Augusta Belle’s face was lit from ear to ear for the first time since I’d finally set eyes on her sweet self again, and I was just the intoxicated asshole sitting on the sidelines, happy to be in the glow of her sunlight.
It’d been a long damn time since I’d felt the shine of the sun on my face.
I set my guitar down for a moment, reaching for the bottle of beer the bartender had deposited at the side of the stage for me.
A few soft strums of an familiar tune about rendered me speechless.
I spun, eyes focused on my girl, sitting center stage on the stool, my old guitar in her lap.
Her voice, clear and sweeter than a blackbird, echoed through the small room, now standing silently, watching her.
I stepped off the stage, watching them watch her as she crooned the sweet melody of an old Beatles song.
Something inside cracked my heart open, watching her perform up there all by herself.
I couldn’t help thinking how natural she looked.
And where she’d learned to play guitar like that, I couldn’t fathom. She’d only had a basic understanding with a few simple songs I’d taught her before…well, that night.
I gnawed on my bottom lip, feeling the muscles in my body relax one by one as she opened up to the song, sang it slow and sweet, drawing out the end notes like an angel.
How I’d survived without her all these years, I didn’t know.
I certainly hadn’t done a very good job of it. Just a day spent with her proved it.
I sighed, something deep rooting down inside me as she ended the song on a quiet note, then hung her head, eyes casting up at me through her eyelashes with a hesitant smile.
I was so fucking proud of her I wanted to scoop her into my arms and take her back to that hotel room right now.
My rare bird, always poised on the edge, finally ready to fly.
I pushed a hand through my hair, stepping up onstage and passing her the cold beer.
She took a slow sip, then passed my guitar back to me.
I grinned recklessly, a downright happy feeling coming over me for the first time in too long.
“Got any more surprises?” I crooked a grin.
She shrugged one shoulder, the mischievous glint in her eye telling me all I needed to know.
I licked my lips, sliding the other stool up beside her, cradling my guitar in my lap and strumming the first few notes to a song I knew everyone would know.
“Whiskey Girl.”
I’d been dreading performing this one in front of her, certainly hadn’t planned on her being shoulder to shoulder with me when I did.
But I carried on, gave the people the one song they could all sing along to.“It’s not easy to forget, the bitter taste lovin’ you left…”
I caught a glimpse of Augusta Belle, still at my side as I sang the song, tore my soul open, and laid it at her feet.
I’d written this song in the first week she’d been gone, hadn’t even intended for another soul to hear it.
And now here I was, sharing my rawest pain with not just the entire world, but the girl who’d inspired it.
“Always my favorite sin, even when I swore I wouldn’t go back again…”
I held the middle chorus, stretching out the sweet, haunting notes of the guitar longer than they were all used to, something I’d been playin’ with over the last few months. It gave the song more of a “Hotel California” feeling, forlorn and regretful.
