Page 8 of Country Music Cowboy
“Oh wow.” But Emmy Lou wasn’t commenting on their increasingly bizarre conversation. She was looking up.
With all the commotion going on, Loretta hadn’t noticed the large screens being lowered, let alone the images for tomorrow night’s “In Memoria” performance. So many faces. So much talent. Groundbreakers and innovators. Producers, lyricists, and composers. Music Hall of Fame members and fledgling artists taken way too soon.
The moment Johnny’s picture appeared, Loretta looked away. She had to. Seeing his smiling face tore at the still-raw wound. Every day, it was there. Every day, she missed Johnny. And every day she was tormented by the questions that would never be answered. She’d known it would be difficult but this…this ball of pain and anger wrapped up inside a ball of razor wire shredded her insides and left her bleeding.
But that was her problem and hers alone. She was not going to fall apart now—not publicly—and definitely not in front of the Kings.
Keep it professional. Calm, cool, and collected.
“I have dinner plans but thank you,” she managed, taking care to avoid direct eye contact with the siblings. “Maybe next time. Have a good night.” She was already walking, rapidly, backstage—and much-needed space. She dodged cords and workmen, wheeled wardrobe racks, and a group of dancers clustered together before pushing open a door and stumbling out into a mercifully quiet, mostly deserted, hallway.
A few of the stage crew workers had been taking a smoke break, but they took one look at her and jumped up, leaving a plastic cup with cigarette butts, an empty can of soda, and a newspaper on the box they’d turned upside down for a table.
Deep, cleansing breaths helped. So did leaning against the cool concrete wall and closing her eyes. She pushed off the wall and sat on one of the folding chairs. Eventually, it would get easier. Maybe not the grief part, but the anger part.I hope.When she thought about Johnny, she didn’t want to think about his death—she wanted to think abouthim. Smiling, laughing, singing. His beautiful face.
“I miss you,” she whispered, rubbing her palms against her thighs. But missing him didn’t stop her from being angry with him. And she was oh so angry. “I miss you so much.” Her words were a garbled mess and there were tears on her cheeks but, for a second, she didn’t fight them.
“Loretta?”
She jumped, surprised by Travis King’s sudden arrival.
“You left this.” His voice was low and soft.
Her phone. Her purse. She blinked, beyond embarrassed.That’s what running away gets you.“Thank you.” Her hand was shaking when she reached for her things—making things ten times worse.
“Here.” Travis dug in his pocket and pulled out a white cotton handkerchief. “It’s clean. Wrinkled, but clean.”
She sniffed, eyeing the white fabric.
“You can not like me and still take my handkerchief.” He shook his head. “And, no, I’m not offering it because I’m trying to change your mind, either.”
It wouldn’t work.She sniffed again, her throat too tight to answer.
“You’re crying.” He cleared his throat, those blue-green eyes focused solely on her. “Please…take it.”
She did, whispering, “Thank you.”
“Someone called.” He nodded at her phone.
She tapped her phone. Donnie Gram aka Deep Breath. Her father. Not that the reminder to take deep breaths before she answered ever help.What do you want now?Because that was why he was calling. That was the only reason he ever called her. It was enough to have her slam the phone down on the cardboard box, knocking the cup over and the newspaper to the ground.
Travis knelt, stacking the paper back together and placing it back on the box. “Everything okay?”
She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “Yes.” From the corner of her eyes, an image caught her eye. The paper.
Not a real newspaper—it was one of those shock-headline gossip rags.
With Johnny’s picture.
And a headline that set her stomach churning and made the pulse in her temple throb.
JOHNNY HAWKINS’S DEATH: OVERDOSE OR SUICIDE.
***
Fuck.One look at her face was all he needed to know just how much that classless headline gutted her. If she hadn’t made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, he’d probably have hugged her. He’d caught sight of her face when Emmy Lou had hugged her.
The longing he’d seen… Add this fucking paper? Dammit. Loretta Gram needed hugging.
