Page 41 of Hideaway Heart

After rejoining him on the porch, I sat down and tuned my guitar. Xander’s laptop was out of sight, and I noticed he’d refilled both our coffee cups. I took a sip of mine before playing a few warm-up exercises.

“Is that the song?”

“Hush,” I told him, starting to strum a twelve-bar blues in E with a slow, shuffling rhythm. “Don’t interrupt creativity in progress.”

“A thousand apologies.”

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the lazy groove. I played all the way through it once, the same simple form I’d taught myself as a twelve-year-old, back in my bedroom with a cheap guitar my dad had bought secondhand. Then I circled back around and added lyrics, doing my best impression of a broken-down, worn-out, fed-up woman who’s had enough.

“Planned a vacation,” I sang, my voice rusty with sleep. “Just to get some space.” I finished out the first four bars and switched from the E to the A. “Planned a vacation,” I sang a second time, “just to get some space. But what I got instead was just a bearded goon in my face.”

Next to me, Xander burst out laughing. “Nice,” he said, starting to applaud.

“I’m not done,” I told him, bringing it around again.

“I’ve got the Xander Buckley blues, they haunt me day and night,” I warbled plaintively, getting a little fancier on the guitar. “I got those Xander Buckley blues, they haunt me day and night. That’s why I sat on his lap, but he left me unsatisfied.” I finished with a walk down and resolved with two jazzy chords, humming a little riff on top.

Opening my eyes, I saw him sitting with his arms folded, a wry smile on his face. As the sound faded, I slapped a hand over the strings. “How was that?”

He gave me a few slow claps. “Very entertaining.”

“Thank you.” I set my guitar aside and picked up my coffee cup.

“Unsatisfied, huh?”

“Yes. Weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do about it?” I asked playfully.

One eyebrow quirked up. “What didyoudo about it?”

Lifting my shoulders, I let his imagination run a little wild before taking a sip of my coffee. “So did I earn my field trip?”

“I guess we can go to the bar,” he said. “It’s not like anyone will be there.”

“And I want to see where you grew up,” I added.

“Fine.”

“Can I meet your family?”

He gave me a warning look, like I was pushing my luck. “I suppose. Austin is having a barbecue—just his family—and Veronica invited us to come by.”

“Yay!” My heels hit the porch with a thump. “But we should bring something. I don’t want to show up to a barbecue empty-handed. Take me to the store so I can get some more groceries! I want to make a salad.”

He frowned. “We don’t need to—”

“I just need a few minutes to get dressed,” I said, picking up my guitar. “I’ll be ready in five.”

I couldn’t help smiling as I hurried back to my room. Going to a small-town, backyard barbecue wasn’t something I got to do in Nashville, and I was coming off a tour where I’d spent most of my downtime alone on the bus or decompressing in a hotel room.

Glancing at my phone, I saw that my father had called me again last night. He’d left me another voicemail, probably asking again about the “loan,” as if he’d ever pay me back.

In the last five years, I’d bought my father a car, paid off his credit cards, settled his gambling debts, and financed two failed trips to rehab. My brother could not understand why I kept giving him money, but Kevin wasn’t here—he didn’t understand what it was like when our mom came to me crying, swearing up and down he seemed different this time, he was so sorry for what he’d put us through, he was back to stay.

Then there was the man himself. Handsome and charismatic, he’d been a musician too, with a deep, resonant voice that hypnotized his audience. A charmer through and through. Good with words, great with an apology, unrivaled at guilt trips. He could twist your feelings until you were wrung dry. In no time, you were convinced it wasyouwho’d let him down.