Chapter 30
Now what?
I’m sitting in Ben’s truck, hands clenched on the wheel, with no fucking clue what I’m doing. My big plan was to storm off, but it helps to have somewhere to storm off to.
And this is where fame really sucks—because what I’d kill for is a shitty bar, a strong drink, and nobody looking twice at me.
So I stay put, just to spite her.
Take that, Magnolia.
I recline the seat and close my eyes, settling in for a nice long sulk. The cicadas are winding down, the crickets ramping up. Out toward the barn, Colonel crows.
I really do love it here. It reminds me so much of my grandparents’ place in Tennessee. And if my dad weren’t such a prick, I’d tell Hollywood to piss off and just move. Austin’s a filming mecca now. I could have a career here. A life free of my father.
Maggie.
But I could never leave Hannah. Not while she’s under his thumb.
Boots scrape across the drive toward the truck. I know it’s Ben before I see him because it sure as hell wouldn’t be Maggie.
I raise my seat and turn the key just enough to roll the window down. A warm breeze filters through, carrying with it the faint scent of cow shit, and I chuckle because dear God, I think I like that too.
“You okay, man?” I ask as I watch Ben approach. He looks rough in faded joggers, a wrinkled T-shirt, and a ballcap—worn low like he’s hiding behind it. He sidles up to the passenger door, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Guess he didn’t sleep last night either.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m assuming you heard our little lovers’ spat?”
He glances toward the fence line. “It’s possible Old Lady Perkins heard it.”
“Old Lady Perkins should mind her own damn business.” A gust of wind rattles the wind chimes—the universe telling me to cool it. “Sorry about that. Your sister is so damn infuriating.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” He leans in the open window, gaze drifting to my hand on the gearshift. “You going somewhere?”
I let out a weary laugh. “Not exactly. I was kind of hoping she’d come running out and stop me.
” I drop my head back against the seat, eyes tracking Colonel as he struts past the truck.
“You wouldn’t happen to know of a bar around here where I could get piss drunk without ending up on Deuxmoi, would you? ”
“Not sure what that is, but I get the gist.” He gives the window frame a quick tap. “Come on. And hey, if you want—never mind.”
“Never mind what?”
“I was going to say to grab your guitar, but you’re probably not in the mood for ‘Maggie May’ right now.”
“You’d be correct.”
The last streaks of pink are bleeding out of the sky as I follow Ben to the barn.
He punches in the code and the door swings open, dusk spilling in behind us.
Once we’re inside, he locks it again. He doesn’t bother with the overheads, just lights the way to the bar with his phone, then flips on a small lamp.
“We do not want Maggie finding us,” he says.
I drop onto a barstool. “You hide out here a lot?”
“Lately, yeah.” He disappears through a door in the back and returns with a bottle and two glasses. “Ever had Calvados?”
“Never heard of it.” I tilt the lamp to read the label. “Apple brandy?”
He nods. “It’s from Normandy.”
“Oof. You’re taking your heartbreak to a whole other level.”
“We all have our ways.”
The cork gives a soft pop, and the sharp, sweet scent of apples cuts through the still air. Ben pours a couple fingers into each glass and taps his to mine in a silent toast.
It tastes like it smells, with a burn that feels way too good going down.
“She’s not changing her mind, is she?” I ask around the knot in my throat, glass poised for a second swig.
“I don’t want you to give up on her, but man to man?” He meets my eyes. “She’s stubborn. Nothing—and no one—is taking her away from this place. Not permanently.”
“I didn’t even suggest that.” I pull at the collar of my new shirt, itchy as hell. “She doesn’t want to hang around LA waiting for me to free up, and I get it. So we save California until we’re both free, and when she’s busy and I’m not, I come here. But she wouldn’t hear it.”
“She’s scared,” Ben says, settling onto the other stool.
“I forget how locked in she gets. You’re thinking let’s just see where this goes.
But she’s already five years ahead, weighing every possible outcome.
When she said she ‘knows how this ends’?
She’s assuming one of you would have to move, and she figures it’d be her. ”
I toss back the rest of my brandy, relishing the burn. “I’d never ask her to do that.”
“I believe you, but how would she know?” He drains what’s left in his own glass, then pours us each another. “She feels tied to this place. Don’t get me wrong—she loves it. The house, the land. That damn tree.”
“What damn tree?”
“You don’t know about the tree?” A wry sound escapes him.
“It’s practically a third sibling. Mom planted a magnolia out back when we were born, and it’s always been Maggie’s…
sanctuary, I guess you could call it—especially after she died, since my aunt had the brilliant idea to scatter her ashes there. ”
The look on his face says that idea wasn’t so brilliant in hindsight.
He takes a slow, deliberate sip. “So now that our mother is literally part of the land, Maggie would sell her soul before she’d let it go.”
I shift in my seat, eyes locked on nothing. “So how do I convince her she wouldn’t have to?”
He shrugs. “Wish I knew.”
My thoughts are a blur of logistics, loopholes, and long shots.
“Maybe LA is the problem,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
I finish my drink, and Ben tops me off without a word.
“What if I take it out of the equation? Forget syncing our schedules. When she’s free—ready, whatever—I’ll come to her.
She won’t have to set foot in California unless she wants to.
” I rap my knuckles on the bar. “Think that’d help? ”
His eyes narrow over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip. “I don’t know, man. Maybe? My sister can be…”
“Obstinate? Pigheaded? A pain in my ass?”
He laughs. “All of the above.”
But she’s also generous. Kind in ways that sneak up on you.
She challenges me. Grounds me. Thinks of me.
She doesn’t pretend, doesn’t try to impress. She’s just… “Real.”
“What’s that?” Ben asks, and I clear my throat, not realizing I’d said it out loud.
“Your sister,” I say. “She’s real.”
Ben nudges the bottle my way.
I glance at my empty glass. When the hell did that happen?
My head’s already swimming, but I pour another anyway.
“I’m not trying to dissuade you,” he says. “I just think you should know what you’re up against.”
“A brick wall, apparently.” It’s quiet for a moment while he catches up to me. Then I slide the bottle back to him. “Since my situation’s hopeless, let’s talk about yours.” I arch a brow. “You, my friend, need to go to Normandy before you wind up drunk and heartbroken in a barn like me.”
He snorts. “Too late.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I sing-song, recycling the same useless line I lobbed at Maggie.
Ben’s mouth tips into a sad smile. “You know I can’t leave her.”
“I know you don’t want to.” I rest my chin on my folded hands.
“But look at how she is with this place. You said she feels tied to it. She told me that, too—and I could see it, man. Like saying it out loud meant she was, I don’t know, failing your mom or something.
Imagine how she’ll feel if she thinks she’s failing you too. ”
He pours himself a refill, takes a long sip. “I just keep thinking about all the crap that breaks around here. It’s a lot to stay on top of. That stupid gate light, for starters.”
“Ben, we’ve been over this. Your sister’s pretty fucking resourceful. She can call an electrician.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And if she had? That light would’ve been fixed months ago.”
“Touché,” he mutters, tipping his glass in a lazy salute. He hunches forward, hat casting a shadow over his face, eyes glued to the bar like it might stop the spin. He’s unraveling, and I feel it like an ache at the back of my throat.
I wouldn’t want to leave her either.
I don’t.
After a few minutes, he leans back, scrolls his phone, and queues up a song. A slow, hollow guitar spills through the speakers, the kind that settles in your chest and stays there.
“Look at us,” I say. “Two idiots in a barn, drunk and heartbroken, listening to—what the hell is this?”
Ben huffs a laugh. “No clue.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not helping.”
He skips to something a little more upbeat and slides the bottle toward me.
I pour what’s left in my glass. “We are a sad, sad pair.”
“That we are,” he says, and shoots me a sloppy grin. “You know, if you ever want to switch teams—Jesus Christ. That was supposed to be a joke. I swear I wasn’t hitting on you.”
“Shame. My ego could use it. I wouldn’t mind Colonel hitting on me at this point.”
Ben smiles, but it fades quickly. “We’re so fucked.”
“No,” I say, spinning lazily on my stool. “I’m fucked. You’re going to France.”
He shakes the empty bottle and frowns. “Should I tell her you talked me into it? Win you some points?”
“Would it help?”
“Nope.”
“Then let her talk you into it.”
“You’re so altruistic,” he says, but it comes out more like all-too-ristic. He chuckles to himself, tips his head back like he’s admiring the ceiling, then squints at me. “So what’s your plan?”
“My plan?”
“Yeah. To win Maggie over? You know, if Project: Fuck LA falls through.”
I’ve thought long and hard about this. Tried to logic my way through it. But right now—Calvados warm in my gut—the answer’s clear as day. “I’m going to camp out at the gate.”
“Our gate?”
“Yep. No way she can drive by me and just leave me there.”
Ben stares at me, then lets out a bark of laughter. “Dude, that’s genius.” He downs what’s left in his glass and slaps it on the bar. “But hang on—what if she tells you to leave?”
That sobers me right up. “Then I guess I’ll leave.”