He used that line. On me. He said being with me felt like coming home. And now he’s singing it, in this room full of people. Bastard.
I can’t be in the same room with him. I can’t meet his baby blue eyes and not feel what I did. If I am going to make it through the rest of this night, I can’t listen to this song. Not when I know exactly where it comes from.
I push through the mesmerized crowd. Yes, it’s quite possible that Tanner Jakes will be the next big thing in country music, but I won’t be the one going over his contracts.
People give me nasty looks when I bump them aside. I don’t care. It’s self-preservation. Either I get through, or they are going to witness my complete breakdown.
I’m going to be sick all over this floor if I don’t get out of here right now.
“It’s so romantic,” a redheaded on my left sighs. I want to slug her. It’s not romantic if you know he wrote it about a woman with whom he cheated on his wife. Then it’s just disgusting.
And then I realize I can’t leave right now, because then I’d be locked into my job until I quit. I need this promotion, and sneaking out of this event would be my one-way ticket straight into a permanent career slump. Instead of feeling like some traumatized Cinderella, I decide to act like an adult and lock myself in the bathroom. I’m going to get through this.
I lean against the door and will my stomach back under control.
Screw everything. Twice.
His voice leaks through the door, and I give in to what’s been plaguing my dreams and hanging around during all my waking hours.
It was the best time of my life—or so I thought. I’d been seeing Tanner for six months or so. We’d met when I took a business trip to Nashville. He was the new kid on the block, just signed an agent—hadn’t even met Mathias or Triton yet. He built his audience all over the South, and when he couldn’t be in Atlanta with me, we’d spend long hours on emotional phone calls that made me ache just thinking about them.
The trip was his idea. Spur of the moment, which was always his way. His world was controlled chaos and I was happy to get swept up in it. The moments we had were brief and we made the most of them.
That weekend, Tanner had found a house on the Georgia coast. It was steps away from the beach, not that we made it out there much. He surprised me at work with a bag, whisking me away before I could even protest. It was a work-free weekend. A chance to throw caution to the wind.
Rob had been in on the whole plan, since he thought I could do with a bit of excitement in my life. Me, miss straight-laced and tightly-planned, running off for a spontaneous romantic weekend.
The long days blended into nights with seamless ease. He played me songs on his guitar, working through the kinks in his latest track. It was going to be his big hit. The one that would send him straight to the top of the charts and dominate the airwaves, making him a household name.
I’d curled up on the bed, in one of his discarded t-shirts, content to bask in his exuberance. But this song was giving him trouble.
“Speeding down that old dirt road out running….driving straight…” he’d stopped. Tried, and failed again.
“Driving down these old dirt roads always felt like coming home,” I suggested, draping my arms around him and breathing in the clean, citrus and cedar scent from his shower gel.
“I like that,” he said with a slow nod. “I can work with that.”
And just like that, it became the center of the song. The heart of our relationship.
Spontaneity. It’s what defined us. Surprise trips. Long nights. I’d open the door and there he’d be. I decided one day to try it myself. Be the one to knock on his door and tell him all about the crazy plans I had for us. So I flew to Nashville with stars in my eyes and a plan to play tourist hooky all weekend.
His house was old fashioned, with a garden that had blooms packed into every nook and cranny. At the time, I’d thought he just had a good gardener on staff. Then I knocked on the door and a woman answered. She was beautiful. Blond. Blue eyed. The sort of girl next door you expect a country singer to end up with.
“Can I help you?” she asked sweetly.
Like an idiot, I said, “I’m, um, looking for Tanner…”
Her pose went from casual to defensive in two seconds flat. She crossed her arms, fully displaying the heavy ring on her left hand.
“Well, maybe I can help you. I am, after all, his wife.”