Page 89 of Find You Again (Nashville Star 2)

Alabama turns a corner in aisle four of Bob’s True Value and finds Griff staring at a row of hammers. From a distance, she evaluates him. Ever since her father left the house, Griff’s been edgy and quiet. Even now, his face is dark and serious. He’s a million miles away from her and she doesn’t know what it’ll take to rope him back.

She walks down the aisle and comes to stand beside him, slipping her hand into his. “Must be some serious hammer decisions.”

He tenses beside her and then squeezes her hand. “I’m about done here.”

“I’m sorry, Griff.”

At that, he turns to look at her, his brow furrowed. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My dad, he wasn’t very nice to you.”

He grunts. “He wasn’t very nice to you, Al.”

“He’s just tryin’ to make sure I take care of myself.”

Griff shakes his head, his face darkening. “Stop makin’ excuses for him.” He lets go of her hand abruptly to drift away from her, his eyes still scanning the tools in front of him.

She frowns and follows. She’s not letting him off the hook that easily. “What’s goin’ on, Greyson?”

He looks at her, his jaw clenched. “Let’s just say your dad makes some good points.”

Heat courses through her. Of course, her father would have had a little chat with Griff. She nods in understanding. “He said somethin’ to you.”

“Hell, I can’t blame the man,” Griff says in a defeated voice. “His only daughter got shot. You got shot, Alabama. I got you shot.”

Her throat tightens. The faraway look in his eyes tells her he’s lost in the night of the accident. All these years later, he’s still blaming himself for their past. It’s the only reason why her father’s words have hit so hard.

“You didn’t get me shot,” she says carefully.

“I sure as hell did. I got you roped up in all the shit I’ve been doin’ and it got you hurt.” He rips a hand through his hair. “I should have never tracked you down for this tour, Al.”

Her heart pounds out a shaky rhythm. She doesn’t know what this conversation means—only that she won’t let him blame himself. She meets his stare with a determined one of her own. “Yes, you should have.”

His gaze moves away from her, a muscle clenching in his jaw.

“Listen to me,” she says sternly. “You gave me a chance, Griff. You trusted me because of my voice. You never pegged me like the papers. You let me be myself and you knew who I was. And that means everything to me.”

Griff closes his eyes, his expression paling.

Alabama takes a step toward him. “Are you having second thoughts about us? I know we didn’t promise each other anything, so if you don’t want me here—”

His breath is sharp, and briefly, a look of panic crosses his face. “I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m sayin’ I got you hurt again and I fuckin’ hate myself for it.” His throat bobs. “I’m not a good man for you, Alabama.”

The fear of losing him curdles her stomach. She takes a step toward him, her hand outstretched, her voice steady, despite her hammering heart.

Griff may be wild and reckless, but she trusts him. She found him again; he’s hers, the only one she wants in this hard old world. She knows that he’ll always be the one she comes back to, misses at night, wants inside her, and for that reason she’s got to hold on.

She won’t let go again.

“Yes, you are,” she says softly. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. You are the best man for me, Griff.”

He stares at her. “Are you sure about that?” he asks hoarsely.

“As sure as the songs we sing.” She holds his gaze. “Each night. Every night. All the damn time.”

That’s when his eyes come alive. Desperate, hungry. Griff strides back to her, his boots heavy and pounding, and ever so gently, he wraps her in his arms. His lips sweeping against her ear, he whispers, “I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.” He takes her face in his hands, bringing her gaze to his. “I love you, Al. I want you here with me and I’m sorry, but Christ, your dad is a prick.”

Alabama lets out a laugh of relief. “I can’t believe we just had this conversation at Bob’s True Value.”

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