Page 22 of Just Business

“I know you do. And I love you for that. But it’s okay, yeah? Consider giving him more of a chance,” she responds with a note of finality in her voice.

I hum noncommittally. “Listen, I gotta call Aunt Ashley and Uncle Brad.” If we talk much longer, I know I’ll slip up and piss her off by insulting Alan.

“They’ll be thrilled to hear your voice. I’ll let you go.” She pauses and I hear her sniffle. “Take care of yourself.” Her voice cracks, but her next words are teasing. “Oh, and try not to fall in love.”

Huffing out a laugh, I say, “Cass, I don’t plan on falling in love in small-town Alabama. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too. So much.” When the call ends a sense of relief washes over me that it went well. I disappoint a lot of people regularly, but knowing my sister and I weren’t in a good place was weighing on me.

Next up is my aunt. She puts me on speaker so Uncle Brad can hear, too. Our conversation is much lighter—more surface-level—than the one I had with Cassie. There's evident pride in their voices when I tell them about the album I'll be working on. They seem intrigued by this small town and even mention the possibility of coming for a visit soon. We say goodbye, and I see a text from my sister with links to therapists she thinks would be a good fit.

After months of avoiding my family, my head is overflowing from the conversations we’ve just had, and I try to remember what I used to do before alcohol became the thing I reached for. Running. I used to go for a jog. After all the reassurance that I won’t have fans following me taking pictures, I decide it's safe to leave the hat behind and just run. Sliding on my tennis shoes, I head out.

July in Alabama is blazing hot, like I'm running through Satan's armpit. Sweat soaks me instantly, and my lungs burn with each breath reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve done this. Still, it’s a welcome feeling. As my feet hit the pavement, I take in the town around me.

Main Street is quaint and well-maintained, with the original cobblestone bricks from at least a hundred years ago paving the road. I pass a row of busy shops, including a florist, a hardware store, and, surprisingly, a vintage record store. Since I'm dripping sweat, I decide not to go in, but I make a mental note to return later.

Right as I’m passing a barber shop, I spot Jackson stepping out of his diner just ahead and I slow to a stop to talk.

“Hey, Austin!” He seems a lot less starstruck compared to yesterday. “I was planning to text Penny about this, but I’ll ask you since you’re here. If you’re not busy tonight, some of the guys are getting together for poker. You’re welcome to join us if you’re free.”

“Yeah, man. Thanks! I think I’ll take you up on that. We aren’t recording today, so I’ve got nothing going on. What time and where?”

Jackson tells me the info, and I say goodbye, continuing my run for a while longer. Everyone I pass either smiles and waves or offers a simple nod in greeting. They all seem entirely unfazed by my presence here and something about their obvious disinterest is a breath of fresh air.

Finally, I head back to the tidy white bungalow. The front door opens as I approach and Penny steps out onto the porch. She’s barefoot, wearing a light blue tank top and cut-off shorts. Her milky-white shoulders have the slightest tinge of red, probably from tending to all the flowers surrounding her house.

Her face lights up when she spots me and she walks over to sit on the swing, patting the seat beside her in a gesture for me to join.

“Sorry if I stink,” I warn, sitting down on the other end of the swing.

“How was your run?” she asks.

“Real good. Cleared my head a lot. Oh, and I ran into Jackson. He invited me to play poker tonight.”

She lets out a short laugh, amusement flickering across her face. “Of course he did. Like I told you, nobody in this town will spill that you’re here, but I can’t promise Jackson won’t take every opportunity to ogle you. I guess I should warn you now; he has a poster of you hanging in his living room. That’s where the guys play. Are you ready for a poster-sized Austin James staring you down while you keep your poker face?”

I give her my best Blue Steel stare, and she throws her head back, laughing. “Thanks for the warning. It’d be a jump scare to look up and see my ugly mug staring back at me.”

Penny playfully smacks my arm. “You’re way too cocky to actually believe that.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, turning on the charm. “So what I’m hearing is, you like what you see.”

“I won’t dignify that with a response. Your ego doesn’t need any more boosting. Why do you think I acted like I didn’t know you yesterday? I knew who you were the minute you stepped on stage at the bar. I’d know your face anywhere.”

Her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that out loud, and I smirk.

“I’m going to Josie’s tonight,” Penny says quickly, shifting the subject. “She texted earlier. Apparently, her kids are on the mend and fever-free. We need some girl time. I’ll probably be home kinda late.”

“Do you need a ride? I don’t know how late poker lasts, but I can take you and pick you up if you need me to,” I offer.

“No, she lives a street over. I’ll walk. So, how’d your talk with your family go?”

I lean back against the swing, still relieved from talking to everyone. “Really good. Better than I deserve.”

“Why do you say it like that?” She narrows her eyes, studying me. “Is it possible you’re being a little hard on yourself?”

For a second I debate how much to share. No way in hell can I tell her everything. But I can give her a version of the truth that doesn’t cut too deep.

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