Unless Griff’s going to tell her his reason for leaving Clover, she wants to leave the past behind them. And it’s on the tip of her tongue to say just that when she suddenly busts out laughing.
The look on Griff’s handsome face has suddenly morphed into an expression so disgusted it could curdle milk.
“What on earth’s got your face so ugly?”
Without a word, he lifts a finger to point at the speakers above them.
Alabama listens. And hears it. The Brothers Kincaid’s catchy new single “Second Chances.” Luke’s smooth voice rings out in a passionate southern drawl.
I woke up early one mornin’, answerin’ the dawn of sun
My wife was beside me sleepin’, dreamin somethin’ in her mind
Lord, I lay in bed just starin’, like a lovesick son of a gun
Because second chances don’t come easy and I’m grateful that she’s mine.
Alabama frowns at Griff’s surly scowl, realizing he’s serious. “You really dislike the guy, don’t you?”
She doesn’t know whether to be amused or shocked by Griff’s fury. By the tender look of protection blazing in his eyes.
“Dislike ain’t strong enough a word.” He turns to her. “If I ever see Luke Kincaid, the two of us, we’re gonna have words.”
“What’d he ever do to you?”
“You mean besides throw you under the bus?”
“Luke’s not that bad.”
His eyes practically pop out of his head. “Not that bad. Christ, Al, he sold you down the river.”
“‘Sold you down the river’? Really, Griff, who talks like that?” She shakes her head. “And he did not. Mort outed us both. All Luke did was protect his wife and his band. He’s gotta be loyal to them. Not me.” She bumps her shoulder to his. “Besides you’re just jealous the Brothers Kincaid don’t have to act like assholes to sell records.”
“Yeah, well, I still think the guy’s a prick,” Griff grumbles, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the thighs of his jeans.
“It ain’t the same for guys,” she says softly. “Hell, Griff, you went to jail, you hate Clover, you weren’t even born there, and you still got a statue in our hometown.” Griff frowns as if he’s just now realizing her truth and doesn’t like it. Alabama continues. “You take any girl to bed and you’re a saint. I make one bad decision and I’m branded a slut for life.”
A contrite look crosses Griff’s face. But Alabama’s not done. Something’s turned on inside of her. A hot flush of embarrassment, yes, but also a purging of the soul. It seems like everywhere she goes, she has to admit, to deny, to deflect. She’s sick of it. Sick of running, sick of sticking her head in the sand, sick of saying sorry. Nashville’s a big city, but it’s got small-town fangs. It will never let her forget.
No one knows the real story but Alabama—why she did what she did with Mort.
“I hear what they’re saying about me in the press. I know what you heard. That I’m a whore. That I slept with Mort. That I’ll suck anyone’s dick to get ahead.” Griff winces. She plows forward, wanting to make sure he hears her and understands. Because even though they’ve been estranged for years, she realizes it still matters what he thinks of her. Even if the truth is an embarrassing hot mess of petty bullshit.
She peers at Griff. He’s frowning her way, his tawny eyes clouded and wary. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Kissing Luke to set him up for Mort was a mistake, and I did do that, Griff. I own that. But all that other stuff ... I’m not that girl. I would never—”
“I know that.”
She blinks. “You do?”
“I do. You don’t deserve any of that,” Griff says fiercely. “Not you, Al. I know you.”
“Used to.”
He sighs. “Alabama ...”
Tears spring to her eyes. Unbidden, but she can’t stop them. Just the belief, the conviction in his voice ...
He’s been the first person to stand by her. To stand up for her. Even her own father hadn’t backed her during the mess with Six String.