Page 136 of Highball Rush
“That’s actually a good idea. I know he’d love to meet you.” She poked my chest.
“He won’t try to talk me into some record deal, will he?”
Callie ran her hand down my chest. “He might nudge you a little, but he won’t push hard. He’s a man who knows how to take no for an answer and not let it hurt his ego.”
“I hate him less already.”
She laughed and I pulled her against me. Wrapped my arms around her. I kissed the top of her head and held her close.
“I don’t care what happens, I wouldn’t trade this for anything,” I said quietly. “Before you, my life wasn’t much. Now I have everything. And you can be damn sure I’m gonna fight to keep it.”
Slipping her arms around my waist, she rested her head against my chest and took a deep breath. “I love you so much, Gibson Bodine.”
“I love you too, Callie. Everything’s gonna turn out okay. I promise.”
41
MAYA
The mood in the Brunch Club was serious, despite the stack of bacon and egg pastries on the table. I sat near the back with a wall of men blocking my view of most of the cute little restaurant. George, Devlin, Jameson, Jonah, Bowie, Buck, Sonny Fullson, Nash, and Jimmy Bob Prosser all stood in a curved row, partially surrounding my table while we waited for my press conference.
Jenny sat with me, alternately giving my hand, then Gibson’s, reassuring squeezes. Like she couldn’t help momming on us both. I appreciated it. And the sweetest thing was, I could tell Gibson did, too. He didn’t let many people touch him—other than me and our dog—but he let her. He didn’t pull away or glare at her, or cross his arms so she couldn’t reach his hand. He left it sitting out, like he was inviting her to keep loving on him a little.
It made me love both of them even more.
The Bodine’s family lawyer, Jayme, tapped the toe of her stiletto. She stood with arms crossed, her attention on her phone. She was sleek and intimidating in her black pantsuit. Although she wasn’t here for me—she was here as legal representation for the Bodines—her mildly threatening presence was oddly comforting. At least she was on our side.
The media turnout wasn’t big, but we hadn’t expected it to be. The way Bootleg had fooled so many bloggers and journalists last winter made a lot of them reluctant to come back, especially for anything related to the Callie Kendall story.
And Sheriff Tucker had been adamant about not leaking too much information, even in an effort to get more reporters to come. He wasn’t sure about going to the press at all. Said he’d rather we wait until the FBI had a chance to review the evidence and arrest the Kendalls.
He didn’t know my parents like I did. They were coming. I could feel it, as if the fall winds carried the stench of their evil all the way to West Virginia.
If I told the world who I was—if people knew and word started to spread—at least they wouldn’t be able to have me killed and sweep my death under the rug. I needed more than the people of Bootleg Springs to know I was alive.
And I had no doubt they wanted me gone. I’d always known. From the moment I’d walked out the door and run away from home, I’d known what it meant.
I just had to hope the FBI would move in on them soon. And that the case would stick and they’d both go to prison. Hopefully forever.
For now, I told myself we didn’t need a lot of journalists here. Once I made my public statement, and we showed my DNA results proving who I was, word would spread. We’d help it along. Leah Mae was already poised to post the story in a hundred different places online. She had bloggers on standby all over the country, waiting for the big news out of Bootleg Springs.
The door opened, but I couldn’t see past the wall of Bootleg men.
“Y’all about ready?” It was Scarlett’s voice.
Jenny reached over and squeezed Gibson’s hand again, then mine. “You’re going to do great.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” I said. “For everything.”
The men parted like an automatic door. Gibson shadowed me as I walked outside, his imposing presence palpable behind me. I clutched a stack of index cards with what I wanted to say written on them. I didn’t want to let my nerves get the best of me and forget everything in the face of the crowd.
Because a crowd there was. It looked like all of Bootleg Springs had come to Gin Rickey Park, gathering in front of the makeshift podium Mayor Auggie had erected this morning. The wooden platform was slightly more official-looking than the crate in Old Jefferson Waverly’s barn. Speakers had been set up and a microphone was ready on a metal stand.
My stomach fluttered, and not in the good way. Those nervous butterflies flapped their wings so hard they whipped up a tornado in my belly. Suddenly that breakfast Shelby had talked me into eating this morning seemed like it might have been a terrible mistake.
Gibson’s gentle touch on my back instantly calmed the storm. I realized I’d stopped walking.
“You’re gonna be just fine,” he said quietly into my ear. His low voice washed over me like cool water on a hot summer day. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
