The bar’s silent except for the sound of Holly’s broom sweeping the peanut-strewn floor. As soon as the last patron stumbles out of the bar, Holly drops the broom, scattering peanut shells, and latches onto Alabama’s elbow. “What happened out there?”
Alabama teeters, holding tight to the sticky beer glasses she’s cleared from a table. “With what?”
“With what? Don’t you mean with who? No way,” Holly says when she sees Alabama clamming up. She plucks the glasses from Alabama’s grasp, sets them on the bar, and sits Alabama on a stool. “You are not hangin’ me out to dry. Dish. Now.”
Alabama groan-laughs. “Okay, okay.”
“So? What happened between you two?”
Alabama’s smile fades. “There is no us two. Not anymore.”
She glances at the door where Griff had stormed out hours earlier. His hands in his pockets, his cowboy boots burning rubber across the hardwood floor. Ready, willing and happy to get the hell away from Alabama.
Then, because Holly’s waiting, she says, “He wants me to go on tour with him.”
Holly’s jaw unhinges. “And?”
“And I said no.” Alabama shakes her head at the frown lines appearing in Holly’s brow. “He can get someone else. Lord knows he probably has a harem waitin’ in the wings.” She stands and moves behind the bar, where she starts violently stacking bottles of whiskey.
Holly’s staring at her like she’s had a lobotomy. Maybe she has. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m not, but I’m sure you’re fixin’ to tell me why.”
Though Holly’s a cry-on-her-shoulder type of friend, she’s also a call-you-on-your-shit, put-you-in-your-place soul sister.
“Al, you need the money.” Holly’s voice is a reproving hush. “This is a one-way ticket to payin’ off all your legal bills. Not to mention Six String.”
Alabama flinches. Holly’s right. The minute Griff showed up with his offer, she knew the tour would be her straight shot out of debt. But Griff being the source of that money, the one serving the offer to her on a silver platter, has her digging her stubborn heels in. It’s bad enough he showed up looking damn good in those blue jeans. Now he’s gotta be the one to save her. No thanks. Hard pass.
“I can’t work with him. Whenever I think about him, I want to kill him.” Alabama puts away a bottle of Bulleit. “We just don’t work anymore.”
“You’re thinkin’ about this all wrong.” Holly tosses a rag over her shoulder and sashays across the bar. Alabama cocks a brow. Holly continues. “This ain’t about that sleazy womanizer who broke your heart back in high school. This ain’t about the fact that Griff Greyson looks like one fine, juicy slice of outlaw. This is about you, honey. This is your chance.”
“My chance to what?”
“To prove everyone wrong. To take the stage again and show them the real Alabama Forester. You don’t need Griff.” Holly takes her by the shoulders and gives her a good shake. “You’re a pro in this business, Al. You’ve had some great songs. Sometimes I think you forget that.”
Alabama smiles, loving her friend’s fierce cheer-up sesh. “Sometimes I think you oughta be the voice inside my head instead of me.” She dips to lift a box of limes ready for the fridge. As she stands, a sharp pain shoots through her hip and she sucks in a pained breath.
Holly winces in sympathy. “Your hip?”
Alabama nods, grinding her teeth against the endless throbbing pain.
“I’m telling you, Al, you gotta stop wearin’ heels. They’re killin’ you.”
“Oh, so you’re a doctor now?”
“No. I just pay attention to when my best friend is in pain.” Holly takes the box from Alabama, balancing it on her hip. “Go change your shoes. I’ll finish up tomorrow’s prep.”
She floats Holly a thankful smile and hobbles to the storage room. She flicks on the fluorescent light and is immediately greeted by a hissing noise. A small sigh of relief escapes her as she seats herself on a wooden crate. Dipping forward, she slips off her heels, slides on the comfortable slippers she’s stashed behind the bread boxes.
Taking a moment, Alabama exhales and kneads her right hip. She closes her eyes, a mistake, because suddenly, the memories take over and she’s back on the Ridge.
She took her daddy’s Jeep without asking. One of the first big fat mistakes of her life. She let Griff drive them up that dark dirt road to the Ridge, a sandstone cliff overlooking Lake Lynn. But the accident wasn’t his fault. Alabama had been egging him on, telling him to gun it, and he did. They were young. Teenagers. Reckless, wild and in love. She thought they were invincible, and then Griff hit a soft shoulder and rolled the Jeep like it was a wagon wheel. They fell ten feet down the cliff but, luckily, landed on a rocky ledge before they hit the bottom. She remembers waking up upside down, her seat belt the only thing holding her in until help arrived. They took both her and Griff to a hospital in Austin. While Griff had a gash on his face, they released him the next day. Alabama fractured her pelvis in three places but was up and back to normal by the time the summer was over.
Griff stuck around until she healed, then he left.
But did she really heal? She thought so until she saw Griff tonight.