Young Buck: A Slow Burn Small Town Romance (Green Valley Heroes Book 5)

Chapter 29

“Just how illegal is this?”

I leaned in toward Loretta and kept my voice quiet even as we were concealed in her car. We were parked a block south of Riggins Repair Garage.

“Only mildly,” Loretta returned, paging through some of her notes. “Following someone isn’t a crime and what we’re doing doesn’t constitute stalking.”

She said it casually, proof of how inside her comfort zone this all was.

“Well, that’s a relief.” The uneasiness in my voice matched the uneasiness in my gut.

Tonight’s investigation hinged on Tim. I had drawn the line at simultaneously tracking my mother, even though Loretta had insisted that having a location on both of them was the only way to know for sure whether they’d met. Even if I’d agreed to the idea, tracking my mother’s car would have been an exercise in futility. VIP treatment at the Four Seasons came with a courtesy driver. It meant she would be ferried around town in a sleek, black Suburban while her Cadillac stayed in the garage.

Thoughts of Tim had been heavy on my mind. Weeks after I’d first laid eyes on him in Hinckley, there were mental images I was still replaying—him and my mother sharing pie in the diner, the length and feeling of their heartfelt hug, the gentle way he’d spoken to her as they’d parted.

“When you talked to him...what was he like?” Pervasive thoughts of what I might see again led me to finally ask. If he was my father, I wanted to know what kind of person he was. The way she stopped her rifling and looked up with a softness in her eyes showed that she understood.

“He seemed like a decent guy. He had a friendly way about him that seemed natural—not just improvised for paying customers.”

“Good, that’s good...,” I mused. I should have been appeased. Some part of me didn’t want some jerk for a biological father. The other part of me had questions about how a good man would abandon his child.

“He’s moving,” she reported, with a brief, binocular-free glance. It amazed me to witness her sharp eye and to feel her calm amid my inner tumult. She didn’t start the car until Tim’s white truck had disappeared out of sight down the street. For the next two-and-a-half hours, we followed him at a far distance. I had no idea how she didn’t lose him, but she didn’t.

By the time we got to Nashville, the sun had begun to set. Having lived here once, I knew where I was as we navigated the city. Finally, Tim parked and walked into a music bar called The Grand.

“If you’re not ready for this...” Loretta’s cautious beginning told me she’d made the same connection. “There’s no shame in sitting it out. There’s a reason why PIs work alone.”

“No.” I couldn’t even entertain the idea of stopping now. “I have to see it through.”

Walkingfrom the car toward The Grand, I kept a low profile, dipping my head as we drew closer. Tonight, I’d worn a driving cap that wasn’t my style and glasses that belied my 20/20 vision. Loretta had had them waiting for me in the front seat of yet another mystery car, insisting that even tiny changes could trick people who knew you well.

“Just breathe,” Loretta coached, as I held the heavy front door open for her and let her pass. I caught a final waft of her floral scent before we stepped inside and other aromas prevailed: old whiskey and old wood, beer and cologne, and a hint of cigarette smoke that had followed us in from outside.

What The Grand lacked in floor space, it made up for in character. It had a timeless quality that gave the impression that it had looked the same for years. Framed photos of famous singers who had performed there hung behind an ancient bar. All the seating was arranged around a low stage up front with chairs for musicians, mics, and amps, all in front of a brick wall.

Tim was already seated at a table on the main floor. For now, he sat alone, though it didn’t escape my notice that the table had two drinks. A pint glass of amber beer sat in front of Tim himself. In front of the other seat was a glass of white wine.

“Over here,” Loretta whispered. She led us to a table in the back. We sat on a long banquette that spanned the side wall—it didn’t give us the best view of the singer, but that wasn’t who we were here to see. Where we settled gave us a clear look at Tim’s table.

“At least pretend to listen to the music.” Loretta squeezed my thigh under the table a minute after we ordered drinks. But I was busy scanning, unable to keep my eyes off of the door. It wasn’t until I swung my eyes to the stage that I noticed people applauding. The man who had been singing was smiling and nodding in gratitude at the audience.

I began to clap weakly. Loretta rolled her eyes, then gave me a look that told me to step it up. I tried to get my head in the game. When the waiter brought our drinks, I even managed to smile like my stomach wasn’t in my chest. A large gulp of my whiskey didn’t feel like nearly enough to take the edge off, but it did burn pleasantly going down. I felt marginally better as the opening notes of the guitar guided us into the next song. Then I saw my mother and my stomach dropped.

Loretta squeezed my thigh again. The sensation felt far away, as if I had left behind my body. I’d known this was possible, but it didn’t seem real. On my mother’s approach, Tim stood and greeted her with another long, familiar hug. Despite Loretta’s assessment that he was probably a good guy, I hated him all over again.

“No confrontation. We’re just here to watch.” Loretta reminded me of our plan gently, hooking her elbow in mine as if to keep me seated.

She knew better than to try to get me interested in the show again. Unabashedly, I watched. They sat close and talked quietly, their eyes fixed on the stage. My mother’s wine sat untouched, as did Tim’s beer. Two minutes in, they were holding hands.

“Does she even need a new dress?” They were strange words to speak aloud and a testament to my jumbled thoughts. I hated the notion that my mother had told me a half-truth about her weekend plans. It was crystal clear that she was hiding a past that was mixing dangerously with her present. And if lying to me about her weekend felt like betrayal, could I even handle bigger truths about Tim?

Seeing them sit close and talk quietly had been painful enough. But what happened next cinched it. Tim tucking my mother under his arm as she laid her head on his chest was a knife in my gut. When he pressed his lips to her temple, the knife twisted. I hadn’t ever witnessed a moment so tender between my parents. I knew then without a doubt, I was watching two people in love.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

A lump rose in my throat. Whether it was in response to what I’d seen or Loretta’s pity, I didn’t know. All I knew was, I was miserable. I tore my eyes away, no longer able to watch. The part of me that regretted not sitting this one out ached to exit hastily. Maybe I’d seen enough.

“It’s nothing we didn’t suspect.” My voice was flat in spite of my churning stomach.

Loretta’s eyes grew softer. “Doesn’t make it easy.”

It struck me then how desperately I’d focused on certain facts, and held on to outlandish theories. When no yearbook photos of them as a couple had turned up, I’d been secretly relieved. I’d told myself she’d gone back to Hinckley the day we followed her to consult her childhood friend for brotherly advice. I’d speculated that Tim wasn’t married because he was gay. And my strong resemblance to Rex Rogers had held vigil in the back of my mind, explaining why all of this had to be some mistake.

But a secret getaway in Nashville made the rest hard to ignore, as did hard evidence of romantic feelings. For the first time in all of this, sympathy for my father snuck in.

Suddenly, the whiskey I’d been sipping on burned the trail where it had gone down.

“What do I do now?”

Loretta answered in a calm voice. “Now, you make a decision. Is it enough for you, just knowing this much? Do you take it and move on? Or do you use it as leverage to get the whole story? But you don’t need to decide any of that now. Now, you just let it sink in.”

“Trevor.” My mind was whirring. I swung my gaze back over to my mom and Tim. “It’s a shitty thing to do to Trevor. There are more discreet ways. She’s the former First Lady of Nashville out in public with a man who’s not her husband. She can’t be doing this. This—right here—it has to stop.”

No sooner did I come to this conclusion than the both of them began to rise. I shot up onto my feet the second they did. I was vaguely aware of Loretta behind me, hissing in my ear that acting rashly was something people always regretted. But something inside me had snapped. When I turned to answer Loretta, my voice was sharp.

“I understand. And I appreciate your opinion. You did what I asked you to do and I thank you for that. But I think I can take it from here.”

With that, I stalked forward, weaving my way through other people who were also rising from their seats. It seemed the show had ended, a fact that had escaped my notice in my rage. My mother and Tim headed toward some back area on the opposite side of the club. I followed them through an unmarked archway, which led to a hall that was dim.

“Mom.”

I spoke the word loudly, with an unmistakable edge. It was designed to stop her in her tracks. She looked back and slowed her walk, casting such a furtive glance in my direction, I could tell she didn’t recognize my voice. But as I caught her in profile, something in her expression didn’t look right. She was grief-stricken and distraught.

“Bucky?” she stammered, her eyes widening as she looked between me and Tim. The dim of the hallway did nothing to hide her panic. I would have studied her face longer, but I couldn’t stop my attention shifting from my astonished mother to the tall, bearded man at her side.

“That’s Bucky?” Tim echoed. His confusion was clear. It was also clear from his use of the nickname that only my mother called me, the two of them had talked about me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked almost tearfully.

“I could ask you the same question.”

I turned my attention back to Tim, who seemed a hell of a lot calmer than either of us. Shouldn’t he care that he was meeting his son? Fathers who had abandoned their children were supposed to care.

“Bucky...,” my mother repeated, then cut herself off short, clearly at a loss for what to say.

“Does Dad know about this?”

I didn’t want to come right out and accuse her of stepping out on my father, so I treaded lightly. Whatever she was worried I might think of her was nothing compared to what my dad would do.

My mother’s gaze started up to Tim, as if to ask for help. But he put up his hands in the universal sign of peace.

“You’ve got to decide what to do,” he said, absolving himself from responsibility. It made me want to punch him in the face.

When the tears that welled in my mother’s eyes fell like raindrops on a windowpane, the first pang of compassion I’d felt all night hit me at once.

You’ve already figured it out. You don’t have to make her suffer.

“Mom.” I measured my breathing. “Just tell me the truth. Tim Riggins was your high school sweetheart. And my father.”

My mother shook her head and sniffed back tears before speaking a resolute “no.”

I clenched my jaw so tightly, I was afraid my teeth would crack. I was crushed, and angry, and insulted.

“Tim was my high school sweetheart,” she rushed on. “I don’t know how you know that. But he’s not your father. Daddy is.”

I opened my mouth again, poised to tell her about the conversation I’d overheard on the Fourth of July. Before I could, she rushed to speak again.

“But Tim and I did have a child. We gave him up for adoption two years before I married your dad. His name is Adam and I haven’t seen him since the day he was born. I came here tonight to meet him.”

Shock that felt like a physical force halted all coherent thought. Behind me, Loretta gasped. Then, a fourth voice entered the conversation.

“You’re Dixie Rose?”

My eyes whipped in the direction of the sound and I found myself staring in the face of the singer who had just left the stage. His eyes rested for a long second on my mom before he shifted his gaze to Tim.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing her. I mean—I thought—you told me—” he sputtered, then went back to ogling my mom.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. But I came here to see you, Adam. I’m Annelise. And I’m your mother.”