I nodded and headed back inside, the sounds of the club washing over me like a wave. The bass line from the next song was already starting, and I could hear the girls calling out to customers, and the clink of bottles and glasses. It was back to business as usual, which was just how I liked it.
No more drama.
Making my way back toward my office, I passed the dressing room and just happened to catch sight of the TV mounted in the corner.
“Turn that up,” I demanded, my chest tightening as I caught sight of a familiar face on the screen.
Hattie Lynn.
Seeing her face on the screen felt like a punch straight to my balls.
“...rumors are swirling tonight that country music superstar Hattie Lynn Jackson and NFL quarterback Shawn Henley have called it quits,” the TMZ host was saying with obvious glee. “Sources close to the couple say Jackson discovered Henley in a compromising position with an unnamed woman earlier this evening.”
The camera cut to footage of Hattie Lynn leaving what looked like a high-end apartment building, her face hiddenbehind oversized sunglasses as she drove away from a crowd of photographers.
“The couple, who have been engaged for over a year, were expected to tie the knot this fall,” the host continued. “But it looks like this fairy tale romance has come to a very public end. And honestly? We can’t say we’re surprised. These two never seemed to have much chemistry anyway.”
The other girls in the dressing room were making sympathetic noises, talking about how awful it must be to have your personal business splashed all over the news.
They were right, but all I could think about was that my Hattie was single again. She wasn’t engaged to that fuckhead anymore.
My lips turned up.
Well fuck.
Chapter Three
Hattie Lynn
The dirt roadstretched out in front of us was exactly like I remembered—rutted in spots from years of being driven on, and lined with big old oak trees full of Spanish moss. It was like something out of a movie. And it led to the only place that had ever felt like home.
“Holy shit,” Sondra breathed. My eyes flicked to her riding shotgun in the passenger seat. When our plane landed in Panama, we were sort of stranded. I didn’t want to call my label and have them send a private car. That was a sure fire way for someone to leak my whereabouts, and I didn’t want that. I needed a few days to wrap my head around what my next move was without the press bombarding me.
Thankfully, Sondra had her credit card on her and we were able to rent a car. I glanced down at the steering wheel of the big ass SUV I was driving.
“This is where you grew up?” she asked.
My chest tightened as the old white farmhouse came into view. The property sat on the prettiest twenty-four acres of the most beautiful land in all of Odin. The house had a big wraparound porch that was still painted a soft blue that my Granny insisted kept the bugs away, and her favorite rocking chairs were still angled just right to catch the breeze that blew in off the ocean a few blocks away. It was perfect.
“Yeah.” I couldn’t help but smile at the awe in her voice. "This is home.”
She turned to look at me, her brows pulled together in confusion. “But I thought you grew up in Murfreesboro?”
I laughed, shaking my head as I put the SUV in park. “Nope. That was just a story my record label made up. They thought the image of me being raised by an outlaw biker might not go over so well.” I shrugged. Back then I hadn’t thought much about it, but now I was ashamed of myself for bending the knee to their will.
“How did I not know that?” She sounded almost offended that she’d missed such a huge detail about my life.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling guilty for not being more open about who Hattie Lynn Jackson really was. “I don’t really talk about home much, I guess.”
That was putting it mildly. The truth was, I’d been so busy running from my past and everything I’d lost eight years ago that I barely acknowledged it existed. Even to the people closest to me.
Before Sondra could ask any more questions the front door of the house burst open, and my heart damn near exploded with happiness.
“Hattie Lynn Jackson!” my Granny Jean called out, wiping her hands on her apron that was no doubt covered in flour. “You get your behind up here right this instant!”
Like my ass was on fire, I threw open the door and sprinted up those rickety porch steps until I was standing right in front of her with my heart in my throat.
“Hi,” I whispered, my voice cracking as tears welled up in my eyes.
