Page 76 of Find You Again (Nashville Star 2)

Griff stops for gas in some one-horse Texas town where the motto is “Blessed by Big Hearts and Bigger Hats.” He and Alabama are about an hour from Clover. The next tour stop had been Austin, so naturally, Alabama had insisted they drive through their home state. It’ll be fun, she had said. He scowls as he sticks the gas nozzle in the tank. Well, it sure as shit hasn’t been fun for her. The ride’s been agony.

Though she’s kept a brave face, Griff can read her clear as day. She’s faking it, pretending she’s okay when she’s feeling like hell. It’s only been two days since the hospital and Alabama’s acting like she could rope any bull in Texas. Which is another reason he’s going where she’s going. To watch over her. To keep her safe. To keep her in goddamn bed.

He glances up, watching as Alabama exits the convenience store, a plastic sack held loose in her hand. Her bad shoulder’s swaddled in a layer of bandages and hung in a sling that wraps around her shoulder and chest.

Alabama greets him with a grin. “I got some goodies.”

He hustles over to her and gently helps her inside the rental truck. Boosting himself up on the step, he leans over and buckles her seat belt, making sure she’s strapped in nice and tight. When he’s finished, he tightens the gas cap, hops into the driver’s seat and points them east. Then they’re zipping down the freeway.

Beside him, Alabama unpacks the sack. “Raisinets, Funyuns, Cheetos. All prime road trip food.”

He raises a brow, nodding at the tabloids she’s trying to hide, still tucked away in the sack. “And what’s that? Prime reading material?” A guilty expression crosses her face at being caught. “They upset you,” he growls, “I’m gonna be pretty fuckin’ pissed.”

They’re gonna upset him too.

The last thing he wants to see is another photo of Alabama in the paper, crumpled in his arms. He doesn’t care what he told Alabama about fighting. If he ever runs into the photographer who snapped the photo of her at her most vulnerable, he’s gonna put a fist through his face.

She waves him off and pulls out a magazine. “Let me live, Griff.” He watches as she tries to open it one-handed and fails miserably. Her face crinkles in frustration as the pages stick together.

He smirks. “Yeah, well, you need me to open it, so how about you just wait till we’re in Clover?”

“Fine.” She sticks her tongue out at him. “Killjoy.” She tosses the tabloids on the dash, the headlines reflected back at him in the glass.

Clenching his jaw, Griff closes his eyes for a brief second. He can’t shake the images of blood gushing from Alabama’s arm, the slap of the bullet hitting her flesh, the shutter of her gray eyes.

And the blood. There was so much goddamn blood.

The memory of Alabama literally shielding him with her body is one he’ll never forget. He’ll never want to either.

“Griff?”

The sound of Alabama’s soft drawl calls him back. Shaking himself out of his daze, he turns to find her staring at him, her pretty brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Don’t you worry about me,” he says, sweeping his gaze over her.

She’s tucking herself back into the seat, looking extremely un-Alabama-like in black leggings, a loose sweatshirt that hangs off a shoulder, and sneakers. She’s fresh-faced, her red hair piled high in a messy bun, but to Griff, he’s never seen a woman more beautiful. He’s never seen one as tired either.

Of fucking course she’s tired. She’s doing a cross-country jaunt when she should be resting in bed. But that’s Alabama. The strongest person he knows. He loves her strength—but, at times, it also frustrates the hell out of him.

He watches her with anxious eyes as she opens the glove box and shakes a pain pill out into her palm. She dry-swallows it, then shifts in the seat, trying to get comfortable.

“You hurtin’?” Griff knows she’d rather stick it out than admit she’s in pain.

“Good Lord, Griff, I’m fine.” She lets out a deep drawl of a sigh. “Can we just not do this? You worryin’ about me. Holly’s gonna henpeck me to death enough when we get back to Clover as it is.”

“So you want me to what? Put you to work? Maybe get you sloppin’ stables?”

“That’s more like it.” Her face brightens. “Your mom’s house. Now that could be a project.”

He glances quick at her, his frown deepening. She doesn’t sound like she’s joking. In fact, she sounds like she’s pretty damn serious. Well, Griff is serious too. Serious about getting her back to his house and letting her heal. She’s barely been out of the hospital two days and already she’s talking about home renovations.

“You try to lift anything more than a book,” Griff warns, “and you’re gettin’ hogtied to the bed.”

“Hmm.” Her lips quirk. “Sounds like something you’d like.”

Griff grits his teeth at the flexing of his dick. “Oh no. You ain’t baitin’ me. We get back to Clover, you’re stayin’ in bed. Alone.”

She smiles, humor sparking in her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

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