Fury boils up. He’s standing between me and Willow and I can’t allow that. I don’t want to hit Hank, so I do something more difficult than relaxing my clenched hands. I search for words. “She told me to go! Said she was going back home to the city! I didn’t know Jeremy had told her fuck-knows-what about the deal.”
He eyes me, cool as a cucumber for a long second where he holds my fate in his hands.
“Fuck!” I roar but immediately deflate, all my fight draining away until I’m nothing but an empty shell. “I didn’t know. I turned it down for her. I love her.”
Hank releases his grip on the bat and rests his hands on the bar. He doesn’t even have a bandage on the cut from the screwdriver anymore. It’s healed over. I don’t think this gash in my heart will ever heal, though. It’s too deep, too wide.
“All that girl ever did was love and support you,” he tells me, blue eyes narrowed as he studies me like he doesn’t get what she sees in me. “You ever see her do one single thing for herself? No,” he scoffs, “that ain’t who Willow is. She’s got the prettiest, kindest, most giving heart I’ve ever seen. She’s a damn angel, and you . . .” He gives up on that description, just growling at me instead. I’ve never felt like less of a man, less worthy of even breathing the same oxygen as Willow than I do right now.
“I know! I don’t deserve her, but fuck, I want her. I love her,” I repeat uselessly, sagging to the closest barstool.
Every eye in the place is watching me fall apart. I don’t give a shit. They’re gonna see way worse if I don’t get her back. This is the beginning of my end.
Ironically, I feel like the one person I never understood. My dad. He was ugly, mean, raging at the world, and empty inside after Mom died. Now I understand all too well because I could burn everything down, myself included, and it would be a relief to stop this sharp, never-ending pain. The only cure is her or death. And if she’s not an option . . .
I slam my fist to the bar. The thunderous sound echoes through the room, which has gone utterly still and quiet.
Hank hollers to the people, waving a hand dismissively. “Go on about your business and leave us to ours.” Their heads drop back to their plates, but you can be damn sure they’re still peeking up to watch the show.
Quieter, just between us, he confides slowly, “She left her whole life behind to come here and take care of my grumpy, grudge-holding ass because that’s who she is.”
He looks at me pointedly, and moments fall into place in my cloudy mind. I realize what he’s saying by not saying it. Just as quietly, I ask, “You okay?”
He dips his chin. “Getting there. But this ain’t about me, it’s about you. Willow told you to go, did that for you, you dumbass. She shoved a knife in her own gut, broke her heart and yours, so that you could have the dream she knew you wanted. Because that’s what she does . . . everything for everybody else. She dips into her own soul and scoops it out so everything around her is damn near glittery with her shine.”
I nod morosely. “I know.” He makes a snorting sound of disbelief, and I find the balls to look him in the eye and repeat stronger, “I know.”
“I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one person who would see what she does and take care of her for a change. Lord knows, I haven’t had the energy to. I’m as bad as you are—take, take, take. At least I had a respectable reason.”
The judgement is clear. I’ve lost Hank’s respect. But I’ll earn it back the same way I’ll earn Willow back. By doing whatever it takes.
“Where is she?” I beg.
“Gone,” he sighs. “Went home to her parents.”
“Tell me where. Please.”
Following the directions my phone calls out, I turn through street after street. It’s not as big as Nashville, but there’s so much of everything. The sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming.
How could she have left this when I know what it all means to her? This is the foundation of her work and what she’s always known.