Something I Need (xoxo Nashville Book 1) (23 page)

D
ean was waiting
for Jonte at six a.m. the next morning. She felt bad that he was going to waste two days driving to drop her off in Ohio, but he’d insisted.

Jonte lugged her overstuffed duffel bags to his truck, threw them onto the perpetually clean floor, and climbed in, scooting over so she was next to Dean.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Dean grinned, way too chipper for this time of the morning.

“Hey,” she replied, buckling her seatbelt.

“This was your idea, remember?” Dean nudged her and pulled away from the curb. “We could have drawn straws, or banished Marcus for three whole weeks.”

“I know.” Jonte leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You should be celebrating your victory from last night,” he said, clearly on a cheer-up-Jonte mission.

“I am.” She nodded but didn’t feel it. After the finalists had been announced last night, she wasted no time calling her dad and Jack to let them know she’d progressed. They’d congratulated her and said all the right things, but it was clear they still wanted her to come home. “Have you ever considered leaving Nashville?” she asked as Dean pulled the truck onto the interstate.

“Jesus, this isn’t a permanent move, is it?”

“No.” She shook her head, but wondered if it was.

“Truth is, you can make music anywhere. But you came to Nashville for a reason, right?”

“Yeah.” She bobbed her head up and down.

“You can’t let everything that’s happened cloud that, J.”

Dean was an amazing friend. He let her dump all of her crap on him and she told him everything. All about what had gone down with Cash and how she wanted to be with Seb but couldn’t. About her mum and dad and her three brothers, and the expectations they’d all placed on her. About how all she wanted to do was block out the noise and just sing and play and be happy. More than seven hours later, when the beat up old Ford finally arrived in Columbus, Dean knew every damn thing there was to know about Jonte Williamson.

“Well, would ya look at that.” Dean nodded at a huge billboard. “It’s fair time,” he added with a grin.

“The Ohio State fair,” Jonte read off the sign.

“It’s meant to be a good one.”

“How do you even know that?” Jonte shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I know everything,” Dean replied with a wink. “So, can I take you to the fair, sweetheart, to cheer your sorry ass up?” He tipped his hat theatrically.

“Fine, but don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Hot damn, it’s a date.” Dean whacked the steering wheel and chuckled to himself.

They drove into the biggest car park Jonte had ever seen. There had to be acres and acres of parked cars and trucks. Wow. She couldn’t even tell where the fairground entrance even was.

“This is insane.” She shook her head and blinked in disbelief.

“Told you it was a good one!”

“No one likes a smart ass.”

“But everyone loves me, and my ass.” Dean smirked and parked his truck. “Let’s go, cowgirl.” He dumped his hat on her head and dragged her out the driver’s door.

Dean almost yanked Jonte’s arm out of its socket when he suddenly pulled her to the right and took off at a sprint.

“What?” she shrieked, trying to keep up with him.

“I think it’s a shuttle.” Dean pointed to a tractor pulling two enormous trailers that looked like fenced in paddocks on wheels.

Somehow he managed to flag down the tractor. The pair jumped into the back trailer and took a seat.

“We’re never gonna find your truck later.” She sat down just as the tractor chugged forwards. “Well, this is certainly different.”

“Are you having fun yet?”

“Maybe.” A tiny smile peeked out from the frown she’d been wearing all day.

T
hey ate
corn on the cob for a late lunch, funnel cake for dessert, downed some cold beers, and then Dean purchased a couple of all-day ride passes. Jonte held her wrist out for Dean to wrap the bright green band around. Once both their bands were on, she tugged him over to the huge Ferris wheel.

Jonte loved how open the Ferris wheel was and the fact they got their own little pod. Back home, Ferris wheels were much more enclosed and you normally had to squeeze four people into them.

When their pod stopped right up the top, Jonte leaned over and hugged Dean.

“Thank you,” she said and he squeezed her tighter. “You always seem to make things better.”

“I know you’re feeling a little down right now and it must be hard being so far away from your family, but you’re doing better than you think.”

“Hey, where’s your family?” Jonte asked, realizing she knew very little about Dean. She suddenly felt like a self-absorbed brat for never having asked him anything personal before.

Did he think she was a brat? Did he secretly hate her? He must.

“Long story. Let’s save that for another time, yeah?” Dean’s mouth formed a tight smile and he quickly looked away.

That was it? That was all he was going to tell her after everything she’d told him. Didn’t he trust her?

“Things have a way of working themselves out,” he said when the wheel started moving again.

Jonte wasn’t sure she believed him. Things worked out when people made them work out. She was in the US thanks to a ridiculous amount of planning and hard work. It wasn’t something that had just happened.

“What?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

She already felt better within herself and more confident after only ten hours of being away from the place. “I’m not sure Nashville is the place for me.”

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. You need to make that decision for yourself, and it should have nothing to do with Cash and Seb, and everything to do with what you want. We can find you a new apartment, and Seb’s almost done with grad school, so he’s not gonna work with us forever. Same thing goes for going home to Australia. If you decide to go, only do it because it’s what you want, not what your mom or dad or brothers want you to do.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go back,” she said, wiping a few stray tears away.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll take you to the bar tonight and everyone will fall in love with you.” This time he squeezed her so tight it hurt. “Besides, if you hate it here you can always come home.”

“I’m such a shitty friend. You do everything for me and I know nothing about you.”

“No, you respect my privacy and I appreciate that. You’d be there if I ever needed you and that’s what counts. For what it’s worth, I’m gonna miss you too.”

C
ash sank
onto the plush brown sofa. He didn’t want to be here. Not at all. But it seemed he had very little choice in the matter. His family were done with the excuses, his snapping and increasingly bad moods that had only worsened since Jonte’s departure. They were heartbroken by his waking up in the middle of the night screaming, and finding empty bottles everywhere.

An attractive older woman dressed in black slacks and an expensive purple satin blouse sat opposite him on a funky patchwork high-backed wing chair, an iPad poised in her hand.

“I’m Dr. Parker. Tell me why you’re here today, Cash.”

“I have no idea.” He huffed and tilted his head back against the sofa cushion so he could look up at the ceiling. He checked out the intricate cornice work and spied a small spider’s web.

“I don’t for a second believe that that’s true,” Dr. Parker said. She wasn’t nasty or condescending, she simply stated the words, the same way someone would say “the sky is blue.”

“Your family is worried about you.”

“My family?” He chuckled listlessly. “Did those meddling do-gooders tell you how they ruined my life?”

“How did they ruin your life, Cash?”

Huh. How much time did she have? And where should he even begin? The start. That was probably as good a place as any.

Cash told her all about Dolly’s
feeling
and her antics to keep Jonte in their lives and to push her onto him. Then he told her about Nannie’s special abilities and how the first time he introduced Jonte to Nannie, she’d blurted out that they would get married. Fucking insane.

“Those two should be sitting here, not me. They’re the crazy ones,” he muttered.

“No one is crazy, Cash.” Dr. Parker’s smile was calm and controlled. “Tell me about your mother.”

Really? That’s what she wanted to talk about? Not Dolly. Not Nannie. His mother? Sure. Fine. Easy.

“Not much to tell. She’s been dead for over twenty years.” Cash shrugged and played with the frayed cuff on his jeans.

“That must’ve been hard growing up without a mother.”

“Not really. I had Nannie and Pop. They were better than my actual mom and dad.”

“Do you see much of your father?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now she wanted to talk about his dad?

“Nope.” Cash shook his head. “He’s in the military. He’s a busy man.”

“So he just shipped you and your sister, Dolly, off to his parents when your mom died?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

See. Simple. No story or hidden secrets here.

“And you’ve never moved out?”

“No, why would I?”

“Has Dolly moved out?”

“Yeah. She lives in the apartment I own above my bar.”

“Why didn’t you move in there?”

“Dolly wanted her freedom and I wanted to be close to keep an eye on Nannie and Pop.”

“Do they have health issues?”

“No.”

Thank fuck. That was the last thing they needed.

“So why do you need to be there?”

“I don’t. But I love it there. It’s my home.”

“You’re twenty-seven years old. You don’t want your own freedom, like Dolly?”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know. To have your own space. To set up your own home,” she suggested. “Maybe start a family?”

Cash winced at that last suggestion.

Porcelain skin. Blood. Death.

“You don’t want to start a family?” she repeated her question.

No. He didn’t.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“We’ve got time.” Dr. Parker nodded for him to continue.

She wanted to know? Fine.

He told her about the dreams, how he used to have nightmares as a child and how he had dreamed about Jonte and then called everything off.

“It’s just a dream, Cash. It can’t hurt you or her unless you let it.”

“But what if it’s a premonition? What if I’m seeing things like Nannie does?”

“Have you had premonitions before?”

He shook his head.

“You said your mom had post-natal depression, right?”

He nodded.

“Was she on medication?”

“I think so. I’m not exactly sure.”

“Maybe you should ask your grandparents. Even if you and Jonte got married and had a baby, that doesn’t mean Jonte would end up with post-natal depression. And if she did, it’s managed much better now than it was twenty or thirty years ago.”

“So you’re saying I’m overreacting?”

A different kind of smile played across Dr. Parker’s lips now, this one victorious. “I never said that, Cash. I’m just telling you that there have been a lot of advancements in how we treat depression and how society views mental health issues nowadays. It’s a lot more out in the open, which I think is a good thing.”

“But people still commit suicide.”

“Yes, they do.” Her voice was almost monotone again and she nodded somberly. “We have worked on fixing some things, but created a whole horde of new problems. The modern lifestyle causes pressures that some people simply can’t deal with. I can’t give you a guarantee what you saw won’t happen, Cash. No one can.”

Is that what he was after? A guarantee that what he’d seen would never happen? He knew Dr. Parker couldn’t give him that, but staying away from Jonte could.

“I’d like to see you again. This week or next, but it’s up to you, obviously.”

“Why? What else do you wanna talk about? I’ve already told you everything.”

“Do you feel any better?”

“Not really.”

Dr. Parker tapped on her iPad and Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line” softly played.

Cash swallowed hard and ran his hand through his hair. “Turn it off,” he snapped.

Dr. Parker complied and looked him square in the eyes. Is that song still an anxiety trigger after all this time?”

Hot.

The room felt hot.

Stifling.

He fidgeted with his shirt and clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles went white and hurt.

You think?

“It appears so,” he finally said.

“You don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Nope. I avoid the song and it’s not a problem.”

She tapped on her iPad again and now Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” played.

Fuck.

His fists tightened again and a new wave of nausea washed over him.

Keep it down. Don’t hurl. You’re fine.

He hadn’t mentioned this song to the therapist, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out his mother had been a huge Dolly Parton fan.

Cash didn’t have to ask her to turn it off this time. She’d already done it.

“Like tormenting your patients, hey, Doc?” he scoffed with a raised brow.

“I like helping my patients,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Can I ask a question?”

“Sure. What’s one more?”

“How on earth do you live in this town and avoid country music?”

“Simple. I own a rock-themed bar, no country music allowed. And I’m real careful where I go, or don’t go.”

“So your coping strategy genuinely is avoidance?”

Cash shrugged. It worked so what did she care? But admittedly, it did sound bad when she said it like that.

“That’s not a particularly healthy long-term strategy.”

“I dunno, Doc, it’s worked okay for the past twenty odd years,” he said with a satisfied smirk. He’d learned to cope the best way he could and he was fine. Perfectly fucking fine, thank you very much.

“Don’t you want to live your life without having to worry about where you can and can’t go? You’re trapped by country songs.”

Trapped? Seriously?

“I wouldn’t say I’m trapped.”

“So you walk into a café and order a coffee. A Keith Urban song comes on over the speakers. What do you do – wait for the coffee or leave?”

“Wait for the coffee.”

“Really, or are you just saying that?” She eyed him dubiously.

“I don’t think modern country would affect me so badly.”

It was a guess. Really, he had no fucking idea how it would affect him.

The therapist tapped away on the iPad and Keith Urban’s “Somebody Like You” played. Hmmm… he felt somewhat squeamish, but he wasn’t all clammy and woozy like before.

“Interesting.” She nodded and scribbled in her notebook. “I want to help you, Cash, but you need to want to actively deal with your loss and pain. Right now you’re avoiding everything, and it’s preventing you from living a full life.”

What a crock of shit. His life was full and he was happy.

Cash walked out of the office, and sitting exactly where he’d left her was Dolly, still flipping through some girly magazine.

“Feel better?” she chirped.

“All cured.”

“Seriously?” Dolly smiled up at him eagerly.

He shook his head. Damn she was gullible sometimes. “Yeah, just like that.” He rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

“Jerk,” Dolly muttered, following close behind.

T
wo days
after his disastrous therapy session, Dolly walked into the bar around ten p.m. and sat herself down on a stool. Her whole demeanour was calm and serene, very un-Dolly-like.

“What’s going on with you?” He eyed his twin suspiciously, worried.

“I was hanging with Dean, and one of the girls at The Big Bang slipped me some Valium,” she replied with a shrug.

“What the fuck? Since when do you pop pills?”

What Dolly did and didn’t do with her body wasn’t really his business, but she sure as shit shouldn’t be running around taking pills from wannabe cowboys and random women.

“He gave me some news,” she replied, her usual sing-song voice nowhere to be found.

“Spill.”

“Apparently I’m not supposed to know, but Jonte has been offered a permanent gig at that bar in Ohio.”

Cash cursed and hurled the first thing in sight, an almost empty bottle of whiskey, at the wooden floor. It splintered and smashed, and woke up the two half-asleep regulars who had been snoozing in their drinks at the other end of the bar.

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself you don’t love her.” Dolly slid off the stool and headed for the door.

He called out after her, “Is it true? Or are you just saying shit ‘cause you’re meddling again?”

“I may be a meddler, but I ain’t no liar.”

“So, she’s going to take the position?”

“Dean wasn’t sure, but he thinks she might.”

It was mid-week and the bar was dead apart from the two old geezers he’d just woken up. “Closing time, boys,” he called out. “Sorry about that bottle, slipped right outta my hands.”

The men finished their drinks, settled up their bills, and then left. Cash locked the door behind them and fell against it, his head thumping hard against the glass.

There was a very real possibility she really wasn’t coming back.

He pushed off the door and headed for the bar in desperate need of a drink. No. No more drinks. He didn’t need a damn drink. He needed a plan. A big one. And a shit load of therapy to get his head sorted once and for all.

Cash rushed out the door, not bothering to clean up the smashed bottle or count up and put the night’s takings in the safe – or even turn off the damn lights. He simply locked up and took off on his bike.

Ten minutes later, he was standing outside Tanner’s building, relentlessly buzzing the intercom.

“What?” Tanner’s voice barked out.

“It’s me. Let me up. I need your help.”