You'd Be Mine(73)

29



Annie


march 13

nashville, tennessee

“Hey, Cora.” I release a long, slow breath, stuffing my hands deep in my coat pockets and staring up at the gray sky. It’s noon on a Friday, and the cemetery my parents are buried in is blessedly deserted. I’ve been here for two hours, but it took ninety minutes to force myself out of the car, then another thirty to find the tacky monstrosity bearing their names.

“You look terrible,” I joke, my heart squeezing. “I mean, probably.”

A crow flaps off with a squawk, startling me and setting the branch it was perched on to trembling. I watch the bare limb until it stills and then glance back at the marble stone. I don’t allow my eyes to stray toward the side where my dad’s name is carved.

I don’t have words for Robbie right now. She left me by accident; he did it on purpose.

That kind of thing requires another trip on another day.

“They’re inducting you into the Country Music Hall of Fame,” I say, an edge creeping in. “Want me to sing ‘All the Roses’ in your memory.” My features twist. “Had to change the key. Seems my range is a bit better than yours. Sorry,” I lie softly.

I run my fingers through the hair whipping around my face and tuck it roughly beneath my scarf.

“I turned them down at first. I want you to know that.” My throat is thick, and I can feel the blazing-hot tears swelling behind my lids. I swallow them back, blinking rapidly. “You don’t get my tears,” I whisper. “You didn’t earn them.” Anger sears through me, until louder, almost shouting, I cry out, “You don’t deserve me!”

My fingers clench at my sides, and I want to scream. Or throw up. Or hit something.

“I hate you, you know that? I hate everything about you. I hate that you chose everything over me. Singing, Robbie, Roy, even. You never even looked for those boots for me, did you?” I growl, my face hot. It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s what I have. It’s what she left me.

Once the first tear slips through, the rest are a torrent. “Why even have me? If you didn’t want me? If you didn’t care?” I sink to my knees on the spiky ground and begin clawing at the dead grass, digging into the frozen ground as if I could reach her. Too soon my fingers grow numb, and I start pounding at the earth with my fists. “Cora’s perfect. Cora’s beautiful. Cora had vocals from heaven. Don’t you miss Cora? Didn’t you love Cora? Didn’t she break your heart into pieces?” The words spit out from between my teeth like rapid-fire gunshots. “More like Cora’s weak and pathetic and an addict and self-absorbed and vain and dead. She’s dead!” I’m striking out at anything and everything. Suddenly my father’s name catches my eye.

“Why are you even here?” I scream, and I make a fist to strike the marble when a hand shoots out, grabbing hold. I struggle against it, but the grip is iron. “Let me go!”

The grip swiftly changes, and suddenly I’m being lifted and pulled back against something solid, my flailing fists tucked gently against my sides. I’m sobbing so hard now that I can’t breathe. Years of heartsickness erupts in my stomach, and I drop back to my knees, gagging and heaving onto the grass.

When my stomach is empty, I peel open my swollen eyes, surprised to find myself still in the middle of a cemetery. The sky is still gray. The air is still cold. I swipe roughly at my face, my wool jacket scratching at my hot sweat-and tear-damp cheeks. I barely register the presence behind me before a familiar whiskey tenor says, “I used to throw empty beer bottles at my brother’s stone.”

A large hand drops in front of my face, and I take it, standing. I let go and brush my hands down my front nervously. Jefferson leans back on his heels, shoving his own hands into his pockets. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray jacket over jeans—a far cry from summertime touring Clay Coolidge—and his face is worried.

I smile to assure him I haven’t completely lost it, but it’s a weak effort.

“So these are my parents,” I rasp, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. He frowns, and I realize moments ago he’d pulled me away from that stone, away from my parents, and I’d probably struck him. Hard. A lot of times.

My hands shake as they reach to cover my face, and I slide to the ground again, completely overwhelmed. Adrenaline is pouring out of me at an alarming rate, leaving me boneless and dried up in its wake. I lean against the headstone, greedily gulping in air as Jefferson drops next to me. I’m reminded of the anniversary of my parents’ deaths when we sat like this, shoulder to shoulder, at the foot of his hotel room bed.

I let my head drop to his shoulder just as before. I can’t seem to stop myself from leaning on him. Even after all this time and distance. Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for. For him to be sturdy enough to hold me up the moment it all came crashing down.

For right now.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I say, question clear in my tone.

“I flew in this morning to meet with the label and called Fitz to hook up with you all, but he said you were here. Alone. And I…” He shrugs. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone but felt like you had to be. So I just … came.”

“Just in time for the main event,” I say wryly.

“You’ve seen me at my worst. I’d say I owe you one. More than.”