Chapter 5 Pants Feelings and Heavenly Healings Josie
Josie
Holy.
Mother.
Of God.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen when I followed Wes and Grady inside. Would Wes make some kind of dumb speech? Maybe he’d make a toast, or ask me to dance. Really, I have no idea.
But the last thing I thought I’d see is him getting up on the stage and looping an acoustic guitar over his front.
Wes never played music in public. He always said it was because he wanted the spotlight to be on me. But now I know for certain it was because he was embarrassed. He didn’t want anyone to see the softer, artsy side of him.
Apparently that’s one thing that has changed.
I can only watch, my heart dissolving into a thousand tiny butterflies, as he leans into the microphone and starts to sing.
“I don’t have the voice of an angel, sorry it kind of sucks,” he sings, and everyone laughs. “But I had to get this off my chest, so try not to give any fucks.”
Oh, God, this is terrible. It’s the Adam Sandler–Riley Green mash-up no one asked for.
But then Grady lets out a hog whistle. Someone asks Wes if he’d feel better if she tossed her underwear his way.
Wait, was that my aunt?
Okay, now I’m smiling too. This is actually . . . kind of cute. Judging by the way Wes smiles as he strums his guitar, he knows he’s already got a captive audience.
“Grady and Quinn, I love y’all dearly, seeing you fall in love got me all teary.
It’s made me think, it’s made me change, it’s made me want to rearrange.
” Wes pauses. He holds my gaze, clearly terrified but looking me in the eye anyway.
“Sorry, that lyric is half baked. Couldn’t think of a way to tie it up with a bow the way Josie does.
Anyway.” He gives his guitar another strum.
“Y’all know who you are, you know what you want, now I see I’ve been running, my life is a front.
I’m missing out, I’m missing you, the mistakes I’ve made kept my dreams from coming true.
I’ve watched a girl sing out her heart to sold-out stadiums worldwide.
She puts herself out there. She soars, nothing to hide. ”
Quinn grabs my hand. Glancing at her, I can tell by her shocked expression she didn’t know this was happening.
Pressure builds behind my eyes and inside my chest as Wes hits the chorus. “I’m begging you, please don’t ever stop, I’m begging you to let me hold your hand while you make it to the top. You’ve made us all ask life for more. What a beautiful gift from your first world tour.”
Wait.
Wait wait wait. Is Weston—
I mean, is the man I knew showing the world who he really is right now?
Quinn gives my hand a quick, hard tug. “You okay?” she murmurs in my ear.
I wave her away. I’m good.
I’m not good, of course. I’m . . . well, I’m something.
My pulse throbs in my ears as he keeps singing. He has us all laughing hard enough that I see some eyes glimmering with tears when he manages to rhyme pants feelings with heavenly healings.
His willingness to look stupid, absurd even, is incredibly endearing.
Jesus, does he look good up there. The sleeves of his button-up are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the thick forearms crisscrossed with veins that pop against his skin as he plays.
Part of me feels like I should be angry.
Really, really angry that he’s doing this in front of everyone. That he’s putting me on the spot out of nowhere after I haven’t heard from him in years.
I mean, this is Quinn and Grady’s night. But then I look at them beside me, and they’re both laughing. My brother keeps doing that annoying whistling thing, egging on Weston.
Oh, Grady definitely knew this was happening. I should be angry with him, too, for blindsiding me this way.
But another part . . .
Another part aches with longing for the man who’s pouring out his heart up on that stage. He’s being brave in a way he never was before.
He’s willing to fall on his face in front of everyone just to show how much he cares. About me. About us. About the things that light us both up.
Right now, he’s a cowboy and a musician. A man and a tender human being. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive concepts for him anymore.
Weston . . . I mean, he just offered us all proof that he really has changed, didn’t he?
He’s wearing his heart on his sleeve, willing to embarrass himself to show he doesn’t give a damn what anyone other than me thinks. If that’s not a man in love . . .
Oh God oh God oh God.
Weston wraps up the song with a rousing strum on his guitar. The place goes nuts. Everyone’s screaming and jumping up and down and giving me pats on the shoulder. They know he sang that song for me, because everyone knows everything in this small town.
“One more song!” people chant.
But Weston ducks underneath the guitar strap and hands the instrument back to its owner. Leaning into the microphone, he says, “Stop lyin’, y’all. You don’t wanna hear me sing anymore.” Then he looks at me. “I got better things to do. I hope. Josie, can I have the next dance?”
“I knew nothing about this,” Quinn hisses in my ear. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Laughing—maybe I’m crying a little too—I let go of Quinn’s hand. “Oh, honey, I want to dance with him.”
She eyes me. “Be careful?”
“And by that you mean do the opposite.”
“Yes.” She grins, then leans in to kiss my cheek. “That was one heck of a grovel. Holler if you need me. Your daddy’s got his truck if you need us to run him over. Weston.”
“Best wingwoman ever.”
“Go get ’em, cowgirl.”
Next thing I know, Weston is on the dance floor beside me. I fist my hand in his shirt and yank him toward me.
He laughs as his body stumbles into mine, even as I see his eyes glint with tears. “I take it that’s a yes?”
Behind us, Frisky Whisky is getting back up on stage. I have a minute, maybe less, to say what I wanna say. He digs a handful of bar napkins out of his back pocket and holds them out to me. “Here.”
I look down at the napkins. “Did you—”
“I grabbed ’em for me. You know how I get. Now everyone else knows too.”
I laugh, too, despite the tears that continue to leak out of my eyes. “This was your idea? The song and the performance and everything?”
“Yes. My therapist helped me come up with it.”
I gape at him. “You’re in therapy?”
“Needed some help getting out of my own head. I’ve wanted you back this whole time, but I only worked up the courage to seek the help I needed to do that three years ago. I was tired of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I missed you, and I missed who I was when we were together.”
“Three years?” I loop my arms around his neck, overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. “You’ve been in therapy for three years? For me?”
“For you, Josie. Everything I do is for you.”
My heart swells.
I grab a napkin out of his outstretched hand. But instead of using it to dry my tears, I crumple it in my fist.
Reaching up, I use my thumbs to wipe away Wes’s tears. His eyes go wide, his full lips parting as I close the space between us.
“You’re awful convincing,” I say.
“I’m here, Josie. I’ll always be here for you, waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to feel at home with me again.”
Once upon a time, this man really was my home. I could be myself with him in a way that was so freeing it made my head spin. I’ve missed that. So dang much.
Being famous has its perks. I’m not complaining.
But it’s hard feeling like people only like you because they want something.
It seems like everybody I’ve gotten to know since my career took off inevitably has an ask.
Put in a good word. Come to my event. Join forces with me and we’ll split the profits.
Weston only wanted me, just as I was. Just as I am.
I don’t know where this leaves us or what we are now. I don’t know how we’d make this work.
But I do know I miss the warmth of his body and the taste of his mouth.
I do know I’m not going to spend another minute missing him. Because he’s here now. And suddenly everything is different.
The right things, though, feel the same.
Like the way his eyes flick to my mouth as I go up on my toes. The lemony scent of his aftershave. How my blood leaps in anticipation, arousal gathering inside my skin as I lean in and press my lips to his.
Holy shit. I’m kissing Weston Jessup again.