He’s got to get back there.
Somehow.
Seth steps into the bar, the smell of whiskey hitting him like a memory. The space is dim, grungy. A lesson in dive bar. Frosted windows. Horseshoe booths line both sides of the belt buckle–decorated wall. A jukebox sputters Eric Church. A large stage takes up the entire back half of the room. Behind the bar, the bartender preps for her shift. A gray-haired old man, the lone customer, sits on a barstool nursing a beer and a cup of coffee.
Seth peers closer, realization dawning. “Graham?”
At the sound of his name, the familiar drawl, the old man swivels around on his barstool. “Seth Kincaid?” His bushy brows quirk together as he stares, owl-eyed. “Kid, that you?”
Seth grins, swaggers. “One and only.”
“Well, I’ll be good and goddamned.” To the bartender, he says, “This kid is insane on the fiddle.” Graham crooks a finger toward the stool next to him. “Stop standin’ there gawkin like an idiot and sit down and have a beer.”
Seth chuckles. It’s the same old Graham he remembers. A little more weathered and gnarled, but still ornery and kicking.
Seth takes a seat at the bar. The bartender slides him a beer and smiles. “Loved your last album,” she says with the effortless cool of a pro who interacts with big acts.
Nodding his thanks, Seth whistles as his eyes scour the bar. “Man, never thought I’d see you in LA.” He turns his attention to Graham. “How’s country music farin’ out here?”
“We get some good acts.” Graham gives a proud nod. “Gets rough and rowdy on a Saturday night like it should be.” He sucks the tobacco in his lip. “This place has been in my mind for the last twenty years. Finally got it out and up a few years ago.” He appraises Seth. “Brothers Kincaid ain’t doin’ so shabby themselves.”
“Hell, we owe you, man. Pulled us out of the gutter.”
A highlight of Seth’s career was performing with Graham when the Brothers Kincaid were just beginning. Even now, even as famous as they are, he can’t help but get starstruck by Graham. The guy’s a legend.
Graham barks a smoker’s laugh. “You kids would have got there, eventually. I just gave you a boost in the ass.”
“Best boost in the business,” Seth drawls and Graham snorts. “How’s Becky doin’?”
Graham’s mustache twitches. “Passed last year.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, man.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry for. She was a damn good woman. Lived a damn good life.”
“Damn straight.”
They lift their beers and clink, each of them taking long sips in honor of Graham’s late wife.
“What brings you out to this neck of the woods?” Graham spits tobacco into his coffee cup. “You finally leave Guitar Town?”
Seth laughs. “Nah. Just helpin’ out a friend.”
The words are hard to get out. They seem like a disservice to Lacey. Like a lie.
Graham arches a bushy brow. “Long way to come for a friend.”
Seth shakes his head ruefully as his thoughts shift from the present to the past. That kiss from last night. Sleeping next to Lacey like he didn’t have a care in the world. Lacey ain’t just a friend. Or a fling. After last night, he knows that now. Being out here with her has him feeling like himself again. Some semblance of the old Seth Kincaid. Not so lost, a little more found.
Graham lets out a grunt, breaking him from his pensive thoughts. “You runnin’ away from that trouble in the paper?”
Seth sighs at Graham’s take-no-prisoners approach to the conversation and scrubs a hand over his face. The last thing he wants to do is talk about the Nashville Star article. Leave it to Graham to hit the nail on the goddamn head.
Seth finds his voice, the truth sticking like glass in his throat. “Gettin’ away from everything,” he admits. “But I don’t know if runnin’ away’s gonna do it.”
To his surprise, Graham doesn’t push. Instead, he says, “Let me tell you somethin’, kid. You can’t get far followin’ that lost highway. There ain’t no shame takin’ a beat to figure out what you want.” Graham’s milky eyes stare him down. “Sometimes if you ain’t sure where you’re goin’, you stand there. You stay in one goddamn place and when you figure that shit out, that’s when you move. You understand?”
Seth nods and grips his beer, considering it. “Yeah. I do.”
“You oughta bring her by.”
Seth looks up. “Who?”
“That girl you’re thinkin’ about. Bring her by, or bring me a song.” Stretching, Graham slips off the barstool. “It’s the only way you’re gettin’ back in here, kid.”
Seth snorts, watching in amusement as the old man hobbles across the bar. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”
Graham cackles. “Listen to your elders, kid. We know all the good country lies.”