Whiskey Lullaby(41)

“Well,” she huffed. “Guess you finally realized you screwed up, huh?” She shoved the old bottle of whiskey from her cabinet against my chest. “Drink that then, it’s the only thing that helps that kinda heartbreak, boy. Go on and drink you a whiskey lullaby.”

_





I drank the rest of that whiskey, got drunk, and passed out on Grandma’s couch.

I barely got back to Nashville in time for the show I had to do.

The opening act had just finished. I could hear the dull roar of the crowd chanting my name and clapping when I made my way through the backstage area. My manager, Debra, stood by the stairs that led to the stage, tapping her foot on the floor, glaring at me.

“Nice of you to show up.”

“I try to be fashionably late and all,” I said.

“Look, I went with country because I didn’t want to deal with the crap rock stars do, so don’t you start this shit.”

I shook my head while the assistants fussed with my hair, my shirt. They slipped my earpiece on. Someone handed me a guitar. “I’m here.”

She grabbed my shoulders and shoved me toward the steps. “Well, thank you for doing your job.”

I waited for them to announce me. I waited for the cheers to get nearly unbearable, and then I stepped onto the stage, slowly making my way to the center. The lights all directed onto me when I stopped in front of the mic. “Good evening, Nashville. How are y’all this fine evening?” The stadium erupted in cheers. “I just got back from Alabama, sorry I was a little late. So, why don’t we get the show started?”

I strummed over the strings, humming into the microphone. I sang the first line, closing my eyes and thinking of Hannah just like I did every show. When I got to the chorus, the words didn’t come out. I played it off, letting the audience sing along. I glanced out over the packed arena. I’d gone from a nobody from nowhere Alabama to the guy on stage with sold out venues and CMAs. So how in the hell did it feel like I’d just lost everything. Sure, I had money, a nice house, fame—I had fame, but I had nothing because I didn’t have her.

Every song I played was the equivalent of dragging a razor blade over skin. Cutting, making me bleed. By the end the show I knew I couldn’t keep doing this, I’d drive myself crazy.

Those fucking letters…there had to be a way to get to her.





39





Hannah





Jet lag is a cruel beast. I was dragging when I went to work that Friday. I’d been back for a week, but I’m a firm believer jet lag takes forever to get over.

Margaret walked out of the hospital and waved. “Dr. Henley is in a chipper mood today.”

“When is he not?”

“Very true.” She laughed as we passed each other.

The distinct, high-pitched ring of Facebook Messenger came from my purse. I knew it was Meg, she was the only one that called on that thing. I stopped underneath the palm tree right by the hospital entrance to dig my phone out. I only had five minutes before I had to clock in, but, I rarely got to talk to her because she refused to acknowledge I was in a time zone seventeen hours ahead of her.

“Hey,” I said as I walked into the lobby.

“Don’t get on the internet!” she blurted.

“What?”

“Don’t check the internet for…”—she huffed—“maybe the rest of your life.”

“What in the hell?”

“Where are you?”

The automatic doors that led to the ER whirred opened. “About to clock in.”

“What? What fucking time is it there? Isn’t it night?”

“No, it’s six in the morning.”

“Oh my God, I thought it was night there when it was day here.”

“Basically, but it’s already Friday here.”

“What the… you’re a day ahead!”

“I have told you this a thousand times.”

“Well, just don’t get on your phone at work. Wait until you’re at home for that shit.”

“Meg…”

“Just trust me.”

I swiped my badge and waved at Dr. Henley. “Why would you do this to me.”

“Because I don’t want you to have a meltdown in public.”

“A meltdown…” I sighed. “Look, if it’s another song. I’m used to it; besides, does he even write his own songs?”

“Yes, he does. We’ve checked that three times now, and it’s not a song.”

My curiosity had been piqued. “Okay, well, whatever it is. I’m fine.”

“Nope. You won’t be.” She sighed. “Call me when you get off, okay?”

“It’ll be two in the morning there.”

“It’s fine.” She groaned. “Just call me.”

“Alright.”

I hung up and stared at my phone. I’d like to say that after a year I’d gotten over Noah, but I hadn’t. I thought about that abstinence video they showed us in high school, the one where a girl is holding a clay heart in her hand and all these guys come up and take a piece from it until she’s left holding a tiny little shred of what the heart once was. He didn’t take a piece of my heart; I gave it to him.

Some things you never get over, you just learn to live with. Or ignore.

Patient after patient came in, and soon enough, the fact I was to avoid the internet indefinitely slipped my mind. After a case of heatstroke, an allergic reaction to shellfish, and a motorbike accident, I went to grab a water from the employee lounge. A group of nurses surrounded one of the break room tables, Jill Makenzie smack dab in the middle, holding up a phone. She grinned, her red lipstick making her teeth look about as white as a Colgate commercial while everyone anxiously watched the screen over her shoulder.

I grabbed a water from the fridge and started toward the table. One of the nurses nudged Jill while clearing her throat. Jill glanced up and dropped the phone to her side, her cheeks turning bright red. “Hey, Hannah!” she said loudly.

“Hey…” I narrowed my eyes when I stepped up to the table. Every girl stared at me with ridiculous grins. “What’s going on?” I asked cautiously.

“You never told us you knew Noah Greyson, Hannah.” Jill smiled.

My stomach flip-flopped. I was pretty sure whatever this was had to do with why Meg warned me to stay off the internet. Whatever this was. “Well.” I pursed my lips and exhaled through my nose. “Yeah… just um, kinda…” I could feel my cheeks heating, so I took a large gulp of water.

“Mate, he’s looking for you.”

My heart pounded. “I mean, um, I don’t know what you’re talking about, so…” I took a step back, then another with everyone’s eyes in the break room glued to me.

“He just posted a video that has over two million views asking people to help him find you.”

I froze in the middle of the room and closed my eyes. “Shit,” I whispered. “I come all the way around the world, and I still can’t get away from him.”

“Why in the world would you want to get away from him?”

“It’s uh…” I swallowed, unable to get any more words out. He was looking for me… why? Why in the world, a year and a half later…

She stepped up beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder before she leaned in and whispered, “You should watch the video when you get off.”

_





I didn’t call Meg when I got off. One it was late in the US and two, I didn’t want to listen to it. Instead, I headed straight to the beach and stripped out of my sneakers on the way to the shore. I hiked the legs of my scrubs up as far as they would go. The warm, wet sand formed under my feet, creeping between my toes before a wave sent clear water rushing midway up my calves. My phone felt like a nuclear reactor in my pocket, dangerous and deadly. It was a portal to a black hole I’d only recently dug myself out of. Regardless of that, I still shoved my hand into my pocket, wrapped my fingers around my phone, and pulled it out. The setting sun caught on the screen. What’s on that video? Do I really do this to myself?

I naively thought moving away from Rockford would solve everything. It didn’t, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make it easier to forget.

Everything in Rockford reminded me of Momma, of Noah. Everywhere I went reminded me of the two people I’d lost, and why do that to yourself? There was a whole world out there. It made no sense for me to stay in a place that wouldn’t allow me to let go. And someone once told me Australia was as far away from Rockford as you could get… but, evidently, it still wasn’t far enough.

As hard as it was for me to leave Daddy and Bo, I just couldn’t stay. Momma told me to live my life, but still, sometimes, when I looked out over the crystal blue waters and found myself smiling, I felt guilty, worried about whether they’re able to smile too.

Sighing, I took a few steps back and sat in the sand with my phone in hand. I typed in the first three letters of his name before “Noah Greyson” popped up in all its glory. I may have blocked him from my life, but still, I’d had enough moments of weakness and regret in the past that my smartphone knew what I was doing.

The first headline: Noah Greyson Pleads with Fans to Help Him Find His Lost Love.

The phone dropped from my hand to the sand. My pulse hammered in my ears. It was as though, for the briefest of moments, the world stopped spinning. Like a moment in a movie where everything was freeze-framed. “You’re kidding me. His lost love?” I mumbled.