Chapter 4 Tell Me Lies Josie
Josie
Stepping out into the humid night air, I suck in a breath and marvel at how damn hot it still is. The sun set an hour ago, but it’s still ninety-some-odd degrees out here.
Another thing I forgot about Texas summers: The heat sticks around, morning, noon, and night.
My heart bangs around inside my chest as I hit the sidewalk, making a turn when I hit a stop sign.
Then I head into the back parking lot. The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I attempt to get a hold on myself.
I feel like I’m on the verge of cursing or crying or collapsing . . . I don’t know what.
Why the hell did Weston Jessup just apologize to me? I haven’t seen the man in years. He says he’s changed, but I mean, come on. Words are easy. Actions are what matter.
We’re over this. I’m over this.
That’s a lie and you know it.
On the ride into town from the rehearsal, Quinn played my new single. She sang along to the lyrics, telling me her favorite lines were You got some nerve, boy, making me wait / making me swerve / making messes I don’t deserve.
I thought about telling Quinn I wrote that song for Wes. But then I would’ve had to tell her that most of my songs are about him, and that’s just plain embarrassing.
Who doesn’t move on after six years of no contact? I’ve tried dating. But the guys I meet . . . they’ve always left something to be desired.
I’ve worried that something is the fact that they’re not Wes.
Which, again, is super embarrassing. The man just admitted to caring more about what other people thought of him than he did about my feelings or dreams. Who in their right mind would hold a torch for a guy like that?
Thing is, he wasn’t that guy when he was alone with me. I guess some stupid part of me still hopes that was the real Wes. The guy who told me how he felt and poured his heart into our music.
A lump forms in my throat. My eyes sting and I close them. Coming back was a mistake. I should’ve—
I whip around at the sound of steps in the gravel. My heart lurches when I see Weston moving toward me, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s looking down, his neck slanting in the sexiest way imaginable. A nearby streetlight catches on the gold chain he still wears around his neck.
I feel woozy thinking he really did start wearing it for me.
He glances up, and the look on his face makes me want to cry and scream, all at once. He’s so handsome it hurts.
“Tell me to go and I will.” He draws to a stop two feet from me. “But I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry I upset you.”
I shake my head in an effort to keep my face from crumpling. “I really wish you’d chosen me.” The words come out as a whisper. Probably makes me pathetic to admit that out loud, but I have nothing to lose at this point. My dignity, my pride—both long gone.
“I’m choosing you now.” His Adam’s apple bobs.
“I didn’t know any better then. I’d never seen anyone do anything other than work cattle my whole life.
Much as I wanted something different, I didn’t know what that would look like.
I was scared, so I believed it when people said you can’t make a living chasing down dreams with a guitar in your hand. ”
The slow, warm rise of understanding breaks over the horizon of my hurt. He’s saying he was immature. Afraid.
I was too. I didn’t see any of this back then. I crafted my plan of action over the course of many years: Learn how to sing, learn how to compose. Practice. Graduate. Practice some more. Then head north to Nashville in the hopes of breaking into the country music industry.
In my heart of hearts, I always knew what I wanted, and I was hell-bent on making that happen.
But Wes? He didn’t have a set plan. Sure, he liked to play his guitar when we were together. But he never did it outside of our one-on-one sessions. I could see how upending his whole life for some vague idea of a music-filled future would feel wrong in the moment.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask. “About the doubts you had?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Didn’t want to dim your light. You were so excited, Josie. So determined. I told myself I wasn’t gonna get in your way or have you pump the brakes when you needed to be full speed ahead.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“I was useless after you left,” he continues. “Didn’t leave bed for a week. I thought about calling you so many times. But—”
“Wes?” A loud voice sounds from the sidewalk. It’s Grady. “Wes, they’re ready for you.”
Wes sucks a breath through his teeth. He looks me in the eye. “I don’t deserve your trust, Josie. But if you’ll follow me inside, I’m gonna prove to you that I’ve changed.”
I scoff. “You’re delusional.”
“Yep.” He rocks back on his heels. “But you gotta be if you wanna win back the girl you shoulda never let go.”
His words land like an arrow through my chest.
“Please.” His eyes are pleading. “Five minutes. Less than that. That’s all I ask.”
I want to tell him to go to hell.
I want to follow him back inside so badly I can hardly breathe. How sad is that? There’s a saying that you should believe someone when they show you who they are.
Wes showed me he was a coward. A heartbreaker.
Chances are, he still is.
But there’s this tug in my gut—this doubt. Or maybe it’s confusion. Because the Wes I knew privately, before he hurt me, would try to change. He’d be open to it.
Eager for it, even.
Besides. I can’t just disappear on Quinn and Grady. I don’t want to ruin their night with my drama.
Speaking of Grady, he rounds the stop sign and appears in the parking lot. His brows snap together when he sees me with Wes.
“Y’all okay?” Grady asks.
“Fine,” I answer smoothly, nodding at the bar. “Let’s head inside.”