His For One Night. Sarah M. Anderson
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had gotten to a place in his life where he could handle online swipes from Tex without being driven to fits of rage. That was how far Flash had come in a year.
Brooke launched into the song, which cut off any other outbursts. The red haze behind his eyes faded, and he was able to breathe without feeling like punching someone.
Not surprisingly, this song felt personal, too. The double entendres flew fast and furious, but the core of the song was about a guy who couldn’t take his licks and bailed.
A lot of people didn’t like Flash. He’d never made it particularly easy for anyone to like him, but at least he knew it. However, he’d never inspired such strong feelings that someone could write an entire album based on how much they hated him, for God’s sake.
Right. Instead of being insulted and letting it get to him, he was going to focus on feeling...flattered. Yeah, flattered. Not just any rodeo rider had an entire album dedicated to him, officially or unofficially. And if she publicly acknowledged that he was the inspiration, well, Flash was sure that his sister, Chloe, would find a way to spin Brooke’s new album as a positive for Flash and the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo. Probably.
Besides, Brooke had said herself the album wouldn’t be out for a few more months. She was still fine-tuning some of the material, still recording. Forewarned was forearmed. It was a good thing he was here tonight. He could work with Chloe to plan for a couple of different contingencies. His sister had already basically figured out that Flash was crushing hard on Brooke.
Although...she’d want to know why Brooke was so furious with him. And he did not have an answer for that. Brooke had kissed him goodbye. Thanked him for the amazing night. Told him to take care.
And that was it.
At least she hadn’t forgotten him, right? If there was one word that described Flash Lawrence, it was memorable.
When Brooke started the next song—titled “Not Going Down (Without a Fight)”—Flash almost couldn’t take it. What the hell? If it’d been any other club or dive bar in Nashville, he would’ve bailed. But when a songwriter or a singer started their set at the Bluebird, no one moved and no one talked—house rules. So he had no choice but to sit there and listen.
He’d spent a year trying to make sense of the fact that Brooke Bonner was an itch he hadn’t finished scratching. Before her, he’d bounced around bars and rodeos for four, maybe five years, picking up buckle bunnies and beautiful women in every town from Phoenix to Peoria while riding on the All-Stars circuit. Brooke Bonner should’ve been just one more woman. It’d been a one-night. Meaningless. Satisfying.
Except that that night had meant something to him and he’d spent nearly thirteen months unsatisfied.
Coming here tonight hadn’t been a good idea. But damn it, he needed to know if their night together had meant anything to her.
Something more than raw material.
Finally, her set ended and the crowd came back to life. Because she was the last act, she stayed in the center of the room and signed autographs and posed for pictures. Flash hung back at the bar, debating his next move. Should he wait for the crowd to thin and then approach her? Or would it be better if they didn’t have an audience? In that case, he should head out to the parking lot and wait by her car. Or was that too creepy?
Brooke glanced at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead before she quickly looked away. Nothing about that said invitation.
But he didn’t care about that little frown. He didn’t care about the songs or the radio silence that had lasted over a year.
He wanted to look her in the eye, make his case and then hear whatever she needed to get off her chest in person—without losing his temper. He wanted to know how they’d gotten from that wild night to this.
And if he didn’t get lucky...he’d walk.
But he wasn’t playing this guessing game.
He paid his tab and headed outside. The Bluebird was in a nondescript strip mall, and it took some work for Flash to work his way around to the back of the building. There—that plain sand-colored sedan had to be hers. She’d told him that she drove a boring car because it blended in.
He took up residence against a wall a good ten feet from the door of the Bluebird, giving her plenty of room. Lying in wait for her was a terrible idea, especially after that window into her mind and most especially after that frown. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled a gun on him.
But that was a risk he was willing to take.
“Great set,” Kyle said, a note of pride in his voice. “It’s going to be a massive hit. The whole album. Very girl power. I wish I’d written half of it.”
“Be sure to tell the record label that, okay?” Brooke said, her cheeks beginning to hurt with all the smiling she was doing. She valued Kyle’s opinion and the crowd had seemed to enjoy the songs as well, so this was all great.
Except Flash Lawrence was here. What was she supposed to do now?
“I’m so proud of you,” Kyle added, giving her an awkward hug.
She hugged him back but her mind was stuck on Flash. She’d almost, almost gone up to him out there. There were a lot of people milling around, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if she’d walked up to the bar and asked for something else to drink, right? People wouldn’t have made any connection between her getting a drink and making small talk with a random cowboy, right? Then she could’ve at least figured out why he was here. The only two possibilities she could think of were—this was either a stunning coincidence or...
Or he’d come to see her.
And as she had only mentioned the Bluebird appearance on her Twitter feed two days ago...
She’d bet good money Flash was outside waiting for her. Which meant she had to talk to him. Which meant she had to tell him about Bean. Her son.
His son.
Oh God, this was going to suck.
“Hey,” Kyle said, putting a hand on her arm. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, working hard for that smile. She’d kept Bean a secret for a lot of good reasons, but none of them came to mind now that she knew she’d have to tell Flash. Because the alternative was to do exactly what her mother had done—keep on hiding and lying for the rest of her life—and Brooke couldn’t do it. She was done hiding.
Or would be, just as soon as Flash knew. But to Kyle, she said, “Just relieved the new stuff is solid.”
Kyle gave her a worried look. “You sure? I know you, Brooke. I know how you write. That stuff...it seemed kind of personal.”
“We need to get going,” Alex said, all but hip checking Kyle into a wall. Bless her heart. “Sorry, Morgan.”
“Jeez, woman,” Kyle said, rubbing his shoulder. “You should’ve stuck with football.”
Brooke gave him another quick hug and made a not-exactly-quick stop in the ladies’ room. Damn it, she was stalling.
Not hiding anymore, she repeated to herself as she picked up her guitar case. Alex opened the back door for her and, as she walked out into the humid Tennessee air, Brooke felt it again—that tingling at the base of her spine.
“Brooke.”
That was all he had to say for her worst nightmares and her fondest dreams to come true at once because this was really happening.
Flash had come for her.
Oh, God—she wasn’t going to be strong enough because even just the sound of her name on his lips was making her resolve weaken.
It