Page 2 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

But tonight, I was bone-tired. On edge. Ready to take a damnbreath.

When I finally got to the end of my shift, it felt like crossing the finish line of a marathon.

I gunned it home in my truck.

But I didn’t know that going back to my house wasn’t going to help at all.

It was only going to take this night from bad tocatastrophicallyworse.

The air comingin from my driver’s side window was humid. It felt tinged with electricity like right before a storm, even though the sky was cloudless.

Tennessee weather could be unpredictable, but there were stars for miles in the black sky up above. If there was a storm coming, it wasn’t from anywhere I could see.

I got to my driveway.

Threw the truck in park.

Cut the engine.

And I made my way to my front door like I was a kid on Christmas morning.

Home.

I shut the front door behind me and let out a long breath.

Now can tonight please start feeling fucking normal?

I dropped my keys onto the little table by the front door. It was dark other than a tiny lamp I left on in the far corner. My place was just a barn, situated on the far edge of my parents’ property, but I’d retrofitted it into a living space for myself over the past year.

It was the first space that was trulyall mine, and I loved this goddamn barn like it was my child.

I was in my little kitchenette by the window, raising a cold, short glass of liquor to my lips just a few minutes later.

Lemon and whiskey hit my tongue. Sour, sweet, and bitter.

Followed by the kick of the secret ingredient I’d laced into the back end of the cocktail: a splash of spiced tart plum liquor. My followers online were going to love it. I was going to name itThe Sucker Punchin my next video.

I first heard a sound at my front door as I raised the glass to my lips for a second time, cutting through the quiet in my barn.

A rattling sound.

Then, a slight jingling.

I froze in place, my ears perking up like two antennae.

Not possible.

I was alone here.

At least… I should have been alone, for a radius of at least a football field around this barn.

There was no chance someone could be out there.

I put down my phone. The sound of one of my videos was still playing quietly on a loop, my voice coming out from the tinny phone speaker: “And this cocktail is like an old friend… with benefits. And that’s how we do it in Tennessee, baby.”

I listened for the sound. I felt for my phone again and muted it, throwing the barn into silence.

I glanced over toward the front door knob.

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