Chapter 29 #2
“Thank you.” One last sincere phrase, and then he shakes his head, back to his gruff attitude. “Let’s sing some shit.”
And he does. He sings all his number-one songs, does a few favorite covers, and then sings a few songs off his just-released album. It’s the first time he’s played some of these in public, but the crowd sings along as though they’ve heard them dozens of times before.
I think Bobby’s surprised at that, though he shouldn’t be. He wrote them on a trip to Nashville in January, and they haven’t even hit radio play yet. Miller had been happy to work with Bobby again, regardless of what record company he was signed with, and they’d made some beautiful music together.
The crowd sings along, swaying and holding their hands in the air, completely under Bobby’s spell.
I can understand that. I still pour Olivia’s drinks and wait on the customers around the bar, but I’m slower than Shay’s peach molasses because my attention is continually drawn to the stage. To Bobby. To my man.
I hum along too, mouthing the words that hit my heart sharply. Knowing they came from his mind, his heart, his soul, and how hard he has to work to get them just right makes each phrase and chord that much more poignant.
I pull my phone out, taking a few shots of him onstage. This last moment before things change, before he belongs to the world and not only Great Falls and me. Click.
My eyes are drawn to the screen, and I touch Bobby’s face there, ready to get out of here so that it’s the two of us. I need it to be just us one last time, his body pressed to mine, pinning us together as he fills me, making us one.
The music changes into a chord progression I haven’t heard, and a throat clears heavily. I look up to find Bobby plucking at the strings. His jaw is tight, his shoulders broad, tension woven through his entire body.
What’s wrong?
I scan the front row, looking for someone out of line, but I see nothing amiss. Next, I look along the bar, knowing that if he saw a tourist doing something inappropriate too close to me, he’d go into protective mode.
But all seems well.
I’m still searching when he starts to speak, “A few months ago . . .” He shakes his head, quietly asking himself, “How has it only been a few months? Seems like a lifetime. My life.” Swallowing, he looks back to the audience.
“Anyway, a few months ago, I stood right here, singing Friends in Low Places, and my whole life changed. Not by Garth Brooks, not even by you fuckers drunk-singing along with me. But by the woman I saw across the room.”
I freeze, towel stuck in a glass and mouth hanging wide open.
What is he doing? What is he saying?
“I saw her, literally across a crowded room, and knew she was everything. She was . . . is mine.” Bobby’s eyes lift from the crowd, finding mine easily though I’m in the shadows of the bar and he’s in the stage lights.
He’s always aware of me. I have no doubt that he could find me anywhere, even blindfolded.
It’s like his soul recognizes mine. “Willow, sweetheart . . . can you come here?”
I stutter—my feet, not my mouth, though I think I’m making a nonsensical noise too. “Uhm . . .”
Unc grabs my arm, shoving me out from behind the bar. When did he get so strong?
Olivia takes over, escorting me toward the stage, toward Bobby. Her words are jumbled and fast. “Remember what I said the first night you and Bobby met?” I have no idea what she’s talking about and can’t search my memory banks when Bobby’s looking at me like I can’t get to him fast enough.
As I pass the Tannen-Bennett table, they’re all grinning. Even the guys, which is scary as hell because they only do that when someone’s about to get beaten up.
Olivia gives me a push I don’t need, and I find myself at Bobby’s feet, looking up at him larger than life on the stage.
Casually resting a hand on Betty, he looks down at me as though we’re the only two people in the room.
Heat and desire light his eyes, filthy promises are in his smirk, and hunger pings between us in a chemical reaction I can feel throughout my entire body.
Is he thinking this is very similar to when I suck him? Because that’s what’s running through my dirty mind when I look up at him like this.
“Mmm, close. But not close enough.” I think he’s reading my mind for a moment, but then Bobby leans Betty against a stool to free his hands.
He squats down, and there’s a moment where I feel like a fan whose wildest dreams are coming true.
But truthfully, they already have. His hands grab under my arms, and he pulls me onstage with him, situating me on the stool as he picks Betty back up.
“I wrote a song, which might not seem all that special. But this is the most important one I’ve ever written, sweetheart. I only plan on singing it once.”
Bobby gives me a pointed look, and his meaning hits me with a thud, a sharp arrow right into the depths of my heart. My mouth drops open and my hands slap over my lips. Behind my glasses, I can feel that my eyes are as wide as saucers.
“You ready?”
Yes.
No.
Oh, my God, maybe.
My head nods like a bobblehead.
And then Bobby sings. The crowd is gone and the room might as well be empty because he only has eyes for me and I am pinned in his gaze, lost in his words. His honeyed whiskey voice flows over me, the grit and gravel pricking my skin, letting the sweetness burrow into my soul.
Was an empty shell of a man,
Waiting on you to find me.
But when I found you,
I found everything.
All my days and nights belong to you,
There will never be enough.
Your heart belongs to me,
It will always be mine.
Sweet kindness from your soul,
I don’t deserve.
But I’ll get down on my knees
To worship you.
Bobby drops to his knee with his last lyric, pushing Betty behind his back to free his hands. He takes mine, the rough calluses on his fingers tracing over my skin like he can’t believe I’m real and his. A shuddering sigh works its way through his body, his chest rising and falling raggedly.
“I’m not good with words, Willow. But you know my heart because it’s yours.
You know my soul. It’s where I keep you safe and loved.
And I’m deep inside you too—body, mind, and soul.
You’re mine. And I’m yours. You know what I want—forever.
” It’s not a question, but I know exactly what he’s asking of me.
Tears are pooling in my glasses, blurring my vision, but I can see Bobby.
I can always see him, can feel him, deeply in love with me.
Me, Willow Parker, behind-the-scenes, quiet and forgettable outsider.
But he sees me, all of me, and loves me, has given me a home, and wants to spend forever with me.
I can’t find words, which is usually the problem he thinks he has, but I nod.
“Tell me, Willow.” The command goes through me in a jolt, making me hot and giving me strength.
“Yes,” I shout, louder than I meant to, but the joy is so bright that it demands release.
Distantly, I hear the crowd cheering, but I don’t care.
All I feel are Bobby’s arms wrapping around me tightly, his lips pressed to mine as he claims me proudly.
I kiss him back, marking him as mine too.
He hugs me again, lifting my feet off the stage and growling in my ear, “I love you. And I need to be inside you, right the fuck now.”
I blush, hoping he hears my agreement to both of those statements when I say, “I love you, too.”
He doesn’t finish the set. I don’t finish my shift. Hoots and cheers sound up around us, but none of it matters but the man by my side. Well, figuratively by my side, because he’s got me scooped up in his arms, striding briskly for the door as the crowd parts for us.
I hear him call out, “Brutal, take Betty home.” Then we’re outside, the mild spring coolness of the night instantly surrounding us. You’d think it’d quiet the fire in my core, but the flames still lick along my skin from Bobby’s hands where they grip me and through my body.
I need him too.
“Get in the truck. Now.” His voice has gone even deeper than usual, already entering the bossy, gritty way he commands me when he loses all sense of gentleness and takes me rough and hard.
I would’ve thought I’d want sweet and tender after that proposal, but he knows me too well by this point. He knows I need him to mark me all over, order me to say filthy things that make me blush as I force them past my vocal cords, and take me like I’m his. Because I am.
The bus is huge, so big it won’t even fit through the main gate at Tannen Farm. It’s blocking the street outside instead, with Chief Gibson standing out there to direct traffic. Except there’s no traffic. He’s just here to see Bobby off like a looky-loo.
“All right, fuckers. I’m out of here.”
Bobby’s using grunts and grumpiness to hide his nerves and fear. It’s understandable considering the other guys are doing the same thing. Luckily, the women have emotions enough for us all.
We’re a blubbering, snotty, crying mess as we hug and make promises of daily phone calls and texts.
“I’ll send you a soap basket every month and overnight cobbler every week,” Shayanne vows. Then I’m locked in her arms. “Oh, my cheesus and crackers, I’m going to miss you!”
“Shay, let her go,” Luke says, gathering her in his arms comfortingly.
Bobby holds a hand out to Brutal, whose arms are crossed, his face in a deep scowl.
Brutal knocks Bobby’s hand away to wrap his arms around his shoulders.
Bobby startles, likely thinking Brutal’s taking an easy shot—that’s their way, after all—but he recovers and slaps his back a bit too hard.
They push off each other, both looking surprised at the emotion coursing through them.
“Don’t fuck up the planting or you’ll kill the whole year’s profits. ”
Brutal snorts. “I do it all by myself every year. This year, I just won’t have to give you busy work to keep you out of my way.”
Bobby punches Brutal’s shoulder, more of a love tap than anything. Brutal’s brows jump together, and he swats at the empty air around him. “Y’all gettin’ eat up by mosquitoes? I swear one just took a nibble out of my arm. Must be ’cuz I’m so sweet.”
Brody steps between them, sensing the tussle that’ll hide their emotions.
“Stop the lovefest, you two. You’re giving me cavities with all the sugar.
” In a fatherly move, he lays heavy hands on Bobby’s shoulders and meets his eyes.
“You be careful out there. Don’t let them take advantage of you or change you.
If I see one picture of you with sparkly shit on your ass, I will pull up to that concert venue and remind you of exactly who you are. ”
“Won’t be necessary. I’m a Tannen. I’d rather die than have a rhinestone ass.”
They laugh, somehow bonding through the weirdness of the conversation and situation. Brody hugs Bobby too, and though it’s quiet, I hear Brody say, “Glad you’re getting outta here, man. You deserve it. You always did.”
When they break apart, I step forward. “Tannens, get together.”
They look at me, instantly standing side by side—three men, so alike but so different, all standing shoulder to shoulder, matching mean mugs on their faces, and Shayanne, looking like a dirty tomboy princess beside them with a big smile. Click.
“And Bennetts.” They step up, filling in around Bobby. Arms go around each other, making the group look like a big dog pile of rough cowboys and a mix of women. Click.
Mama Louise approaches me. “Get in there with them. Let me take one of the next generation.” Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, and I wonder what she thought her future would hold when she was younger and if it looked anything like this motley group.
I lift the camera strap over my head, handing the delicate machine to her. “Press the button halfway and it’ll focus, then the rest of the way and it’ll take the picture. Hold it down and it’ll take several shots in a row so we get everyone’s eyes open.”
She nods but whispers, “Take care of each other, okay? Let his strengths balance your weaknesses and yours his. Love him—not the noun, the verb—and he’ll love you too.”
I hug her, knowing that she loves each of us—her whole family.
I join Bobby, and he tucks me into his side, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Are we doing this?” he whispers.
I look up at him, sure. “Dream come true.”
Click.