We had barely paid our ridiculous parking fair when Kole started with the questions. I should've anticipated the onslaught but, sadly, I hadn't. "So, what are your intentions with my sister?" Kole questioned.

  "And to think that I was actually excited about you coming," I quipped. I felt like a sixteen year old before her high school dance.

  "It's a very valid question," Kole answered, never giving me a sideways glance, instead, focusing her attention solely on Griff.

  He smirked and nodded. "You're right, it's a valid question," he agreed, looking around her at me. "She's just worried about you," he pointed out, before returning his attention back to Kole. "I like her…a lot," he answered, using his words selectively. I could tell he was treading lightly.

  "Like?" Kole questioned, her nose wrinkling with disapproval.

  "Okay, okay," he said, nodding his head as if to say, 'you caught me'. "Love. I love her," he admitted.

  His eyes found mine over her head, seeking approval for what he'd just confessed. I shrugged, mouthing that it was okay. Hell, I didn't care who knew. I was getting great, big, fat, gigantically good sex. I'd shout it from the rooftops if I could. Too bad the world thought I was having it with someone else.

  "That's more like it," Kole said, satisfied for the moment. "So what're we going to do about this Mick creep?"

  "Kole!" I shrieked, laughing through my embarrassment. She had become quite forward, grown a pair, since moving to Spain and getting engaged.

  "What?!?" she snapped.

  She was as serious as a heart attack. Niceties be damned! "Could you at least let us get home?"

  She shrugged, shooting me a dubious look like she didn't know what I was making such a fuss about. Need I point out to her that she wasn't asking simple questions like, "What do you do for a living?" or "Do you have any siblings besides Mick?"? I'd need to remind her that living in a mansion didn't give her permission to ask mansion sized questions.

  "He is a creep," Griff cut in a few moments later. "And the answer to your question is…we're going to do nothing. He knows how I feel about her and her about me. He's backed off. Now he's got to fix it publicly."

  "So, you're just going to let him decide her fate?" Kole questioned, panicked. It was no secret that my sister hated someone else having control, especially over a public persona. Hers had been controlled by my father, and only recently had she been brave enough to take back the reigns. "Like he decided to propose to her on national television without her consent? Or-"

  "Kole."

  Griff smiled softly, his eyes on the road. "He'll do the right thing," he said slowly, with more conviction in his words than I had in his brother, "if he knows what's good for him."

  "And what's the deal with the blonde hair?" she questioned sharply, completely skipping subjects as her eyes landed on my dye job. "Why would you ever dye it? Your natural color is so beautiful." She pursed her lips into a disapproving pout as her fingers came up to finger some of my loose tresses.

  "Boy, you really showed up, guns loaded, didn't you?" I mused, snatching my hair from her prying fingers. "And I've been considering dying it back, but it costs money. Money that I don't have a lot of," I pointed out. Mick's generosity was dwindling quickly even with the tight budget that I'd been keeping.

  "What's your natural hair color?" Griff questioned, taking a moment to share a surprised look with me.

  "He doesn't know your natural hair color?" Kole squawked.

  "It's red," I said, ignoring Kole's outburst. I looked down at the ends that, sadly, were mostly dead and frowned. Now that I'd cut ties with Trevor and, in essence, my label too, there was really nothing stopping me. Of course, it eliminated the big fuck you I was hoping to send their way. The thought only made my frown deepen. "The label requested that I dye it blonde. Said there was only room for one redhead in country music and Reba had already claimed that spot."

  Griff threw his head back and laughed. "That's ridiculous. Is that really what they're requesting of artists these days?" he questioned, laughing bitterly.

  "Wasn't really a request," I mumbled, my own resentment worming its way into my gut. "If it had been, it would've never happened."

  "We're going to a hair stylist tomorrow," Kole concluded, her face set into a determined stare. "What's your stance on redheads?" she asked, whipping her head towards Griff. Even though he didn't see, her glare and narrowed eyes said he better say the right things.

  "I don't really have a stance," Griff said shrugging, eyes still safely on the road. "But if you're asking whether I'd like your sister with red hair, my response to that is that I'd love your sister no matter what color her hair was. I'd love her if she was bald," he added seriously.

  My heart took an appreciative leap, processing the love and sincerity behind his answer. This man never ceased to amaze me. Clearly, Kole was impressed too - or at the very least, stunned into silence - because she settled back into her seat and shut her mouth, folding a comforting hand over mine and squeezing.

  It felt good to have her back, and even better to have all of the people that I loved most seated in one vehicle. My heart had never been so happy. There was just one problem with soaring so high. Eventually, you had to come down. Like at the foot of every hill, there was only one way to go from there - up - the reverse was also true. I just had no clue how quickly that would happen.

  *****

  Sutter met us on the front porch with a worried look etched across her face. She was holding a bag in her hands, her fingers gripping the top tightly. She shielded the setting sun from her eyes, her hand shielding her grimace.

  "Sutter," Griff said as he climbed the steps, acknowledging her with a small nod. "What's going on?" he questioned, concern lacing into his words as he got close enough to register the look on her face.

  "It's not good," she said sighing, still clinging onto the bag. "I'm sorry to have to meet you for the first time like this," she said, forcing a smile in Kole's direction, "but I really don't have much choice otherwise."

  "Sutter, what's going on?" I chimed in, a lump forming in the back of my throat. I had a sick intuition that whatever she had to tell us, had to do with me.

  "Maybe we should send the kids inside?" Her voice tilted at the end in question as she turned towards Hannah. "Hannah, baby, why don't you take Kennedy's nephew inside for a while?"

  Hannah nodded, standing from her spot on the porch swing and motioning for Trent to come inside. Sutter waited until the door shut behind them before slipping a hand into the bag and pulling out a cluttered mix of newspapers and magazines. She flashed the cover of the first magazine in my direction, the headline catching more than my eye, stealing my breath too. There across the front were the words: New Nashville Predator: Kennedy Masters, with a picture of my face underneath. She shuffled through the different magazines revealing their covers quickly, one by one, each new headline and picture like a punch in the gut.

  I fumbled for the magazines, as if touching them would validate their reality. This couldn't be happening to me. Not now. Not when everything was falling into place. Not when everything felt so perfect.

  My head began to spin as woeful questions started swirling within. Hadn't Mick promised to play nice? Hadn't that been what Griff had said? That he'd promised Sutter he'd walk the straight and narrow. I had news for him; this stunt was neither straight nor narrow. It was as crooked as a politician. How could he do this? Be so heartless? Be so angry that he'd tarnish someone's character and career without a second thought?

  "That sonofabitch," I mumbled, walking on dreaded feet towards the porch swing, occupying the space that Hannah had just vacated. I shuffled through the stack again, my eyes re-reading the covers that stared back at me.

  Girlfriend? More Like Gold Digger

  One Callahan not Enough for Kennedy Masters

  Cheatin' Heart Cheats on Both Callahan Brothers

  "At least they're clever," I finally mumbled, the words seeming to tumble from someone else's lips entirely.

  Kole snatched the magazines from my shaky fingers, thumbing through the pages of the first one before stopping on the actual article. She began reading the contents aloud, hesitantly at first until her anger began taking over the further she read along.

  Mystery woman, Kennedy Masters, woos country music superstar, Mick Callahan, before sinking her claws into his brother too. The famous singer, who many believed to be off the market thanks to his recent declaration of love during a CMT exclusive, is now single.

  Ladies, breathe easy.

  Inside sources say that Mick was 'completely smitten' with Kennedy, but 'started having doubts when he was on tour'. Another insider confirmed the woman's involvement to Mick's mysterious brother, Griffin 'Griff' Callahan. 'He came home to surprise her and she was in bed with Griff.' When pressed further, the source continued by saying, 'She was working at Callahan's as a favor of the family's. Apparently, she was getting a lot more than a paycheck thanks to Mick's brother.' The source went on to say, 'I mean, how awful can you be? Sleeping with a man's brother behind his back?'

  Our thoughts exactly.

  Mick's camp could not be reached for comment.

  "This is complete bullshit," Kole seethed, flinging the magazine across the porch. The pages scattered and skid across the wood, landing in a heap at Griff's feet. She began furiously searching through each publication, reading snippets from each one, every article just as bad as the last. "This is defamation of character. I'm calling my lawyer."

  "Kole," I pleaded, numb to my core. My hands came up to cradle my head that hung about as low in between my legs as you could get without dragging the floor. "Please, just hold on a second."

  I hadn't noticed Griff sit down beside me or slide his arm around my shoulders until he pulled me snuggly into his side. "Get Mick on the phone, right this fucking minute," he seethed, speaking to his sister.

  "Griff, calm down," Sutter instructed, placing a hip on the porch's railing. "We don't know for sure that he was the leak. They said that he couldn't be reached-"

  "His camp," Griff cut in, his words slicing through the air as it echoed across the porch. "They said his fucking camp," he reiterated. "That doesn't mean that he wasn't the mole."

  "He said he wouldn't," Sutter responded.

  "He also said he wouldn't give us a bad name when he signed his record deal," Griff snapped. "He said he wanted a bar, but clearly he didn't. Hell, he wanted a restaurant years ago too, but he never had time for it. Thank God we got around to selling it."

  Sutter held up her hands defensively, resigning to agree with Griff for the moment. "Okay, you're right on those counts," she agreed, sighing as she ran a hand through her dark hair. "But please, let's not jump to conclusions until we know for sure."

  "Get him on the phone, now," Griff demanded.

  I felt dizzy, nauseous, like my body and soul were trying to separate but the Gods wouldn’t allow it. There was also the small problem of feeling like I was about to hyperventilate, which was causing my limbs to tingle.

  Flexing my hands into a tight ball, I made sure that my appendages were still working before standing. I couldn't take everything in, think clearly, with so many people around. I needed open space and time alone.

  Despite the protests and questions that spewed at me from all directions, I stormed into the house, filled a cooler up with beer and grabbed my guitar, ignoring the confused stares that met me when I stepped back out into the Tennessee air.

  "Don't follow me," I requested harshly, fending off tears that I knew would fall as soon as my feet hit the grass. "Please," I added, hoping that they hadn't heard my voice crack. I walked as fast as my tingling legs would carry me, careful not to disturb the items in my hands. I needed them both.

  Therapy was about to begin.

  *****

  Five beers in and I was starting to feel the sadness turn to haziness. Pounding back forty ounces in forty minutes would do that to you. I had moved beyond the crying phase, which I was sure I'd return to if I kept up the pace, instead moving into the I'm-numb-so-I-feel-like-I-can-do-anything phase.

  "It's just you and me, Alcohol," I mumbled, noticing a slight slur making its way into my words. I scowled. "That how you want to handle this? Well fine," I said, casting the half empty beer into the lake. My hand immediately reached for another. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," I said to the label on the front that stared back at me disapprovingly.

  I tilted my head back and gulped, promising to drink this one more slowly than the last five. Setting it to the side, I grabbed for my guitar before aiming a question towards my sweaty companion, "How 'bout we write a song?" I grabbed the small notebook and pencil from inside the guitar case, balancing it on top of the wood.

  This girl's free soul, mighta got me in a bind.

  Making decisions on the fly, isn't always kind.

  Tried to right my wrongs, follow the white line.

  'Cause every free bird's, gotta come down some time.

  But I dug in too deep, when I used to shoot from the hip.

  Got too many skeletons, for this relationship.

  "It's bad for your eyes to read in the dark," Kole said from behind me.

  I grabbed for my beer and tilted my head back, sending another healthy helping to my liver. You're welcome. "Then it's a good thing I'm not reading," I retorted. "I'm writing."

  "Oh, well that's good," she said, taking up the space next to me. "That means you've gotten over that writer's block you were having."

  I grunted, sucking in the side of my cheek. As angry as I was with myself for the mess I was in, I had somehow managed to find my lyrical voice. Exactly when or where I'd found it, I wasn't too sure, but I had a fairly good idea that a lot of it stemmed back to Griff. I'd try and remember to be thankful later. But right now? I was content with being drunk…and angry. And I couldn't get past the fact that reconnecting with my musical abilities was absolutely useless. There wasn't a record label or a publishing company that would touch me or my songs at the moment, if ever.

  How ironic that the silence that had filled my head for so long, that had led me to the bottle, had now subsided and I still couldn't pry myself away from the pesky vice. My hand instinctively went for the bottle as if to further prove my observation.

  "Mom always said that writing was therapeutic. That what you're doing?" she continued, overlooking the fact that I'd ignored her previous comment.

  "I thought I told you not to follow me. I want to be alone," I said, biting back my annoyance with her interruption. "And yes, maybe."

  After taking yet another sip, I sat rolling the cold glass in my hands, staring it down as I stewed over my frustrations.

  "I let you get good and drunk first," she noted, flipping open my cooler to pull out one of the ice cold brews for herself. She wrinkled her nose at my choice of beers before taking a sip and swallowing it down like it was the worst thing she'd ever tasted. "You really need to branch out a bit."

  "For one, it was all that was in the refrigerator," I grumbled, eyeing her as she took another sip, following the actions with another look of disgust. "And two, cheap budget equals cheap beer. I'd like to think that I'm just a well-rounded drinker," I pointed out. "Besides, you need a little bit of American beer in your system. You've been in Spain too long. Too many Dos Equis."

  "Okay, but Dos Equis are brewed in Mexico," she said, eyeing me comically. I wasn't in the mood to be patronized. "But it is Spanish for two x's, so I'll give you at least that."

  "Whatever, Kole," I grumbled. "You here to teach me a geography lesson? Because if you are, I gotta tell you, I'm not really in the mood."

  "No," she said softly, her tone switching from teasing to serious. "I was worried about you."

  "Well thanks, but I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

  "Seems like I've heard that before," she pointed out, nudging my side playfully with her elbow. "And I'm here now because of a similar line. So would you just drop this whole independent charade and let me be there for you?"

  I nodded, lowering my guard. Considering Kole was my biggest ally and the one I could trust most in the world, I needed to discard some of my bitterness. Setting her own chaotic life aside, she'd flown across an ocean for me. I needed to start acting like I appreciated it.

  "Can I read what you've written so far?"

  "Sure," I said shrugging, handing over the notebook.

  "This is really good, Kennedy," she said, a smile of pride sliding across her face. That would never get old. "I wish I could write like that. Just snap my fingers and the words be there," she said, pointing to the side of her head. "Sadly, my brain isn't as coordinated as my body."

  I smirked. "It's not that hard. Just some words strewn together that rhyme."

  "It's so much more than that," she reassured me. "It's seriously a talent. I mean, to be able to get that kind of stuff off of your chest and have this finished product in the end that's actually…productive…"

  I polished off the rest of my beer, deciding that it would be my last. "Yeah, I guess," I said softly, wishing that it felt more like what she was describing and less like a crutch. It sucked to have a talent that you couldn't use. I sighed, wishing like hell that Mom was here with us now. "I said I was going to start a journal to help me get through my frustrations. You know, like Mom did?"

  "Yes, of course I remember," Kole pointed out. "It's how I figured out Bernie wasn't my biological father."

  "Don't rub it in," I said, rolling frustrated eyes. She'd been handed a free pass. I on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky. "It was a stupid idea. I can barely commit to anything, much less charting my feelings daily."

  "Well, writing your music is sort of a form of that. Don't you think? Just shorter," she pointed out. "No need to double dip."

  "I don't know. Maybe," I said, agreeing reluctantly. "I guess I would just like to think that there was something besides music that I could commit to. It scares me, you know? I've got to figure everything out - life, career…money. But I'm trying."