Page 105 of Find You Again (Nashville Star 2)

Alabama stands beneath the eave, her hands trembling at her sides. The words she’s heard from Freddie have stopped her cold. She can’t make them compute. Doesn’t want to. She doesn’t dare breathe; if she breathes, she’ll fracture into a thousand sharp pieces capable of slicing anyone who gets in her way.

She meets Griff’s eyes. Her heart’s a dull roar in her ears. She wets her lips. “Is it true?”

Griff’s mouth opens, closes, a pleading expression on his face. “Sweetheart, listen—”

“Don’t.” Alabama cuts him off with a shake of her head. “Don’t call me that.” She forces herself to take a step forward. “I want to know if what Freddie said was true. Did you make a bet about me?”

He stares at her like he wants to deny it, but then he nods. “I did. I wasn’t thinkin’. And I fucked up. Royally. I hate myself for it.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “That guy who made the bet—that ain’t me. Not anymore. Back then, I didn’t care about anyone but myself. But now—”

“But that didn’t stop you from going along with it.” She clenches her jaw, her body alternating between hot and cold shivers. “That didn’t stop you from fuckin’ me.”

He rears back like she’s slapped him.

Alabama stares at Griff, sick to her stomach. The old familiar pain of betrayal snakes its way through her heart. Everything’s been yanked away from her. The tour. Her trust in Griff. Her self-respect.

“So you what? You used me because of Mort? Because you thought that if I was just slutty enough, I’d sell your records?” Her laugh is bitter. “Well, congratulations. You played the part perfectly. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Tour, sales. You must be happy.”

“No.” His voice is haggard, desperate. “Alabama—”

She shakes her head. “You knew it was important to me, you knew how much I wasn’t that person, was fighting to break away from my bad reputation. And yet you used me for those same reasons. How could you? I trusted you, Griff.”

She hates the way her voice shakes, the way it gives everything away. She took a chance on him again, loved him again, and what has he done? It was all just a joke to him. She was a joke to him.

Regret blazes in his eyes. “I know. I know.” He steps toward her, his hand outstretched. “I’m so sorry, Al. So damn sorry. I don’t know how to fix this. But I will. I swear, I’ll—”

“Don’t bother. You can’t fix this. You used me, just like Mort. And for a second time in my life, I’m an idiot.” She laughs bitterly. “I’m just another notch on your belt, and you’re just the same old Griff. You’ll never change.”

His entire face shatters. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “I love you.”

The words hurt worse than the bullet she took for him.

Tears slip down her cheeks, and she lets out a sob. “It’s not enough. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” he growls.

Anger wells in her, and she curls her fingers into her palm. She can feel herself shutting down, see the headlines, the press camped outside, the stories. And her temper flares, wanting to hurt Griff as much as he’s hurt her.

She draws herself up, feeling numb inside. “Think of it this way, Griff. Now we’re all wrapped up nice and easy. Your tour fling’s over and you’re free to sleep your way around Europe.”

He stares at her, his expression crushed. “That’s bullshit,” he flings back. “What we have is fuckin’ amazing.”

“Had,” she says, her heart ripping out of her chest. “What we had.”

“Don’t.” Griff squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t do this.”

She stares at him, wanting to throw herself into his arms, to have him hold her close. Instead, she exhales a breath, willing her disobedient heart to ice over. “Here.”

She steps forward, holding out the sheet music, but he doesn’t—won’t—take it.

“The song’s yours,” Griff says, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want the fuckin’ song!” she shouts, her voice echoing in the space. “I wanted you, Griff.” She’s crying now, hot tears tracking down her face. “I wanted you and you fucked it all up. Just like you did in Clover.”

With a sob, she whips an arm up and tosses the lyrics into the air. The pages of song flutter around them like fallen doves before slowly whisking to the cement.

She takes a shuddering breath. “I’m done, Griff. I’ll finish the show, but I’m flyin’ back to Nashville tonight.” She kicks at a sheet of paper fluttering on the ground. “Thanks for everything. If I would have known I’d be gettin’ fucked over, I woulda stayed with Mort.”

Griff’s breath is sharp, and he opens his mouth, but she’s tearing his gaze from his and spinning around on her heel before he can reply.

She wants nothing from him. No excuses, no apologies. All she wants to do is get away. Before she regrets her decision.

This time, it’s her turn to leave. And not look back.

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