Good Time Bad Boy (18 page)

“I wanted her to have better.” Daisy stood. It took every ounce of self-control she had to stay on her feet and stand tall. “You need to go. Don’t come back unless you can let this go. I won’t have you treat me like this about the adoption anymore.”

“You hate me.” Alice sounded small and defeated and for the first time like she might have an inkling of the damage she’d done.

“I don’t hate you, Momma, but I’m not gonna let you treat me like this anymore. You say I owe you respect. You owe me some respect, too.”

That was all Daisy could take. She fled into the trailer as fast as she could manage and locked the door behind her. Tears rained down and she sank to the floor. She cried in anger, in sadness. Fear. God, fear. She’d done the right thing for her child but nothing could make her mother accept that.

What if Alice was right about Wade? What if he found out and hated her for it? Even if he didn’t hate her, he might see her differently. How could he not?

Daisy worked to calm down then pulled herself to her feet. She had to know for herself about this album and the story behind it. Her laptop was in the kitchen. She made her way to it on wobbly legs and booted it up. It didn’t take long to find out Alice was telling the truth. Article after article confirmed it. Worse, the songs were on Youtube and other places. Listening to
Empty Rooms
brought a fresh round of tears.

He never sang it at the bar. She couldn’t imagine having to sing that night after night, because it won awards and people expected to hear it. Expected to get an up close and personal view of his deepest, most private pain. Jesus, no wonder he used to drink so heavily. Losing himself on the road for all those years made so much more sense now.

Her heart ached for him. She wanted to tell him that, well, she could never really understand, but she empathized.

She shook her head for having such a stupid thought. Telling him something like that was pointless. It wouldn’t help ease his pain. And if he knew the truth, and felt anywhere near like what Alice did about it...Daisy couldn’t take that. The thought of seeing contempt in his eyes froze her to the core.

“Just a little summer fling.” She repeated the words she’d spoken to Megan. If this was just a summer fling, why did the idea of saying goodbye to him, for any reason, hurt so damned much?

F
or the third night in a row, Wade stepped on to the Rocky Top stage without his hat. So far no one had commented, and he hadn’t talked about it either. It was likely he was the only person who saw any significance in the simple gesture.

There was a time in country music when a great many male artists were known as
hat acts
. Usually big black Stetsons, to be specific. Wade got his start when that was the thing. His record label wanted him to wear a hat, so he did. It didn’t matter to him and soon enough it felt like part of his stage persona, along with the too tight jeans and the colorful button down western shirts. He’d held onto that persona, that uniform, even throughout the endless years on the road. People expected to hear his old hits and they expected him to look like he had in those videos, so he did his best to give the audiences what they wanted.

He didn’t even think about it when he bought a new pair of jeans during his second week of residency at Rocky Top, a pair that actually fit, that he could move around in and not be afraid they’d split down the backside. It wasn’t until he realized he’d loosened up on stage some that he gave it any thought. Those old tight jeans had been the main reason he’d kept himself glued to one spot in front of the microphone. Now he wasn’t afraid to walk through the audience, or even dance with his guitar a little. Moves he hadn’t used in years, since his first time playing at Rocky Top, had his feet going all over the stage.

It wasn’t what the audience expected of him, but they damned sure seemed to like it. Especially the women.

The next thing to go had been those western shirts. He still liked some of them, but nobody booed when he showed up in a nice t-shirt, so he did it again. He felt like he was molting, peeling away layers of Wade Sheppard the Star to see what remained of Wade Sheppard the Man. It was terrifying on one level. No performer liked to disappoint their audience. But he figured if he did it piece by piece, layer by layer, then maybe not only would it be easier for him but also people wouldn’t notice so much. Until one day there he was, Wade Sheppard, himself, instead of a construct made of deliberate choices and carefully tested marketing ploys.

Now it was the hat’s turn to go.

He snapped the guitar strap in place then ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. “Good evening.”

The audience answered with a chorus of greetings. He looked for Daisy among the tables and didn’t see her. An itch of worry like a mosquito bite that wouldn’t heal clawed at him. They’d been playing phone tag for the last few days. At first he thought she was busy with Megan but the longer it went on, the more he was afraid she was having second thoughts about getting involved with him. The not knowing was eating at him but he didn’t want to force the issue. Not yet, at least.

He strummed the guitar idly, no longer sure what he wanted to play tonight. Saturday night crowds liked upbeat songs but he was about a million miles away from that. Usually he faked his way through a set under those circumstances but he didn’t think he could manage that tonight.

Unbidden, his fingers found a Spanish rhythm. He went with it for a while, until that jukebox in his head supplied a song to segue to –
I Never Cared For You
by Willie Nelson. The song was a lover’s lie, meant to protect against a broken heart. From there Wade continued in the same vein, Spanish rhythms and melancholy, Texas and California country with dust and grit sandpapering the notes and faded dreams coloring the lyrics. Some of it was music he’d known from childhood, but it took adulthood and rolling over those western highways at night under an endless blanket of stars to be able to play them with real meaning. Singing them as a young man, barely more than a boy, had been little more than a recitation of words and an attempt at mimicking the music. Now he could feel the difference as he played. He called on every mile along the road since to infuse the songs with empathy and clarity. Every narrator of every song had a different if somewhat similar story, and he did his best to tell those stories in a way that would make them as deeply felt by the audience as by himself.

Looking out over the crowd, he could tell he wasn’t reaching everybody. Here and there people were restless, wanting Saturday night party songs. But some were affected. He could see it in their thoughtful expressions, the way they nodded along to the beat and tapped their feet. A few couples swayed and glided across the small dance floor. A few people crawled inside whatever memories the music called forth, their eyes glazed with distance and old heartache.

Being able to reach people was all he’d ever wanted. He remembered that now. The money and the awards and everything that went with them, both good and bad, those were an afterthought. This right here – seeing a couple sway to the delicate Spanish rhythm of his guitar, so clearly lost in each other as much as the music, seeing a man stare into his beer and be able to read in his eyes that his thoughts were years away – this is what Wade had been searching for right from the start. To make a connection, to move someone through song and story.

His hands faltered over the strings for a moment, then he gathered the will to conjure one more song for this set. At no time during this one had he seen Daisy. He’d been running late after a day spent working in the yard and garden at his parents’ house, so he hadn’t seen her before starting his first set either. He was pretty sure she’d been scheduled to work, but they’d barely spoken since she left his house the other night. Playing phone tag via voicemail and her passing him in the bar with a quick smile and an excuse of being too busy to talk. No, he didn’t want to be pushy. He did not want to be that guy. But he didn’t want to be that guy staring into his beer and seeing all his past regrets, either.

He thanked the crowd and left his guitar in its customary spot on a stand in the corner of the stage. Ronisha eyed him from the bar. He made a beeline for her and raised the barrier to get back there with her.

“Cowboy, you are killing the mood in here tonight. It’s Saturday night. Can’t you play some of that bro dude country people like so much?”

“I can’t stand that bro dude shit. Where’s Daisy?”

Ronisha deliberately didn’t meet his eyes as she filled a drink order before answering. “She called in sick.”

Well, now he felt like a shit heel. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know,” Ronisha said. “What’s wrong with you, playing all that
oh God Imma bout to swallow a bottle of pills
shit. Did you two have a fight?”

“No.” Shit. Had he done something and didn’t even realize it? Surely Daisy would have let him know if he’d stepped out of line. “Can you do me a favor?”

Ronisha raised her hands. “Cowboy.”

“Tell Randy I had to go. Tell him I hurt my back working in the yard with my father.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’ll be playing the jukebox if you leave. Instead of your nice voice, it’ll be all fake nasal twangs and sappy prom love songs. Damn it, cowboy.”

He grabbed her arms and kissed her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Wade. You better learn a Bruno Mars song for me.”

Wade retrieved his guitar and headed for his truck. He barely knew who Bruno Mars was, but he guessed he’d be finding out more soon. Hopefully he wouldn’t embarrass himself singing one of the guy’s songs.

***

D
aisy stared unseeing at the television. She knew she was a coward for calling in sick tonight, but she just couldn’t face Wade again and keep avoiding any meaningful contact with him. All afternoon and evening, her mother’s words lanced through her head. She knew she felt more for Wade than she should, she just didn’t know what to call it. She wanted to be with him, but she knew any relationship between them was destined for failure. Either he’d leave at the end of the summer, or he’d find out about her past and think less of her for it. Either way, they had no future.

A part of her wanted just right now, if that’s all she could ever have.

But that was folly and she knew it. Better to leave well enough alone. They’d had some nice moments together. That would have to be enough. She didn’t need a fling, no matter how wildly attracted to him she was. That kind of thing had only led to trouble for her in the past. Pregnant and alone kind of trouble. Restraining order kind of trouble. Emergency room kind of trouble. Too much trouble, and in the end none of those guys had ever been worth it.

As for anything more than a fling, that wasn’t even worth thinking about. Girls like her, who grew up white trash and still lived poor and busting ass for every little thing, well, they didn’t get happy endings, did they? Not without having to give up pieces of themselves along the way, and that was the last thing Daisy wanted. No, it was time to face reality and though she hated the pain her friend was going through, she was glad Megan interrupted the other night before things got too far along.

A noise from outside drew her attention. She grabbed the remote and turned the television down. A car door slamming shut announced the arrival of a visitor. God, she was so not up for that. Especially if it meant another round with her mother.

Next came a knock on the door. “Daisy?”

Shit, it was Wade. Daisy threw the remote. He knocked again and she knew she wasn’t getting out of this. Might as well get it over.

It wasn’t a break up, she told herself as she walked to the door. Only one official date, a few kisses. That didn’t make a relationship. She wasn’t ending something, she was stopping it before it could start. But then she thought of that night at the lake when he’d told her about his guitar constellations and sang to her, and her throat closed up.

She opened the door.

“Hey, how are you?” He looked genuinely concerned and that made her feel worse. “Ronisha said you called in sick.”

Daisy kept one hand on the door and the other on the doorframe, blocking him from entering. He noticed, and the hurt look in his eyes made her hate herself more than a little. “Yeah, I’m a little under the weather. Shouldn’t you be in the middle of a set or something?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

“You could have just called.” It would have been easier to avoid him if he had.

“Daisy.” He raised a hand to touch her hair.

She stepped back but made sure to leave her arms barring the entrance. His hand hovered in the space between them. She wanted to reach for it, lean into his touch. But she didn’t.

Wade dropped his hand and looked away. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I’m just not feeling well, that’s all.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

He raised his head and looked at her, daring her to look away. “I’m not dumb. I know when I’m being rejected.”

Daisy swallowed, not sure what to say. She hadn’t counted on him showing up like this, she’d thought she’d have more time to figure out what to say. “I just don’t think this is going to work.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I thought I could handle it but I think I just really need to stick to my rule. You know, the one about staying away from good time bad boys. You’re only here for the summer, Wade.” That wasn’t a lie, either, and it eased her conscience somewhat. She might not be telling him the whole truth, but she was telling him enough.

Wade nodded, sad understanding filling his dark eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away again. “Yeah, about all I’m good for anymore is a fling. If that’s not what you want, I guess it’s best to call a halt to this.”

His words ripped her heart to shreds. She very nearly grabbed him and pulled him inside, wanting to take it all back. Wanting him to know just how good he was, how good he’d made her feel. How he’d made her feel like
more
.