Meaning Griff, my brain translated.

  "The point is, when you act impulsively it affects people…Griff, me, Callahan's…Hannah," she added. Mick flinched as she emphasized his niece's name. "People know who we are. When you act carelessly, it reflects on us as a family.

  "Think of this," she said, switching tactics. "People don't come to Callahan's for me or Griff. They come because of you. They come because they want to feel closer to you, be a part of something that you are. Don't you see?" she questioned, her glassy eyes pleading her case. "When you do something publicly, people start talking and we hear it…and want to defend you, but oftentimes, we can't."

  "Sutter, I'm sorry-"

  "It's not just that," Sutter continued. "It goes beyond just careless actions that affect your family and the bar. It's not caring about anyone but yourself. It's not caring about your fans. Don't you understand? There's a boy in the front row who wants to be you. Wants to play to a stadium full of people and who's watching you, taking notes on how to do that. Would you tell him that the way you're doing it is the way to go? Would you give him that advice?

  "There's a Hannah on the sidelines, waiting for your autograph and you're too drunk to hold a pen. What would you tell that little girl if she was your daughter? What would you tell her when you look at her face, tears streaming down it because her idol completely ignored her? Maybe she'd driven two states over to see you, to hear your music, to possibly meet you and the moment she has that opportunity, it's crushed?"

  I sucked a breath in, the silence and her words weaving together, demanding the moment. God, I felt like she was talking to me. Even though I knew she was talking to Mick, explaining his life and his decisions' consequences, I still felt like the conversation could've been aimed at me. I'd never considered those details before, never given one single thought to the people on the sidelines beyond them liking my music, purchasing my future albums or coming to my shows. Me. Me. Me. That was all I'd ever been concerned with. Me and how the moment made me feel. Me and how I could reach the next step.

  I suddenly realized that I hated everything about the old me. Nothing about that girl appealed to me anymore. I wanted to make music, yes, but I wanted peace and tranquility and love. I wanted Kole and Trent and Griff. I wanted roots - a house and a family. I wanted people surrounding me that added to my life. I didn't want to do it alone. Alone was lonely, easy and pathetic. Being an independent woman didn't mean you had to be alone. It just meant being able to find yourself amidst the rest of the worldly chaos. And if you had the right people in your life, they'd help you with ridding the chaos, not create more.

  Jesus, I'd turned a complete one-eighty. Swell time to reach a personal epiphany.

  "I'm sorry, Sutter, I-" Mick began, dragging me from my thoughts. "I guess I never saw it that way. It was a life I'd created for myself and I've just been living it the way that I wanted. I never intended to hurt anyone, especially you," he said softly.

  Griff had been strangely silent, and I wondered when he'd step in. He seemed content to stand on the sidelines with me for the moment, allowing all of Sutter's points to sink in.

  "I know that, Mick," she said. "I've always known that. That's why I've never said anything beyond agreeing with Griff when necessary."

  Mick's face tensed at the mention of Griff.

  "Don't do that," Sutter admonished. "We're a family-"

  "A family that he took away from me," Mick cut in, his voice cracking.

  "You know that's not the case-"

  "You bastard!"

  Both Sutter and Griff spoke at the same time, their emotions running high. I eyeballed Trevor from across the room, tilting my head towards the door. Our talk was imminent and I wanted to let the Callahan's settle their scrimmage alone, so now seemed as good a time as ever.

  He caught the suggestion, both of us slipping outside practically unnoticed. I walked a far enough distance from the house, my thoughts running amuck, knowing what I was about to do and admittedly, being more than a little nervous about it.

  Freeing myself from Trevor meant freeing myself from music…at least for my immediate future.

  "Kennedy," Trevor called from behind me.

  I stopped short of the large tree that I'd recently used as a crying post. I turned to face him, my body overwrought with emotion. He took one look at my face before frowning.

  "Let me start by apologizing for my absence," he began, beads of sweat peppering his forehead.

  "Trevor, just stop," I said, folding heavy arms across my chest. "Yes, I was mad at you initially. I'd be lying if I said I haven't wanted to call you, cuss you out, then fire you at least half a dozen times since our last conversation," I said, watching as his eyes narrowed. "But I haven't made this easy for you. I realize that," I admitted, surprised with myself because I hadn't intended to give him what I just had. "These past few months have been hard for the both of us," I acknowledged. "And I assume that it's left you wondering what our future holds."

  "Well, uh-yes," he said, stumbling over his words. Surprise filled his eyes at my candor and the fact that I'd said what he'd been meaning to. He lifted a hand to his face to relieve himself of his perspiration. "I'll admit, I've had to field some pretty tough phone calls…"

  "Well, you won't have to anymore."

  His surprise turned to shock, as his gaping mouth struggled to respond. "That's not what-I mean, it wasn't my intention to-"

  "No, but it's mine," I responded, holding firm. "I'm not so sure that country music would even want me if a record label did right now. Or how in the hell I could ever separate my music from Mick and the things that have happened. You do know that I knew nothing about the proposal, right?"

  "Well of course," he said, his features softening. "I thought you did a damned good job of not killing him on national television."

  "Right?" I questioned, laughing despite the heaviness of the situation. "So, you realize that we'll have to either stage a break-up or admit it was all a farce?"

  He nodded. "Of course."

  "And you're also aware that his team is going to try to take the easiest way out, making him look like the wounded duck and me the wicked woman who swooped in for his fame or his money or both."

  "Yep," he agreed. "I'm betting on the break-up route."

  "Me too."

  He narrowed his eyes, the first sympathetic look gracing his face since we'd left the house. "I guess the real question is, will you let them? You do have a say, Kennedy. You know that right? We can fight them."

  I sighed, grateful for his allegiance, but unprepared to fight like he wanted. I was tired. Tired of hiding out. Tired of this whole mess. I didn't want things to go back like they were, but I wanted the normalcy to return. "I'm not sure that I want to."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because all I want - all I really want - is for all of this to end. I want it to be over so I can decide what to do with my life," I admitted. "Maybe down the line, music will find a place in my life. Hell, maybe I'll even figure out a way for it to put money in the bank, but for now, I can't see how it will work."

  "Kennedy, you can't give up," he pled, stepping towards me to place a hand on my shoulder.

  "Why? Because I'm your only client?" I quipped, regretting the words as soon as they were said. He certainly hadn't deserved them.

  "No. Because you're talented," he responded, his anger clipping into his words. "I've never met someone so talented. Not just talented," he said, taking a few moments to search for his next words. "Hungry and eager and fierce." His eyes locked onto mine before continuing. "You had more fire in your eyes than I'd ever seen. When I walked into that pizza joint and saw that fire and then heard the sound of your voice, my whole body vibrated with excitement. I just knew that I'd found something special."

  I hadn't expected to hear his words, hadn't known that he'd thought so highly of me or my talents. Trevor had always been a stepping stone for me, the gateway to something bigger and better. When I'd started making money, I would've dropped him in a heartbeat. I was a complete asshat. "I didn't know all that," I admitted, trying desperately not to let my emotions get the best of me. I'd turned into a complete crybaby. When I finally got around to getting my heart checked, maybe I'd make a point to get my hormones checked too.

  "Well, it's true," he said, squeezing down over my shoulder before letting go. "It's why I've fought for you so hard. It's why I begged the label to forgive you after you told them off. They were stupid to disregard your demo, looking for something that was already on the radio and completely oblivious to the genius in your songs, but they still held your future in their hands. They were still your ticket and your gateway to stardom."

  He was right of course. When you act impulsively, it affects people. Sutter's words sank into my stomach like a jagged edged knife. I'd been heading down the exact path as Mick. Stepping back and being able to look at my life objectively made me feel like a complete and utter failure.

  "Thank you," I finally managed, "for everything. I truly appreciate it. I'm sorry for not realizing that what I did had a direct effect on you. It was careless, immature," I admitted.

  "It's okay," Trevor assured me, his smile, although forced, reached genuinely for his ears. "We can start fresh-"

  "Trevor, while I appreciate your belief in me and willingness to stick by my side, I meant what I said. Country Music doesn't want me right now," I said softly. I felt the tears stinging in my eyes, welling up to blur my vision. "And I'm not so sure that I want Country Music right now either."

  "You don't mean-"

  "I do," I interjected. I needed to say the right things to end this before I changed my mind, before I dove back into the spiraling depths. The right thing, the thing that was best for my future, was to walk away and figure me out - first and foremost. "I do," I reconfirmed, giving him my best determined look, trying to convey my statement with the fire that he believed I had within me.

  He stood quietly before me, moments of uncertainty passing over me where I had to resist reversing my decision. "If you ever need someone who believes in you, call me," he said, before heading towards his car, climbing in and barreling down the ominous dirt road.

  I watched his car until I couldn't see it anymore.

  *****

  My fingers hurt from plucking the strings, a sure sign that I'd neglected my mother's guitar for far too long. As I hummed sounds that would eventually be replaced with words, my mind filled with visions of my mother. I tried imagining her seated next to me on the pier, shoulder to shoulder, her skin touching mine. Her voice would rise above mine, guiding me, coaxing me to iron out some of the raspiness.

  Falling in love, ain't an easy thing to do.

  But it seems a lesser hill to climb, when I'm doin' it with you.

  "I swear, your voice gets more beautiful every time I hear it," Griff said from behind me.

  My back stiffened at the unexpected voice, but my heart soared. Patting the space next to me, I readjusted my guitar across my lap. If my mom couldn't occupy the space, Griff was a very close second. Somehow, I knew that she'd approve of this Callahan.

  "You didn't always think my voice was beautiful," I joked as he stooped down to place a gentle kiss across my nose, before sitting down to dangle his legs over the side. "Nails on a chalkboard was more like it."

  He shrugged, shooting a soft grin in my direction. "Ehh, you live and you learn."

  His words couldn't be more true. "You're certainly right about that."

  "That melody you were playing with, do you mind?" he questioned, pointing towards my guitar. Smiling, I willingly handed it over. "What if you tried this chord towards the middle?" he asked, mimicking my melody from before, inserting his suggestion where he saw fit.

  "What if you weren't always right?" I teased, loving the way it sounded. Something about the change made the melody seem more seamless, smooth.

  "Well, then, I'd have to rethink a few things," he said, playing right along. "But I don't have to worry about it because I am always right."

  Rolling my eyes, I reached for my guitar. "Give me that before your head explodes. I don't want you ruining my guitar with your cocky brain matter when it does."

  "Confidence," he corrected laughing. "There's a difference."

  "If you weren't so good in bed, I'd-"

  "You'd what?"

  "Push your ass in that lake and pray that snake would attack you."

  He leaned towards my ear, whispering his words. "I think that snake only has eyes for you."

  I tried stifling out the butterflies that his nearness stirred up in my stomach, still uncomfortable with feelings and emotions he was capable of creating. "Well it's too damned bad. I'm already taken."

  He nuzzled my neck with his nose. "Yes, you are."

  I swatted my hand towards him. "If you don't want me to tackle you right here on this pier, I suggest you stop."

  I could feel his grin across my skin. "Maybe that's exactly what I want," he mumbled as his tongue slid across my neck, stopping just beneath my earlobe.

  "Stop it," I demanded, laughing despite the goose bumps that flared across my skin. "I mean it," I added when he didn't.

  He held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. I quit," he chuckled. "But you can't fault me for wanting you. After a fight, there's nothing better than good sex and, Baby, ours is the best."

  I blushed so hard I could feel my ears sting with heat. "Maybe later," I teased.

  "Maybe?" he questioned, his eyebrows lifting with humorous inquisition.

  "Okay, definitely," I agreed. "But only if you reassure me that everything's okay."

  He sighed, nodding his head. "It's as okay as it's going to be. Maybe there's light at the end of the tunnel for Mick's conscience." He pursed his lips, looking out over the lake. "He's patched things up with Sutter, promised to walk the straight and narrow."

  I slid a hesitant hand over his thigh, squeezing the muscles beneath my palm. He slid a warm hand over mine. "And the two of you?"

  His fingers threaded into mine, his eyes looking down at me from the corners. "Maybe there's hope. Maybe not. Truth is, we may never be good, Kennedy," he said softly. "But I'm okay with that, I think. I'm going to work on my bitterness. Even if he doesn't completely turn over this new leaf, I'm not going to let it affect me. There's no reason for that bitterness to bleed over into the other corners of my life."

  "That's a start."

  He nodded. "Yes, it is," he agreed, leaning forward to place a kiss on my forehead. I closed my eyes, enjoying the way that the gesture felt. "His first true test will be how he handles the situation for you."

  My eyes popped open as my body stiffened. He sensed my alarm, sliding his rough fingers over the top of my hand soothingly. "If he wants to live, he'll go against Mitchell's wishes, who says he's only suggesting a staged break-up because it's what the label wants. He's full of shit, of course. He wants it as bad as the label does. Mick's his meal ticket."

  "I'd already assumed their angle. It would be a hell of a lot easier for them to spin that story than the truth," I said, pulling my guitar from around my neck and settling it back into its case.

  "Yeah, well, it'll be even harder for their star to sing without a head," he said, draping his arm over my shoulder before pulling me into his side. I buried my face into his side, smiling into the hard muscle. "I love you, Kennedy. I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt you."

  "I love you too," I whispered, looking up at him, mirroring his grin.

  "Getting any easier to say?" he whispered, grinning from ear to ear.

  I scrunched my nose up at him and smiled. "Maybe a little."

  "Want to know what the two of them had planned before we threw a wrench into things?"

  "Not really," I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder.

  "Good, because there's no way in hell that I'd ever approve of you going back on tour with Mick."

  Not so long ago, I'd have jumped at the opportunity, been ecstatic with the mere thought. But now, Griff's words sailed into my brain and directly out, leaving one thought in its wake: I want nothing more than to be right here, right now, in this man's arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "I didn't know you cooked," I observed, patting my damp hair down with a towel. I pulled the white silk robe tightly around my midsection before tying the strings at the middle, this time not worried about the short length of the material. In fact, my feelings towards the sleeping attire were quite the opposite this time around.

  "I don't," he called over his shoulder, draping a kitchen towel over the taut muscle.

  I stood at the entrance to the kitchen watching him, enjoying the feeling of something as simple as being alone in a kitchen with the man I loved. Simple and mundane to most, Kole and I hadn't experienced many things like this growing up. The Masters family wasn't exactly picture perfect, postcard material, and since I'd never allowed myself to get this close to a man before, this was a first. A first that I liked.

  Closing the space between us, I wrapped my arms around his waist, allowing my fingers to spread apart to flex over the muscles beneath them. "Doesn't look like it to me," I murmured into the skin on his back, peppering him with slow kisses.

  He stiffened briefly, but returned his attentions back to the contents of the skillet. "If you keep touching me like that, I'll show you exactly how poor my cooking skills are by burning this meal and proving to you, instead, that I have other talents."

  I smiled. "Was that a threat? Because, really, it sounded more like an invitation that I'd like very much to take you up on," I teased, but removed my reluctant hands from his midsection anyway. My stomach was urging me to be on my best behavior: Eat first, sex later.

  Pouring myself a glass of wine before taking up residence on the countertop beside him, I made a show of sniffing the air. "You know, Mr. Callahan, pasta happens to be one of my three main vices."

  "And what, Ms. Masters, are your two others?" he questioned.

  "Prior to you? Expensive shoes and Dolly Parton."

  He smirked, readjusting the temperature knob to a lower setting. "And now?" he questioned, lifting a humored eyebrow.