Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
I an
“I don’t think she likes you very much.” Sam’s half-cocked smile mocks me, but his words ring true.
“What gave it away,” I snark back.
“That ain’t important.” He changes the subject. “Anyway, how’d you like her singing?”
My brow hitches. “She’s okay.”
“O-KAY?” Sam’s posture springs up, accompanying an indignant look.
I pop back, raising my hands in surrender. “All right. Calm down. I’ll be honest, she’s good. Real good.”
“Well, thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.” A satisfied expression settles over his face.
Adopting a more relaxed posture, he leans on the bar. Sam’s tall. His body hits the counter at his waist. He’s a bit older than me but middle age hasn’t settled on him. His broad chest and muscular arms give him an overwhelming presence. I have no doubt he can take care of himself against anyone who pisses him off.
I bide my time as I sip my drink and give him a minute to recalibrate. “I can tell you really like that girl.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” He shrugs. “You don’t need to pay that no never mind. She’s pretty and she’s smart. She’s got one of them voices that can set fire to the rain.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You, referencing Adele? Are you kidding me?”
“Yep. She’s exactly like that, but better. Softer. More real.” He nods as a dreamy look captures his eyes.
I chuckle beneath my breath, disbelief shaking my head. “I never took you for such a romantic.”
“Nah,” he waves me off. “It ain’t got nothing to do with romance. I just know what I like.”
Suddenly, one of the wooden double doors not far from the bar bursts open and a group of rowdy men stomp in, capturing our attention. Their footsteps echo near the near-empty bar. One of them, a tall, muscle-cut specimen sets his sights on me. Thick, untrimmed, stubble covers his chin and jawline. Arrogance pours off him sending an unspoken warning like an incoming storm. His lips curve in a snarl. He closes the distance between us until he’s only a few feet away.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, his breath reeking of whiskey. “If it ain’t Ian Stanton.”
Sam tenses and slides through the opening, moving behind the bar. In a quiet way, he sets the tone by placing a Louisville Slugger on the counter. I slip my hand on top of it to stop any angry impulse he might be entertaining.
“Do I know you?” I ask, calmly.
The man smirks, his eyes flicking over to Sam and then back to me. “I doubt that, but I know people who know you. I’m sure they’d love to know where you are. A lot of people got screwed over when you disappeared. I’m sure they’d like it if you got back into the business.”
“Not interested.” I turn away from him. Sam flicks a glance from the man to me. I see what he’s saying in an unspoken exchange; he’s got my back.
“What a dump!” The man sucks back and spits a wad of phlegm on the floor.
“This ‘dump’ is my place of business,” Sam lifts the bat and snaps it in his palm.
The man snickers and puts up his hand. “Relax, man. Just want to talk to Ian.”
How the hell did he know I’d be here? I raise an eyebrow. “I guess you didn’t hear me. I’m not interested.” I turn away again. He’s undeterred. I can see his shark-like grin and tobacco-stained teeth in the mirror behind the bar.
“Some people would pay big to get you back on stage.”
“No thanks.”
His grin fades as he comes up alongside me. He lowers his voice. “You sure about that, Ian? You had a pretty good life. You could have it back.”
“I said no,” I repeat firmly.
He turns away and walks back to his three friends, but not before giving me a final temptation.
“You might not think so but there are some very powerful people who’d spend a shitload of money to get you. You could be a solo act. Tell me your price and they’ll book you all over the world.” He strides back to me and Sam tenses. He slams a business card down on the bar top. “If I were you, I’d think about it. You won’t get a better offer.”
He and his entourage slink toward the door. Impressing some of their physical features to memory, I count them. Four in total. Four men who look like trouble and who, to my knowledge, I’ve never seen before. Once they’re out the door Sam picks up the card.
“You know them?”
I shake my head. “Don’t think so but can’t say for sure.”
“Whaddya mean?”
I shrug. “I didn’t remember Savannah. I was wasted most of the time I was with the band and even more so after Dash died.”
He gets it and nods as he picks up the card. “It’s a record company. Black Shadow.”
“I don’t remember that name, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
Sam’s raised brows beg a question. “If they’re legit, maybe they’d want to talk to Savi.” He lays the card back down. Perplexed as to why he would even suggest such a thing, shock sends a rod down my back.
“You’re kidding, right? That guy was a dick and, I could almost bet he’s nothing but trouble. Why would you want him around her?”
He silently pours himself a Coke and slides a new one to me. “Maybe not him, but there might be some record executives on the other end of this phone number.”
I slowly take a sip, buying myself a minute to put my mind in gear before I put my mouth in motion. I picked up that Sam and Savannah are close. What I don’t know is how close. “You didn’t tell me you know her.”
Sam’s brow quirks. A smug expression settles into his features as he folds his arms across his chest.
“No. I didn’t. Mainly, because that don’t factor into what I’m asking you. I told you she’s a singer at my bar. That’s what you needed to know. As far as your opinion goes, you got a set of ears don’tcha?”
His smart-ass attitude draws me back. “Need to know? That is all I know. You never told me if I was coming to hear a man or a woman. You gave me nothing.”
“And why would I? It ain’t like you need to know her life story to tell me if you think she’s got talent. You don’t need no more information. Tell you the truth, after the exchange I saw tonight, I’m not sure I want you to know her.”
He leans back and locks down his cocky bearing with a solid folding of his arms across his broad chest. Though he’s got a point, I’m taken back. Of all people, I thought Sam would have a different opinion of me than the rest of the world. He’s watched the transformation in me over the past couple of years, but I guess opinions are slow to change. I can’t fault him for being cautious with someone he obviously cares about. No matter if they’re related or not, no decent uncle, surrogate father, friend—whatever—would want a girl like her around me. I guess it’s true when they say your reputation precedes you. In most people’s minds, mine is lit with neon lights.
“I’ll keep my distance. Got it.” I press my lips tight and nod.
“I ain’t telling you what to do but, you’re right; she is special to me—and Savi don’t usually act like that. Tell the truth, I ain’t never seen her behave like that before.”
I should have seen that chip on her shoulder as soon as recognition dawned in her eyes. An opinion was formed by an earlier run-in, putting me, and all the work I’ve done to better myself, at a disadvantage. To her, I’m a pariah—but Sam? His comments sting. Because of all the help he’s given me, I owe him. My loyalty to him is bigger than my ego.
“You don’t want Savannah to deal with that company. Trust me.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, they’d had some to drink, but they might not be like that when they’re at work. Most people that come to a bar leave a little tipsy.”
“That wasn’t ‘tipsy’. If you give Savannah that card, you might as well throw her to the wolves. I know. People like that only have money on their minds. I know first-hand. If you have reservations about me getting to know Savannah, you sure as hell don’t want them around her.”
Sam’s eyes narrow and his gaze intensifies. He leans in and props his chin on his hand. “You aren’t so bad and make no mistake; I’m not trying to hook you up with that girl. Truth be told, I’d prefer you don’t get no ideas like that, but I need you to be straight with me first before I ever present the idea of helpin’ her get a record deal. Tell me, Ian—no bullshittin’—she got what it takes?”
His voice descends and his tone is more serious than I’ve heard in a long time. I study his face. Honesty is all Sam and I have ever exchanged but, he should know, my opinion isn’t worth shit. The last thing he should ever do is put faith in the view of a junkie— former junkie.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head and shrug.
His eyes narrow. “Why the hell not? You got ears and experience. Your opinion means something to me. She’s got the voice of a got’ damn angel.”
“Well, my judgment might not be what you’re looking for, so I can’t give you an answer. The music industry can be unkind. It’s a different kind of devil.”
“Dammit!” He shouts.
“Stop. Take a breath, will you?” I raise my hands in surrender. “All I can say is I liked what I heard.”
“If you’d a come here more, you woulda’ heard more. It ain’t like I haven’t been invitin’ you for over a month.”
I watch him as he slips off the barstool and stomps away, putting some distance between us. A few seconds later he turns and eyeballs me with an agitated stare while I measure the rise and fall of his chest in huffed breaths.
“Ian, I know that guy looked like a sleazebag but, if he really does know people, and I don’t give Savi his card …”
He stops talking mid-thought. Somehow, I feel I’m in an alternate reality. Maybe he didn’t see what I saw, but I’d think that years spent as a sponsor would have exposed him to some of the worst people. It’s a few minutes before his irritability deflates.
Finally, a sigh escapes on a rush of air. His shoulders slump. He drags a hand through his thick mop of gunmetal-colored hair and pulls the bar towel off his shoulder, carelessly tossing it onto the counter before dropping into a seat beside me. A sense of defeat wraps around him.
“I don’t know anything about those guys. That’s the honest-to-God truth. But, for you, I’ll check around.”
He lifts his chin. “I want her to get a break, Ian.”
“It isn’t the end of the world if she doesn’t. It doesn’t always work out the best for people, Sam. You know how it fucked me up.”
“Yeah, but she ain’t you. She’s got her feet on the ground.” He looks up with pleading eyes.
“Nobody’s me at first but, given unfamiliar circumstances, the worst things happen to the best people.”
“She deserves a break. You don’t know … I just want her to find success.”
“Let me rephrase then; I was a successful fuck-up. But, in the end, I almost lost everything.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”
I smile. “It happens to the best of us.”
* * *
The motorcycle ride to my house helps to clear my head and, once there, I throw a few logs in the fireplace and light it up.
My body aches. I’m physically and emotionally worn out from a day working on the ranch and verbal sparring with Sam.
Mesmerizing bright tangerine and buttercup-colored flames ease my weary mind while the tango of colors seduces me into a more relaxed state and sleep entices me.
I stretch out my legs in front of me as warmth spreads through the night’s biting chill. Fire has its own music filled with pops and crackles. I listen as I stare at the blaze, following the sparks as I sink deep into my favorite worn leather chair. An image of Savannah comes to mind.
I’ve shied away from the social aspects of life. Sam’s visits to the ranch and an occasional trip into town for mail, groceries, and supplies are enough for me. But there’s something about her that hooks me, and I’m not sure if I like that or not.
The night is cool and the breeze drifting through the open windows brings traces of evergreen and pine from the surrounding trees. They’ve left indelible scents in the walls of this old house along with other scents I can’t yet identify. Over time I’ve gotten used to the fresh smells. I enjoy them. After years of concert venues thick with pot smoke, and hotel rooms saturated with mixed aromas of cleaning supplies and air freshener, the spicy mix of smoking wood and cool pine draws me in as they complement the peace and quiet I crave. Since moving to the ranch, I’ve discovered many things about myself. Contentment comes along with the haunting of my former existence. I have little memory of what I’ve done or who I hurt, and I need this life I’m making to bind up the wounds hidden on the inside of me.
I close my eyes, trudging through mental images of empty bottles, nameless women, and broken dreams. That fateful night when it all almost ended, my angel came to me. Though I remember seeing her, I still question her existence. Was it just wishful thinking, or did I really experience something supernatural? The mental picture is never clear. What is embedded like concrete in my mind is I was given another chance at life. The problem is I don’t what to do with it.
I lean forward and run my hand through my hair. Most men wish for a wife and family, but I’ve resigned myself to knowing those are things I’ll never have. This is the best I can hope for. My place in the world is working this ranch. It’s the only thing that’s ever provided a sense of simplicity and peace. Here, I don’t need to rehash all the bullshit. It isn’t useful. Neither are regrets, especially when you’ve buried the man you used to be.
I shift my body as my eyelids grow heavy and fall into sleep as I throw more dirt on the grave of my misdeeds.