Page 103 of Find You Again (Nashville Star 2)

From the stage wings, Griff watches Alabama adjust her microphone. They’re in Oklahoma at an indoor/outdoor concert venue called the Pub Station. It’s the last day of soundcheck, their last show on the “Straight to Hell” tour, and Griff’s never been so damn happy.

Alabama swirls a finger, telling the band she wants to run through “Find You Again.” Griff shakes his head, chuckling. She’s been fussing with that damn song ending all week. She’s written three different endings and isn’t satisfied with any of them. And he loves it. It’s their song. He’s never been so proud of something he created. The second they’re back in Nashville, they’re gonna cut it as the Copper Hounds.

With a toss of her red hair, Alabama glances over her shoulder like she can feel Griff’s eyes on her. She gives him a wink and then turns back to the music. The sight of her smile sends his pulse racing. Hell, just how strong she’s been these last three weeks has him bowing at the altar of Alabama. But he isn’t surprised. That’s her. She’s been shot in the goddamn arm and still she’s giving orders, still nailing every one of her sets like a pro, still kicking ass. He’s never seen someone so strong, so fucking fierce, so determined to reclaim her song and her image. It turns him on, has his chest bursting with pride. With love.

That feeling ain’t gonna go away anytime soon. Not if Griff has anything to say about it.

Alabama hasn’t brought up the ring since she took Griff on her terrifying drive to the Ridge. But he’s been thinking about it. Thinking about using it. Soon, too. He didn’t tell her he brought it back from Clover with him. The thought of them going separate ways in a few short days has his blood pressure spiking. He doesn’t want to be separate from Alabama. Not anymore. He knows it ain’t his style, that he’ll have his doubters, but fuck everyone who thinks they know him. Let ’em see the real Griff Greyson. He has. The man up on that stage in Clover, singing the best damned songs he had ever written in his life. There was more in him—more grit, gravel and life—than there ever has been. He wants to hold on to that.

He doesn’t know if he can ever express what Alabama means to him, but that doesn’t mean he ain’t gonna try for the rest of his life to prove to her that he deserves her.

From the darkness comes the hiss of his name. “Griff.”

Scowling, he turns around to find Freddie standing in front of him in a crisp linen pantsuit. He grins, seeing a light bead of sweat on her forehead. “You look hot, Freddie.”

She harrumphs. “I am, indeed, sweating bullets, as they say ’round these parts.”

Griff gestures at the surroundings. “You here to scope out the countryside? I hear they’re doing two-for-one hayrides down at the county fair.”

Her lip curls in disgust. “Absolutely not. I come bearing good news, Griff. Come, walk with me.”

With a last glance at Alabama, he follows Freddie back into the shadows of the stage. She glances up at the catwalk, then nods at Griff. “Well, this is very hushed and clandestine, isn’t it?”

Griff, impatient to get back to Alabama, hooks his fingers around his belt. “Why’re you here, Freddie?”

“I seem to remember a time when you preferred me around. When I was bailing you out of trouble, isn’t that right?” She holds his stare for a long second and then flaps a cavalier hand to show she isn’t insulted. “The good news is that the overseas tour this winter is a go. We’ve secured our sponsors, not to mention slightly better accommodations and venues. The last thing we need to decide on is a tour name.”

A smile spreads slow across Griff’s face. “Hell, that’s great. Alabama’s gonna be thrilled.” He frowns. “But wait, why you havin’ this conversation with just me?” He hooks a thumb back toward the stage. “Hang on, I’ll go get her.”

Freddie holds up a stop-right-there hand. “I’m afraid it’s just you, Griff.”

“Just me what?”

“It’s just you on the tour.”

He shakes his head like there’s water in his ears. “Now wait a goddamn minute. We promised her—”

“There’s no promise without a contract,” Freddie says. “She’ll still get paid for this tour. Don’t worry.”

Griff’s heart jackhammers against his ribs. This ain’t happening. It can’t. He swallows. “She’s the one who should be goin’, not me. She’s the one proppin’ up the show, the songs.”

Freddie nods. “She has been. I’m not arguing that. However, this wasn’t a charity to boost her image. It was to boost yours. Remember? You and your fans?” Freddie frowns and glances toward the stage where the band is tuning instruments. “She doesn’t go. And that’s final. She’ll understand.”

“She won’t understand,” Griff snaps, his fingers curling into fists at Freddie’s dismissive attitude of Alabama. No way in hell will she understand. She’s been put through the wringer with managers, with contracts, and to do this to her again, to betray her, it’s gonna kill her.

It’s killing Griff. In that instant, he knows he’s been flat out lied to. CMI had no intention of keeping Alabama for the winter tour. They fucking used her. Just like everyone else. Just like he did.

The thought that Griff himself had a hand in it is like a punch to the stomach.

“You better start talkin’, Freddie,” he snarls. “Fuckin’ fast.”

She holds his stare for a beat. Then she says, “A fling, Griff. That’s all it was supposed to be.” Freddie’s face is cold, closed off. “The plan was to fuck her, not fall for her. We can’t have you attached on tour.” Freddie tosses her hair. “I am merely protecting my best asset and resorting your priorities.”

Griff groans, recognizing his mistake. He gave too much to Freddie on that last conversation in Clover. He didn’t hide how he felt about Alabama. Freddie saw it. And she didn’t like it.

“You’re good,” Freddie continues. “You have clout now. You don’t need her.”

“I do,” Griff says, his voice thick with pain. All of his defenses crumbling. His heart aching. “I need her.”

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