You'd Be Mine(47)

“Is it usually this busy?” I ask as Lindy refills my soda.

She nods her topknot toward a banner off to the side I hadn’t noticed. It reads, Thank you for your sacrifice, Sgt. Daniel Coolidge, underneath the words, We’ll never forget. Semper Fi.

My stomach drops, and without meaning to, my eyes seek out Jefferson, who’s been conspicuously absent since I’d arrived. I finally spot him in a dark corner, surrounded by a group of girls, double-fisting longnecks.

Lindy blows her bangs out of her eyes. “They’ve had him cornered for the past hour at least.”

I shrug. “Same story, different town.”

Lindy tips her head, deftly pouring three shots with one hand. “I thought I heard a rumor things might be heating up with you two on tour.”

I take a dainty sip from my straw, playing for time. “That’s show business for you. Those rumors are highly exaggerated, and Jefferson is complicated.”

She raises a brow. “Since when? I’ve known Clay since diapers. He’s always seemed pretty cut and dry to me.”

“Maybe since his brother died? I’m not sure.” Sometimes I feel like I know nothing about Jefferson. Others, I wonder if I’m the only one who knows anything.

Lindy freezes. “I wasn’t under the impression Clay was too bothered about Danny being gone. He sure as hell didn’t stick around to mourn.”

“Wasn’t he, like, sixteen? I don’t know,” I say, poking at the ice with my straw. I’m defensive—on Jefferson’s behalf and my own. “My parents died when I was thirteen, and I haven’t visited their graves once.”

“Well, aren’t you two a well-adjusted pair.”

My shoulders tense, but I force them back down. “Maybe. I own a closet full of high-end boots I won’t ever wear. Jefferson spent the afternoon getting drunk in a cemetery.”

Lindy presses her lips together, her eyes suspiciously shiny. She swipes under her eye quickly. “Shit,” she murmurs. She rips a taped-up paper from under the bar and places it in front of me. It’s one of those department store portrait shots of a little girl with sandy curls and blue eyes. “I’ve been bitter. This is my girl, Layla. She’s mine and Danny’s, so Clay’s niece. Danny died before he even met her, and I tried to force Clay to be her family. I’ve been pushing it for years. He can hardly stand to be around her for an entire afternoon without running.”

My stomach clenches at her pronouncement. For all of them. For the effed-up situation. Yesterday, Jefferson was just a boozehound. Today has been an abundance of complicated layers peeling back, flipping all my assumptions on their heads. Yesterday, I savored memories of all his kisses, hoping for more, more, more.

Today? Today is bad. Today is what happens when your sweet little sandbox is revealed to have been filled with quicksand. Today has should have known better written all over it.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

She gives me a watery, sad sort of smile. She pulls the photo back, taking a long look at it before tucking it away. “It never occurred to me he was grieving. What with the tours and appearances and everything.”

“We all have our secrets.” Oh, just how. “Maybe he’s not coming home because it’s hard for him to be somewhere Danny isn’t. I secretly sold my parents’ home the moment I turned eighteen. Didn’t even bother to have a look around with the Realtor. Just sent my wishes via my manager, Connie, and washed my hands of the entire business. That Jefferson hasn’t done the same is a good thing. Maybe someday he’ll be able to be there for you and Layla.”

“You’re awful nice, Annie Mathers.” Lindy dries a row of glasses, one after another, laying them out. “And very real.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“It was definitely a compliment. I hope you come back here after your tour. You’re good for him.”

“I’m not much good for anyone these days,” I hedge. “But I’d love to visit again.”

Lindy passes me a fresh ginger ale, this one with a bunch of maraschino cherries floating in the ice. I dig one out and tug it off the stem with my teeth.

Lindy shakes her head. “I feel terrible I never knew how hard Clay was taking it.”

I take my time chewing another cherry, letting the sweetness coat my tongue before swallowing. “I don’t know that Jefferson even realizes it, to be honest, so don’t beat yourself up.”

“Jefferson realizes what?”

I spin on my stool, sloshing my drink over the bar. Jefferson leans on the bar from behind me, his body pressing against my side. He smells way too good. A mix of laundry detergent and beer that shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. His hair flops forward on his forehead, his ball cap tucked into his back pocket. He’s wearing a western-style plaid shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up to reveal the dusting of blond hair on his tanned forearms.

I narrow my eyes at his unfortunate handsomeness. “Realizes there are other people in this bar who came out to see the hometown boy besides those three cute chickadees in the corner.”

Jefferson is unfazed, flashing a toothy grin. “You jealous, Mathers?”

I snort into my drink, picking out another cherry.

He watches me pop it in my mouth, his eyes darkening, and I feel my breath hitch.