.”

  “I can picture that.”

  When she doesn’t continue, I hug her a little tighter before asking, “She got sick?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers. After a few seconds, she seems to find her voice again. “At first she was just tired or didn’t feel like eating. She was always a picky eater, so our parents didn’t think much of it. Then she was in pain but doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong, so they said she must be making it up for attention.” Her hands ball into fists. “I knew Hayley. She wasn’t a liar. She was suffering and no one would listen. Made me so damn mad that they didn’t take her seriously until it was too late.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They believed the doctors.”

  “Didn’t they take her somewhere else? Or to see another doctor?”

  “You’ve been to my house. You know I didn’t grow up with no silver spoon or nothin’.”

  “I know you and your mom both work hard.”

  She shrugs. “My dad had a decent job at the time. Okay insurance. But it still didn’t cover everything. Put my parents into a load of debt. When Hayley was in the hospital, they’d fight constantly. Momma couldn’t work because she needed to be with Hayley.”

  “I can’t imagine how hard it was on them.”

  She hums and shifts to the side. “Hayley always wanted to sing with me. We were going to be a duo. I’d bring my guitar and sing to her in the hospital.” She lets out a sad laugh. “I guess that’s why it hit me so hard today.”

  “Today would’ve been rough on anyone.”

  She pulls away from me and grabs another tissue, wiping her face. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I miss her. She would’ve been eighteen. Just graduatin’ from high school. I can’t even…”

  My own uncomfortable memories of loss bubble to the surface. I open my mouth to say I’m sorry but it’s such a useless sentiment, I reach over and squeeze her hand instead.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “Dream Makers did a lot for us when Hayley was sick. They sent our whole family to Disneyland. To this day, I think that trip helped Hayley hang on a little longer. I saw what a huge difference they made for a lot of other kids too. So the first time they contacted me, there was no way I’d turn them down.”

  Admiration for Shelby fills my chest.

  But who looks after her when she makes these visits? It has to take a toll on her spirit. Who holds her in the car afterward? Does Greg even know about Shelby’s sister? Does he realize these visits might be painful for Shelby? He must, right?

  “I think it’s great that you work with them,” I say carefully. “But who takes care of you?”

  She blinks at me. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re more than okay, but that’s not what I’m asking.”

  “I don’t get asked that often, Rooster. Maybe a handful of times since Redneck Roadhouse ended. There’s no wait list to meet Shelby Morgan or anything. I’m not that—”

  “Woman, if you say not that big a deal again—”

  “What?” she challenges.

  “You’re bigger than you realize, but that’s not the point.” I tap her chest, over her heart. “You need to take care of yourself too.” Or you need me to protect you.

  She reaches over and tugs on my beard. “I’m okay, really. Thank you for being here with me today. It really helped.”

  I cup her cheek, running my thumb over her bottom lip. “Let me know next time you’re doing a visit. I don’t want you to go alone.”

  “Rooster. That’s crazy. Sometimes they’re set up in advance but other times, it’s like this one—I get the message on short notice.”

  “You can say no.”

  “I can’t.” She drops her gaze and shakes her head. “It’s not an option for me, Logan.”

  I wrap my hand around hers, dragging it closer, running my lips over her knuckles. “Then let me know. Please. If I can’t go with you, I’ll at least talk you through it after or something.”

  “Okay,” she whispers. A soft laugh passes her lips and she tugs her hand away. “That tickles.”

  “I thought you liked my beard?” I pull her close and rub my chin against her inner wrist and up her arm.

  “Oh, I do.” She laughs harder. “Still tickles.”

  I lean over and rub my face against her cheek until she’s giggling uncontrollably and pushes me away. “Stop! Stop!”

  “How do you feel about bonfires?” I pop a kiss on her cheek and move back to my seat.

  “Love ’em. Why?”

  “That’s what they’re planning at the clubhouse tonight.”

  “When do I get to see your clubhouse?” she asks.

  “We can go now if you want. I have to warn you—downstate’s place isn’t quite as fancy.”

  “But I’d still like to see where you spend most of your time.” She closes her eyes. “So when I’m on the road, I can picture you in your natural habitat.”

  “My natural habitat is on my bike, riding the wind.”

  She closes her eyes and tips her head back. “Hmm. Yeah, I can picture that.”

  After a few seconds, she opens her eyes, the full weight of her gaze bearing down on me.

  “All right.” I start up the truck. “If you’re sure that’s how you want to spend your day. You’re on the road so much, thought you’d want to be still for a little bit.”

  The sadness in her expression doesn’t lift.
“I just want to soak up as much time with you as possible.”

  As if I needed the reminder that tomorrow she’ll be gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Shelby

  The sadness that always follows me after a Dream Makers visit still lingers but it doesn’t threaten to crush me into a million pieces the way it did when we first left the hospital. Talking to Rooster helped. Sharing a little bit about Hayley lifted me up, even though a dull ache still throbs through my chest whenever I think about her.

  I reach forward, studying the radio. “Am I allowed to play with the music or are you a ‘driver rules the tunes’ kinda fella?”

  Rooster chuckles and glances over. “Fiddle away. I’m sure Murphy’s got all the country stations in the area dialed in.”

  “I listen to more than just country, you know.” I flick the knobs and punch a few buttons, finally landing on a hard rock station on satellite radio. “Never know where inspiration will strike, so I listen to a lil’ bit of everything.”

  My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket and thumb the screen on.

  Greg: This isn’t the publicity you need right now.

  “Shoot,” I mutter.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.” I click on the link Greg added. It leads me to an article on the Sippin’ on Secrets blog—the bane of entertainers everywhere, especially country musicians.

  The ridiculous headline in bold, hot-pink letters reads, Sweet and Sassy Country Singer Shelby Morgan Getting Cozy With Biker Backstage.

  Seriously?

  There are a few fuzzy pictures of Rooster picking me up and us kissing. I squint and try to blow up the photos. While his black leather vest is visible—and how I assume they knew he was a biker—thankfully, only a portion of his vice president patch is legible. Nothing specifically identifies him as a Lost King, thank heavens. I can’t imagine his club would appreciate the exposure.

  A quick scan of the accompanying “article” shows it’s just as silly as the dumb headline.

  Shelby Morgan, country music’s newest sensational sweetheart, was caught in a compromising position backstage at the Back Road Dreams tour in upstate New York. An eagle-eyed fan snapped several steamy pics of the couple engaged in a heavy make-out sesh after Shelby’s thirty-five-minute set.