Our history may have been long buried in the past, but there was a lot of it.
Augusta Belle’s wet fingers threaded through my own then, resting her head on my shoulder. “Let’s go inside, Fallon.”
I swallowed the jagged shards clogging my throat before nodding, taking a moment to place a kiss on her damp forehead before leading her through the double doors of the hotel and up to our room.
As soon as I swung the door open, Augusta was kicking off her shoes and moving across the carpet, eyes on the pillows. She curled up in bed, losing herself in the mountain of covers before peeking out, her silky dark eyes swimming up at me as a soft smile parted her lips. “Thanks for letting me sing with you.” Her grin deepened. “I loved it. I’m surprised how much I loved it. I didn’t even think, I just started singin’ like I always do.”
I sat next to her on the bed, back propped against the headboard, the fingertips of one hand tracing through the waves of her hair. “Surprised me, I’ll give ya that.”
“Didn’t think I could sing?” She curled against my torso, one arm draping across my chest.
“Oh, I knew you could sing. Just didn’t think you could do it onstage.” I paused, remembering the feeling of seeing her up there, singin’ her sweet heart out like a songbird. “Hell, most days I don’t want to do it, but you looked natural.”
Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, eyes fading somewhere far away. “Does that mean you’re gonna let me stay and sing with you tomorrow?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Lookin’ forward to it.”
She paused, fingertips drawing invisible circles around the cotton of my T-shirt before she finally said, “I hated ‘Whiskey Girl’ when it first came on the radio.”
I barked a laugh before stifling it with the back of my hand and replying, “S’that right?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She emphasized both words. “When everyone was singing it on their smuggled MP3 players, I wanted to strangle them each with the headphone cord.” Her eyes fell closed, tense muscles of her angelic face softening. “Then they told me the name of the singer. Fallon Gentry.” She yawned, snuggling a little deeper into my arms. “And then I knew why I hated it. It was about us. I didn’t even wanna come home to the Ridge after that. Mama said the rumor mill was workin’ overtime.” Her voice grew quiet, a little sadder. “I just couldn’t face it all over again.”
I nodded, for the first time understanding the position I’d put her in when I’d signed off on the worldwide release of “Whiskey Girl” to those producers. It’d never been about me. That song was about both of us.
And maybe deep down, even then, I’d known that, and that’s why I’d done it anyway. A misplaced sense of revenge. Or maybe a beacon. Probably both.
Augusta Belle sniffed softly, lips parting as her breaths found a slower rhythm.
My eyes cast around the room, taking in the small place, the lonely bottle of amber liquid the only thing glinting in the silver moonlight.
I groaned, adjusting myself around her slightly, the idea of waking her up at all preventing me from doing anything more.
I licked my lips, mouth watering as I thought about just a small nightcap to put me to sleep.
And then Augusta Belle sighed in her sleep, remindin’ me that right here with her in my arms I was a helluva lot better than I’d been in a while. I licked my lips, mind wandering to that song I’d been working over in my head.
“Wait. Smuggled MP3 players?” My brain finally settled on the new bit of information she’d mentioned. “Where the hellwereyou, Augusta?”
But by that time, her eyes were already drifting closed, shallow breaths deepening.
I stifled a groan, wondering where in the hell she could have been hiding out ten years ago.
I pushed myself down deeper into the duvet, turning over to wrap Augusta Belle in my arms fully.
A brief smile turned her lips before she breathed sweetly, “I love you, Fallon.”
I fell asleep that night with a heart the size of eastern Tennessee thrumming in my chest, my soul finally quiet now that it’d found its mate again.
Even if the sweet honey scent of her left an afterburn I wasn’t yet willing to brave.
FIFTEEN
Fallon
I woke up the next morning, the smell of peaches and honey absent.
My eyes shot open, and I pulled myself out of the bed, my only thought on finding Augusta.
