Page 9 of Country Music Cowboy
Instead, he grabbed the page and wadded it up. “People are assholes.” He stared at the crumpled paper ball in his hands. “But the people that write this sort of shit? They make the assholes look like saints.”
She hadn’t moved. The page was gone, but she stared as if it was still there—as if the words had branded themselves into the pages beneath.
Johnny Hawkins’s addiction and depression had been public knowledge; it wasn’t a huge leap to assume the worst. In the three weeks Johnny had been at the Oasis with him, Travis had quickly learned that Johnny used humor to deflect or dodge questions that dug too deeply into his past. Since Travis tended to do the same thing, they’d gotten along well.
But there was no doubt Johnny had been haunted by something. After he’d been found dead in his bathtub, there’d been speculation. After all, a celebrity overdose offered up months of sales. Throw in some irrelevant but easily manipulated interviews, add some hard facts about Johnny’s struggles, and toss in a real humdinger like some childhood trauma or recent heartbreak. It was all about making money and that sort of crap was solid gold. But every single time one of these bastards came up with a new hypothesis, Johnny would be stripped bare for loyal fans and tabloid readers alike.
And those closest to him? Like Loretta? It wasn’t just words or a story to her… It was being dragged back through that hell all over again.
Dammit all.
She could hate him all she wanted, but he couldn’t leave her. He sat in the other folding chair, not saying a word, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Sometimes knowing someone was there was enough. For him, anyway. Hell, he had a full basketball team full of people there for him.
Who did she have?
Her phone started ringing, the words “Deep Breath” scrolling across her phone screen. He wasn’t one to judge but, as far as nicknames went, that was weird.
Loretta sort of crumpled into herself. Hands, and his handkerchief, covering her face. He heard a muffled groan but couldn’t come up with a thing to say before she reached for the phone.
“Hi.” She swallowed. “Rehearsal.” Another pause. “For tomorrow night, yes.” She stood then, wrapping one arm around her waist as she walking to the far end of the hall. “No. No one. I’m going alone. I couldn’t get an extra ticket, I told you that.”
She glanced his way then, but her expression was mostly shielded by the fall of her thick hair. He took comfort in one thing.She’s not glaring.That was something.
His phone vibrated, but he didn’t have to look to know who it was. Loretta’s quick departure hadn’t gone unnoticed. How could it? She’d all but bolted from the stageandleft her phone and purse behind. Once her fight-or-flight instinct had been triggered, everything else had been forgotten.
Is she okay?Emmy Lou texted.
From the corner of his eye, he took inventory.Was she?Loretta’s posture was ramrod stiff, the grip on her phone white-knuckled, but her face gave nothing away.I’m not sure.He responded.
We’re going back to the suite. Join us when you can. Love you.The blue dots scrolled across the screen before Emmy Lou followed up with another text.She is welcome to join us, of course.
He smiled at the screen. His little sisters could be a huge pain in the ass, but he was damn lucky to have them. If he’d ever needed proof of their loyalty or love, the last year had done just that. Once he’d dried out and had his head straight, he’d vowed never to take them for granted again. Not that he’d ever stop teasing them.
Love you too.Travis sent his text and slid his phone back into his pocket.
“How much? I thought that was paid.” Loretta’s voice rose slightly. “When do you need it?”
Now that he could hear her conversation, he wasn’t sure he should be listening.
“It’s not that at all.” She ran her hand over her hair, twirling one long strand around her fingers. “That’s not fair.” Her tone was brittle. “Why are you saying that?”
He tossed the wadded-up paper back and forth, debating what to do.
“I’ll get it.” She sighed. “Give me a couple of days and you’ll get it.” Another pause. “I have to go.” Seconds later, the phone disappeared into the pocket of her dress.
He tried to give her a minute, tried to act like he was just hanging out—not making sure she was okay. But she saw him glance her way and she wasn’t happy.
“It’s rude to listen to people’s private conversations.” She didn’t look at him. “What did you hear?”
“Me?” He held up his hands, the paper ball falling to the ground. “Nothing. I wasn’t listening.”
Her brows crinkled, a deep V creasing her forehead. “You were just…sitting here?”
He stood. “Yeah, pretty much.” He dragged his fingers through his hair.
Her long hair swayed as she shook her head. “Travis, I—”
“You don’t like me.” He cut her off. “I’ll leave. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
