Chapter 20
Wayward Son
Iswipe the ball up with one hand and lob it back at Jamie as he laughs hysterically.
“Gotcha! You’re gettin’ slow!”
He catches it and runs down to the goal at the end of their cul-de-sac.
“I’ll be down there in a minute to beat the crap out of you!” I yell as I retrieve my overnight bag.
Sunlight catches Liza’s blue-green eyes from where she spies me through the storm door. Two stringy blond braids, a shade lighter than mine, perfectly frame her heart-shaped baby face.
She’s fourteen now, but she’ll always look eight to me.
Except she’s taller. My baby sister, whose diapers I changed, had the audacity to surpass my height by at least three inches. And she could still be growing. Brat. She smiles her sweet silver-bracketed smile, swinging the door wide as I climb the three steps to the porch.
“You’re staying in my room, and I have surprises!” She beams.
“I know. No one else has an extra bed. I hope you have books and snacks!” I tug one of her braids, genuinely excited to shut my brain off for two days.
“Lucy, is that you?” Mom calls out from the kitchen.
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me.” I dump my bags on the couch and head toward her voice. “Hey!”
She wipes her hands on a dish towel and hugs me in front of the stove. “You were supposed to call me when you were getting close so I could plan dinner.”
“Oh, sorry. I was on the phone.” I pick up a clean spoon and dip in the gravy she’s making for mashed potatoes.
“Stop it, Lucy Sky. If you called, it would’ve been ready. You didn’t bring any stragglers with you this time, did you?”
My mom, Mary Brooks, is a fabulous cook and host. The house is old and small but always clean and welcoming.
I can show up with anyone at any time, and she’ll make them feel right at home—especially since my dad isn’t around anymore.
I don’t know many people in Cookeville, but Annie’s been here, and I’ve been home with her.
Alex and Joey were always at our house in Kentucky.
It wasn’t much different; except I had my own room.
That’s something I didn’t have at the last two houses.
I guess they were counting on me getting the heck out of Dodge.
Since I didn’t have a car in high school, friends were always picking me up or dropping me off, and they almost always stayed to eat or pull out the guitars and sing.
That’s why I love the townhouse in Crappie Branch.
It’s like I reinvented the best parts of my teen years.
“To my knowledge, no one followed me, Mom. No promises though.” I give her a big cheesy grin, knowing she’s remembering all the times I called to ask if Dad was home so I could bring someone with me. My dad hated having people over.
She pops me with the towel, and we chat about the classes I just finished until Layla comes in. She walks in the kitchen and pins me with a bewildered stare. “Lucy? Um, did you bring a really big guy?”
Ohhh, Layla. Even at sixteen, she’s still the awkward middle child who always thinks she’s missing something.
I tilt my head like a confused puppy and laugh at her strange question. “Um, hi to you too. Sorry, no. I didn’t bring you any guys. Maybe next time?”
“No.” Her cheeks turn pink as she pushes chocolate-brown curls off her glasses and shakes her head.
“There’s this, like, really big guy shooting hoops with Jamie, so I walked down there to see why this guy was hanging out with a twelve-year-old, and he said he was your brother and Jamie was laughing, so I know they’re messing with me, but . ..”
“What?” I say, completely lost until the front door flies open.
Jamie yells, “Hey, Lucy!” in his crackly preteen voice followed by a much more confident voice that practically sings, “Honeyyy, I’m home!” in a deep Southern drawl.
I pull my lips between my teeth and my eyes snap to Mom. Her eyes narrow, because I just said “no promises,” and now she thinks I’ve sprung a guest on her.
A big one, apparently.
We walk around the dividing wall to the living room and oh, yeah. That’s a big one.
“Sam! What are you doing here?” The minute the words are out of my mouth, I know exactly what’s coming.
He looks me dead in the eyes and clears his throat to deepen his voice. “Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”
Everyone gathers in the living room, and I shake my head, breaking into a grin at his antics.
Sam wraps a big arm around me and starts messing up my hair as Liza bursts into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, my WORD!” she squeals, jumping off her beanbag in the corner of the room to check out the entertainment.
“Who are you?” she asks, giggling, because without a doubt, Liza Jane Brooks is the only other person in this house of cartoons and sitcoms who’d watch Supernatural.
A show she’s entirely too young to watch, in my opinion.
I press my lips together in a smirk. “This is Sam.”
Liza jumps up, laughing. “That’s Dean’s line.”
“Well … this is Sam. Cross my heart.” I’m laughing too because he’s such a dork and she’s clearly impressed.
Sam breaks character to bear-hug me and put an arm around Mom, then he fist-bumps an elated Liza and a still very confused Layla.
He has met my mom and Jamie. They brought my desk to the townhouse last year, and Sam helped move it in.
Then Jude removed a broken keyboard tray and reassembled the drawer tracks while the boys tossed a football outside for an hour.
It was an oddly domestic scene, but girls stayed home that time, so they hadn’t met Sam.
“Mom, this is an ironic and unfortunate coincidence.” I giggle uncontrollably. “I swear I didn’t know. I thought he was in Nashville. Annie went home, and I left food for the guys. I didn’t think anyone would follow me.”
She glares at me with a hint of amusement. I can tell she doesn’t believe me for a second.
She’s also not mad. Everyone loves Sam.
“It’s fine.” She pats Sam on the back. “We’re glad you’re here. Are you staying for dinner?”
He looks at me to answer Mom’s question since he just crash-landed on my weekend. “Yeah, he’ll stay.”
He grins and follows me to the kitchen.
Cookeville’s on the way to Nashville. I should’ve seen this coming. Someone probably could’ve told me. Sam and I begin setting the table and pouring drinks, not so different than how we do this at home at least once a week. He still lives in the dorms, but we feed him regularly.
“How’d you find me?” I ask as I hand him napkins and silverware. “Did you turn my location on when you had my phone?”
“You think I’d do that, Smalls? That hurts. Danny did it.”
I roll my eyes. This doesn’t surprise me. Probably when we were dealing with my car. It’s funny how the definition of stalking changes according to how much you like the suspect. I pull out my phone and shoot the perp a text.
Me: If you’re gonna stalk me, at least have the decency to do it yourself.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: I believe you’re the one who says it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
Me: Sigh. Pout. Eye roll. Did you turn my location on?
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Yes, because of your car. You can turn it off if it bothers you, but please don’t. Big loud kiss on your head. Forgive me?
Me: Fine.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Help Sam and I’ll owe you one.
Me: I don’t know what he wants yet, but you have unlimited favors, so I guess I have no choice.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Unlimited? I can work with that.
I put a heart on the last message with Sam looking over my shoulder.
“Mm-hmm. Thought so.” He bumps my arm, and I have to hold the back of a chair to stay upright.
Sammy wastes no time charming the socks off the girls. I forget how charismatic he is until I see him in action.
“Lucy and Layla got named after great songs, but you got the best one, little Liza Jane,” he croons in his sugar-coated stage voice.
Liza morphs into a human heart-eyes emoji. “Do you really know that song? Nobody ever knows it!”
“Well, this nobody knows it,” he says with his hand over his heart, “and now I’m going to think about you every time I hear it.” He beams his thousand-watt smile at her.
Poor kid. I should’ve warned her not to look directly into the sun like that.
“What about J-man?” Sam turns to Jamie. “They didn’t name you after a girl song, did they?”
“No, it’s just James,” he says with all the enthusiasm you get from a twelve-year-old boy who’s expected to sit and talk over dinner.
“James Levon,” Mom clarifies. “You know Levon? By Elton John? Once we started naming kids after songs, we had to continue with all four. The ‘L’ part was a coincidence.”
Sam beams at Jamie. “Dude, that’s awesome. You’ll love it when you’re older.”
I make a mental note to replace some groceries as they chat. Mom counts on leftovers for weekdays, and leftovers don’t stand a chance tonight.
While Sam’s eating up the food and the big family energy, he finally confesses why he wants my help.
“It ain’t really that big of a deal. I told a friend I’d help him with a gig, but I didn’t ask what it was because any gig is a good gig in Nashville, right?
” He grins sheepishly, and I’m already skeptical.
“I thought I was playin’ with him, but apparently, I’m goin’ in place of him.
It’s the last night of a summer camp. Should be easy, but it’s kind of a church camp.
No language. My country set ain’t bad, but it’s probably not what they want.
I can think of some stuff, but I need help gettin’ a set list together. ”
Oh. Well, that’s not terrible. I can help with that.
“Just a guitar? So, campfire style?” I ask.
“Yeah, probably like that. Outside,” he says. “I have a keyboard too. I can prep some things ahead.” Liza jumps up from the table and brings us back a sparkly purple notebook and a pink pen.
“So, no Bro Country,” I tease. “I like this already.”
Famous last words.