Forgiving Jackson (27 page)

Dirk grimaced. “I need to go get my bags and tell my family goodbye. I’ll check in.” He turned toward the door.

“Dirk,” Jackson said. “I do appreciate this. You don’t know how much.”

“Believe me, Jackson, I want this guy only slightly less than you do. I
will
have my way about this.”

“Do you know the names of the other women he attacked?”

Dirk paused before giving a quick nod. “I’m not supposed to, but I do.”

And he was gone.

Emory nervously tapped her foot. Most of the seventy-five attendees from the bridal tea were gone but the bride, her mother, and grandmother were in the foyer by the front door chatting with the two hostesses.

Emory had heard enough peripheral conversation during the party to know this was a football crowd who bled University of Tennessee orange. They knew very well who Gabe Beauford was and that this was his home.

But they didn’t know that he would be here any second. If they knew or cared that Jackson was in residence, she hadn’t heard any evidence of it.

Jackson had asked her to please try to have these people off the premises before Gabe arrived. He’d kissed her when he asked but that didn’t change that he wanted it done. What a difference a little time made. She wanted to do it because he asked, not because she feared the repercussions.

Eager as she was for them to leave, she was happy for the distraction—it kept her from thinking about how Dirk would be in New York soon and what might—or might not—happen. Though, to be honest, she didn’t need the distraction as much as she would have thought. It was done now, no matter how it turned out.

“Please come back to the house and spend the night again,” hostess number one, who was from Nashville, was saying. “We’ve hardly had time to catch up. We can go to brunch in the morning and you can head back to Knoxville then.”

“I suppose we could,” the mother said hesitatingly. “Kristy?”

“I don’t know,” the bride said. “Jeremy is expecting me.”

“You’ve got the rest of your life to spend with that boy,” the grandmother said. “At least I hope you do. Let’s go to Greenhills and do a little shopping. I’ll buy you some honeymoon clothes.”

Yes! Go to Greenhills for honeymoon clothes! Do it now!
Finally, they were moving toward the door. Oops, no. The hostesses were headed back toward her, smiling and saying things they had already said:
lovely party, perfect food, perfect everything, thank you so much.
And now the grandmother and her progeny got in on the act.
Wonderful, so beautiful, best party ever.

“So glad it went well and you enjoyed it,” Emory said, shaking hands all around. “If Around the Bend can ever do anything for you in the future, please just let us know.”
Maybe.
“It’s been a pleasure.”
Now, get the hell out of here!

Step, step, step, toward the door. Yes! They were almost there.

Then the front door burst open and nearly six and a half feet of brawny, blond, party-waiting-to-happen crashed in. He was wearing a University of Tennessee t-shirt and cap. And, as Gwen had predicted, his party was with him. One, two, three, four, five, six—counting Gabe, seven people, most of them girls.

The bride and company went silent with what was, no doubt, awe.

The mother clutched her heart. “Look, Kristy. He’s wearing Vol colors!” She said it like Gabe Beauford had just rescued a litter of drowning kittens and had taken them to raise.

Given that Emory was pretty sure there was no one in Gabe’s apartment taking selfies with his Heisman trophy or breaking into the case with his championship rings, this wouldn’t be as bad as the night Jackson returned. But it might be close.

But she shouldn’t have worried. He beamed like the sun on steroids and gave the mother that boyish, crooked smile that had graced the cover of every sports page and magazine in the country.

“Yes, ma’am, I
am
wearing my colors. I was born a Vol just like my daddy and I’ll die a Vol. I like to remind them in San Antonio how much
worse
things would have gone at the Alamo if not for Davy Crockett and the great state of Tennessee.” And he took off his cap and put it over his heart.

Could things really have gone much worse at the Alamo? Or maybe she’d learned it differently.

“Damn straight,” the grandmother said.

They were all going to break out into “Rocky Top” any second. No doubt Gabe would dance.

Gabe noticed Emory and gave her a smile and half wave. Since they were the same age, Gabe had been home at least part of the summers during his college years when Emory volunteered at Around the Bend, so they knew each other a little.

Finally, the women found their voices and began to fawn over Gabe. They weren’t the type to ask for autographs but they all wanted pictures with him—individual and group shots. Emory would have intervened but Gabe seemed to be having a dandy time. In fact, the photo session might have ended sooner, had he not prolonged it.

“Don’t you ladies want some pictures with my teammates?” He gestured to the only two other men in the party.

The women all cooed; of course they did, because what else were they going to say?

Gabe went on. “This is Troy Milam. He plays a little position called quarterback. He makes me look good because his passes are so pretty that any fourteen-year-old cheerleader could catch them.”

“That’s not true!” the bride said. “Everyone knows what a great receiver you are.”

Gabe laughed and tried to look humble. “You’re sweet. But Troy and I would both be stuck on a New York skyscraper in an ice storm with no way down without this guy.” He clapped the shoulder of a massive man with a shaved head and two-carat diamond studs in his ears. “Jamal Washington plays tight end. Troy went to Stanford and Jamal went to Alabama but, ladies, we’re just going to have to forgive them for that. Though Jamal did have the sense to marry Tasha, who is definitely the brains of that situation—so he gets points for that. Troy gets
no
points.”

Jamal crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head no, while Tasha widened her pretty eyes and nodded enthusiastically.

Troy shrugged. “What are you gonna do? No one of Tasha’s caliber will have me. She’s ruined me for all other women.” He was pretty adorable—
if
you liked the surfer boy look. Also, he probably couldn’t even read music.

“Get your eyes off my woman, Milam.” Jamal dropped a massive arm around his petite wife. “I’ve warned you before.”

Clearly they had all put on their public faces and they were very good at this. Though Emory noticed someone who wasn’t—one of the tall, leggy women had looked a little incensed when Troy spoke.

“And these ladies are Carmen, Courtney, and Cameron,” Gabe said.

What? Had he scrolled to the
Cs
in his phone and started making calls? They all looked somewhat interchangeable, give or take a few inches of height and a shade of highlights.

Finally, after a few more pictures, the bride and company left. Gabe came over and gave Emory a brief hug.

“Emory, it’s been years,” he said.

“Not years,” she said. “The funeral … ”

He closed his eyes and nodded. For the first time, his expression didn’t look like it was put on his face to cheer up the universe.

“Of course. Bad day.”

“For sure.” She nodded. “Sorry about the fan club. I
almost
had them herded out.”

“That’s fine.” He brushed at the air like he was sweeping away cobwebs. “Haven’t you heard how much I love myself? I live for that.”

“Then I’m glad I could accommodate you. Now, where do you want everyone? Ginger’s in the blue room. Other than that, everything’s company-ready.”

“Yeah. Good old Ginger.” He took Emory’s arm and stepped a little farther from the others. “Let’s see. How about Troy in Rafe’s rooms? He won’t care. And Jamal and Tasha in Aunt Amelia’s old rooms? That would be nice for Tasha, I think, what with that big tub and all.”

“What about the others?”

Gabe’s head snapped up in surprise and she got the feeling he had forgotten about the copycats.

“Hmm. Courtney is in with me and you can put the other two anywhere in the guest wing. If Troy wants to issue an invitation for a roommate, that’s for him to work out. But I wouldn’t want to put anyone in Beau’s rooms. He might come home.”

“Really?” That would make Jackson so happy. “Have you heard from him?”

“No. But he always might come home.”

“Okay. I’ll get everyone settled and Sammy will bring up the bags. Gwen is planning some hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Do you want them served on the side porch or downstairs in the family wing?”

“Porch,” he said decisively. “That’ll be way easier for Gwen since it’s not as far from the kitchen door. If we get hot, we can take it inside ourselves.”

No point in telling him Gwen had extra help for the duration of his stay.

“All right. Anything else?”

“Do you know where my brother is?”

“He went into Nashville to see about a new guitar. He was planning to be back by the time you got here but there’s no predicting the traffic.”

“It was rough. Is he going to my sister’s memorial show?”

“He is.”

Gabe nodded. “Good. Do you mind taking everyone up? I want to say hi to Gwen and then I’ll find Sammy and help him with the luggage.”

After Emory deposited Troy, the Washingtons, and a very smug Courtney in their designated quarters, she turned to the other two.

“We just need to go around to the guest wing now.”

Neither of them looked very happy.

“I thought I’d be staying with Troy,” one of them said, though Emory hadn’t sorted out who was Carmen and who was Cameron. The only reason she knew it wasn’t Courtney was because she wasn’t there at the moment.

The other one said, “There’re two more doors here. Where do they go?”

Aw, hell.

“One belongs to Gabe’s older brother.” What? Did she think if she didn’t say his name they wouldn’t know who it was? Truth was, she’d just done some math and come up with an extra
C.
“The other belongs to the youngest brother, Beau.”

“Is he here?” asked the one with the slightly lighter highlights, as opposed to the one who was pouting over Troy.

“No.”

“I wouldn’t mind staying in there. You know, in close proximity to Jack Beauford.” Light Highlights giggled. Emory hated giggling—and long, bronze legs and perfectly straight hair.

Well, Miss
C
of the perfect teeth and gel manicure, I guess you’ll have to sleep on my porch to accomplish that.
But was that true? There was no guarantee that Jackson would come to her tonight. He might want to be here with the fun, beautiful people.

“There’s a possibility Beau might come home.” Not a lie. It was possible. “So if you’ll just follow me.”

• • •

Jackson pulled into Audrey Crawford’s driveway. He wondered if he hadn’t been intending to come here all along. He’d told himself he was coming to Nashville to look at that 1950 Fender Broadcaster, and he had gone to Gruhn Guitars and done just that. The predecessor to the Telecaster was a rare and special instrument and he had wanted one for a long time. But when he’d held it, it hadn’t felt right.

Finally, he’d worked out why. It had been easy to avoid thinking about Trace’s family at Beauford Bend. But driving through Nashville and entering the legendary guitar shop where he and Trace had spent so much time jamming and bought so many guitars, had brought to the forefront what he should have done a long time ago.

So here he sat. At least he hadn’t pulled around the corner like he had the day he’d flown in. Today he had to go to the door. He couldn’t go play in the Mother Church of County Music without telling Audrey—though it had been easy enough to avoid going to the First Baptist Church of Nashville for Trace’s funeral without consulting her or anyone else.

Of course he’d also missed Brandon’s and Cody’s funerals, plus the three roadies’. He ought to have paid his respects to all of them but Trace was the one who’d been with him from the beginning, who’d had kids and had still had a wife.

He got out and made the long walk to the front door. The door chimes still played “Stand By Your Man
.
” Trace had bought it as joke for Audrey because he was gone so much, and she had turned the tables on him and refused to let him reprogram it.

Jackson was just beginning to think no one was home when the door swung open and there she stood. She looked good, maybe a little thin, but her hair was fixed and she was wearing makeup and nice clothes. He’d been afraid he’d find a crumbling mess of a woman in dirty pajamas with matted hair. Of course, her outward appearance didn’t mean she wasn’t a mess inside. After all, the mirror told him he looked pretty good, too.

Her mouth twisted and she stepped aside and held out her hand to him.

So she was granting absolution—absolution he didn’t deserve. They held each other for a good five minutes without speaking a word. Finally, he pulled away.

“What you must think of me,” he said.

“You know what I think of you.” She took his hand and led him to the couch in the living room. “You’re my friend. I love you.”

“Don’t make this easy for me, Audrey. I don’t deserve it.”

She shook her head and took a lacy handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes.

“Oh, sugar. I don’t think I am. I doubt there’s anyone who could make any of this easy for you. But I would if I could.”

“I’m ashamed that I didn’t come—”

She held up a hand. “So what? There were over 500 people at that funeral, most of whom I haven’t heard from since. You’re here now, like I knew you would be when you could.”

“I came here a while back—when I first came back to Tennessee. I sat in my truck around the corner all afternoon. I wanted to at least tell you that if you or the kids need anything—”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Do you think I don’t know that? And thank you for the trust funds for the kids’ educations.”

He looked around. “How are Ben and Stacy?”

“Fine,” she said. “Coping. They’re swimming at the neighbors’ right now. We’re going to Disney World over the Fourth of July with my sister and her kids.”