Chapter 7
Seven
Mabel
I can’t breathe.
Fuck.
I can’t feel my hand on my chest, but I know it’s there.
Maverick is at my door.
What the fucking hell is he doing here?
Thirteen years.
Thirteen damn years since he walked away and completely ripped my soul from my body. I shut the door and do the only thing I could do in the moment.
I let out a pained, horror filled scream, that’s when the thud from the front door snaps me out my potential hyperventilation, knocking me back to where I am in the moment. I grip tightly onto my shirt, holding my chest.
“Breathe, Mabel, you’re okay.” I repeat to myself, trying to pull myself together.
I’m no stranger to a panic attack or many. Had plenty over the years. Sliding down the locked door, I do the only thing I can think of doing in my panic filled state; I crumble on a heap on the floor in front of the door.
Thirteen fucking years!
I feel the wetness on my cheeks and pull my tongue out my mouth and steer it right, the salt that comes from my tears resting on my tongue.
I try to breathe.
My chest feeling like it’s about to explode.
As I try to calm my panic attack, I hear a truck door slam. Peering out the window behind the linen curtain, I watch a black Ranger spin around in mama and daddy’s driveway.
My driveway.
It speeds off with recklessness.
“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself as I get up from the floor. I run straight for the wine glass that I abandoned before the knock on the door.
I hold the glass to my mouth and take a large gulp of my drink, so large the glass finishes. I reach for the bottle and frantically pour myself another before repeating the downing of my glass yet again.
I wipe the tears away from my face with my left arm for a second time. I stare into the glass, to stunned to move until I hear my phone ringing.
Fuck.
Seeing the time I already know that I’m late.
“Hey,” I choke out, trying my best to act calm and normal.
“Don’t hey me! Where are you?” Iris shouts down the phone. I hear the usual rowdiness of McCoy’s crowd behind her phone.
“I know, I know, I... uh… got a bit side tracked. On my way now,” I splutter out. Abandoning my well needed wine I bolt towards my bedroom door.
“You better hurry up, Jakes on soon,” I hear Hope in the background. “Give me fifteen!” I say, as I put the phone down.
I don’t have the time to dwell on Mr Asshat finally making an appearance.
I yank out my Mama’s rollers with such force, the pain in my scalp becoming more unbearable with every yank.
I throw the rollers onto my dressing table one by one with each one landing with a thud.
I run a comb through my hair, taking the hairspray and spraying the shit out of my head.
I glance back in the mirror and see my eyes are already puffy from crying.
Perfect, just perfect.
I haven’t got time to put a full face on. Luckily for me my skin is sun-kissed and not in need of much. Pulling on my mascara I quickly make my eyelashes longer.
Giving myself a once over in the mirror, I don’t looking half bad, aside from my puffy ass eyes. Making it look like I’ve gone two rounds with Mike Tyson and lost miserably.
Just great.
I let out a big huff and rush back into the kitchen. I spot my bag and throw my phone, keys and wallet in there. Luckily for me my pink cowboy boots are right next to the front door. Pulling them on, I double take through the curtain to make sure Maverick isn’t still lingering.
Deciding the coast is clear as the truck I saw earlier isn’t visible, I make my exit.
Jogging over to my truck, I pull on the driver’s door, throw my bag onto the passenger’s seat and fire up the engine. I flick my eyes onto the dashboard and see the time; ten-past-seven.
Yeah, I’m late.
Just like they’d predicted.
But not for the reason I could be late, an excuse entirely out of anyone’s control.
****
Driving into the parking lot of McCoy’s, I manage to make it here in record time. Jake starts at half seven, so I make it with minutes to spare.
I hurl myself out of the driver’s cabin and slam my door shut. I start a light jog into the crowded bar, throwing my arm up to lock my truck with the key.
Scanning the crowd, I spot my friends next to the bar, drinks already in their hands, blissfully unaware of what I’ve just endured.
“Here she is!” I hear Luke shout across the bar.
Squeezing my way through far too many people I recognise, I reach my friends as Hope hands me a glass of whiskey. Taking hold of the drink, I knock it back down my throat. The liquid burning as it goes down.
Placing the finished glass back on the bar, signally Mack, the barman, for another.
“Woah, girl. Slow down. What’s got your panties in a twist?” Iris asks.
“Don’t ask,” I say, trying to divert the attention away.
I take my drink, and I knock this one back also.
Fuck it.
And fuck my life.
I’ll get my truck tomorrow. I need this after what’s just happened.
Feeling slightly more relaxed, I take a deep breath and scan the area. McCoy’s doesn’t look like much from the outside, however inside your taken back in time.
The rustic-feel coming from the walls covered in country music’s finest artists; from Queen Dolly herself down to newer artists like Luke Combs and Cody Johnson.
I smile back at the scene before me, holding tightly onto my glass. The Tennessee Titan’s football shirts line up alongside the pictures, as well as a few neon cowboy boot signs shining light through the dark bar. A small stage sits in the corner, sporting a microphone and a guitar on its stand.
Jake’s guitar.
As I look towards the guitar, Jake walks onto the small stage, talking to Cole. Cole owns our favourite bar and is somewhat of a legend ‘round here.
He keeps the cowboys filled with beer and whiskey ‘til their hearts content. Or until they can’t walk. However way you want to look at it.
Snickering at the thought, I turn my attention back to my friends.
“So, what’s up, girly?” Luke shouts over the crowd.
“Not much, honey, you good?” I reply back to him, trying to keep my composure.
Luke Dillard is another one of my favourite men. Him and Hope have been going strong ever since we were kids. Friend’s since forever. Married at twenty-three, those two are living the dream.
My dream…
No babies yet, although when it does happen, he or she will be incredibly spoilt alongside my Ellie. I tell ya’, that day can’t come soon enough, I am so ready to be an aunt. Ellie is so ready to fuss over a new baby.
“Yeah, all good, darlin’,” he pauses, looking at me. “How comes you’re late this time?” He teases taking a swig of his beer.
Shit, now I’ve got to find an excuse.
“Oh, Ellie wanted me to tuck her in,” I reply, waving him off the path of complete destruction that I have a horrible feeling is going to follow.
Nice save.
They’ll never question anything to do with Ellie.
“Fairs. How’s our favourite girl anyway? She looking forward to the annual cookout on the Fourth?” He leans against the bar, and I look up towards his tall frame, brown hair slicked back under his trucker hat.
“She’s good, keeping busy with Mama. Although, Colter’s promised her that we’re taking her out with the herd on Monday,” I say with a slight glint in my eye.
“Well, it’s about damn time, girly,” He snorts into his beer.
“Tell me about it.” I knock back yet another whiskey.
Placing my glass on the bar, I signal Mack back over. “Keep em’ coming, honey,” I purr, pointing down to my glass.
“Let’s get some tequila!” I shout, leaning over Hope’s shoulder.
Terrible idea? Definitely.
However, this mama’s on a drowning her sorrows night tonight.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to pretend that asshat didn’t just turn up at my door and back into my life.