my gaze shifts to Channing and I swear my heart aches at the sight of her holding Ford’s baby.
I didn’t know that it would hurt like this, seeing it with my own eyes is downright fucking painful. I have been avoiding this exact moment for years, and here I am, thrust into the middle of it all.
“Ford, don’t be rude. I met Stephanie at the grocery store and invited her to hang out with us. She’s only in town for a while and she just didn’t look like she should be alone.”
Ford grunts, taking a step back. “Fine, whatever.”
I watch as he lifts his hand, waving it behind him as he turns around and heads toward the water. He walks past the little boy that was in Channing’s store cart, taking his hand, then picks up fishing poles and a tackle box before they walk toward the water’s edge.
Oh. My. God.
He’s taking his son fishing. It’s the most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what’s more precious, him holding the small toddler girl, or him fishing with the little boy. My eyes water at the sight, I can’t hold it in, not even if I tried.
“Oh shit,” a voice hisses. “You’re Sterling LaRue, aren’t you?”
“No, her name is Stephanie,” Channing says, sounding really confused.
“Yeah, legally her name is Stephanie LaRue, but her stage name is Sterling,” the same voice says, clearing the air and telling my truth.
“Most of us know her as Stevie,” another man’s voice says, a really fucking familiar man.
Shifting my gaze to his, I turn my body around and my eyes widen at the sight of Beaumont Griffin and Wyatt Johnson. Then another man walks up behind them, and my breath hitches at the sight of Wyatt’s cousin, Rylan. He looks the same as he did almost twenty years ago, but also completely different. Almost every inch of his exposed limbs, including his neck, is covered in tattoos and they look phenomenal on him.
“Hey guys,” I say, lifting my hand to give them a wave.
“Fuck,” Wyatt rumbles.
“That’s about the long and short of it,” Beaumont snaps.
The women are looking at me with complete confusion, but Wyatt and Beaumont are straight-up glaring at me, then their expressions soften and they both shake their heads. Beau is the first to take a step toward me. He bends slightly and wraps his arms around me, bringing me in for a small hug.
“Good to see you again, darlin’, especially without an entourage.” He chuckles.
I could say the same about him. It seems as though he always has his bandmates near him, anytime I’ve been anywhere around. Beaumont’s band is hugely famous, he’s hugely famous.
When he started to rise to the top, I couldn’t help but not only be in awe of him, but also a bit jealous. He did it without abandoning his roots the way that I did.
There were so many times that I wanted to get in touch with him and ask how Ford was doing, but if I talked about him, talked about Gallup, then I knew that I would miss it. Ignoring my old life, that was the only way to cope. At least that’s what I thought, I’m not so sure now.
“They’re all back in LA. I came to town to clear out my parents’ place before I put it on the market,” I whisper.
He straightens, then I watch as he slides his arm over the shoulders of a beautiful girl, holding an equally handsome little baby. I remember reading about his wedding, then about the birth of the guitar legends first son.
“He’s beautiful,” I mumble.
“Thanks,” the woman says. “I’m Hutton, by the way.” She grins, extending her hand.
“Sterling,” I mutter.
Beau snorts. “You ain’t Sterling here. You’re Stevie.”
“Am I?” I ask.
Beau shrugs his shoulder. “Up to you, darlin’, but that’s who you’ll always be to us.”
“You all don’t hate me for what I did?” I ask, shifting my gaze to Wyatt who has his arms crossed over his chest and is glaring at me.
“Hate?” Wyatt asks. Nodding, I lick my lips before I roll them together. “It’s been a long time,” he says.
“It has,” I breathe.
“Disappointed, sad, and maybe a little confused, but nobody hates you, Stevie. Never did,” he says.
Flicking my gaze from them to Ford’s back, I shake my head. “He does,” I whisper.
Wyatt lets out a boom of laughter. I swing my head back to him, my eyes following as I watch him. He’s looking down at his feet, his shoulder’s