He finishes with a vibrating chord, shaking Betty to pull more from her, and everyone goes wild, clapping and cheering, and even a loud whistle from Unc, fill the room.
“Screw them, Bobby!”
“They don’t know what they’re missing!”
“I love you!”
People call out encouragement, supporting him the only way they know how—loudly and vehemently. Bobby might feel like his family has a bad reputation, but when push comes to shove with outsiders, Great Falls has the Tannens’ backs. There’s no doubt about that.
“Thanks,” Bobby says, and I swear he looks surprised at the positive response. “This next one, I wrote it for someone special.”
His eyes lift from the crowd and meet mine across the room. For all the crowd, there might as well be only me and him here. I swear I can see the future in the way he looks at me. I smile, stopping what I’m doing to listen. I want to hear this, don’t want to miss a single note or word because I’ve seen how hard he works to get them just right.
Chasing down my dream so I can give you yours.
The proof of a man is in his woman’s eyes.
Storm for me, shine for me, show your soul for me.
And I’ll dig down deep to get mine so you can have yours.
Before he’s made it through the first chorus, I’m crying. Happy tears and sad tears, or some combination of the two. He wrote this thinking he would get that deal and we’d start a new life together, not leave me behind. The proof of that is obvious in this song.
His heart is in every line, his dream in every chord.
And though it might not have ended up quite the way we thought that trip would, that future can still be ours. All I need is for us to be together. That’s enough. It’s more than enough.
He’s all I need.
I pull my phone out, taking a picture of him onstage, singing this song to me for the first time. Click.
Everyone else claps as the song ends, but Bobby’s heated look across the space is all for me. Click.
“All right, folks. Enough sappy shit,” Bobby says, flashing a cocky grin. “This is a honkytonk, not a Celine Dion concert. You know what time it is . . . get a drink, raise it up, and don’t forget to tip your waitress and bartenders.”
There’s a resounding rush for beers before Bobby rolls off into a few cover songs to get the crowd riled up. They sing along, the whole crowd swaying with their hands in the air, giving the bar a sense of community.
This is Bobby Tannen’s party. We’re just the lucky attendees to this shindig. And for a moment, he seems more like himself, the rough and tough cowboy with a golden heart who sets my whole body on fire when he says filthy things in my ear while filling me. That’s who’s onstage right now.
I sing along with him under my breath as I make drinks, keeping up with the tickets and checking on Unc as I make my way up and down the bar. It seems like he’s doing better now, pulling beers and talking to Richard, who showed up a bit ago.
I see a new shirt at the far side of the bar and make my way over. “What can I get you?” I ask the guy’s back.
He answers over his shoulder, watching Bobby onstage. “Johnnie Walker Black, neat.”
I pour his drink and set it on a napkin. “Tab?”
“No.” He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a twenty, and lays it down.
I’m mentally calculating his change when he says, “Keep it.”
“Thanks.” I drop the bill in my apron, ready to move on to my next customer, but he finally turns around. I recognize him instantly.
“Jeremy? I mean, Mr. Marshall?”
I only saw him the one time, when he was asking questions about Bobby, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the man who offered Bobby a shot at his dream before he snatched it away.
“You must be The Willow?” There’s a sneer in the way he says my name that I don’t understand.
“Well, I’m Willow. I don’t know about The Willow.” I have no idea what he’s talking about or why he’s looking at me like I’m some weird anomaly. It makes me feel the way I used to as an awkward kid. To him, I’m an outsider, easily dismissed.
Jeremy laughs as though I said something funny, and I frown.
“Well, Bobby would disagree with you there. He thinks you’re something really special.” It should be a compliment, but it certainly sounds like an insult.
“What?” I blink in confusion. “We seem to be having two different conversations here.” An idea springs to life, fully formed in my mind, and excitement rushes through my entire body. “Oh, my God, did you change your mind? Are you here to offer Bobby a deal after all?”