Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Gunner

“Who the hell is this, Gunner?” Mom walks into my room, the smell of her morning shot still on her breath.

I certainly didn’t intend for Cash and my mom to meet this way, but there’s no turning back now.

“Mama, meet Cash. She’s”—I turn to my sparrow, twining our fingers—“my girlfriend.”

Cash’s fingers twitch in mine, and her eyes catch and hold my gaze. I smile at her, more sure of this thing between us than ever. I would have called her my life, my future, my forever, but my mom is already volatile, and tipping her over the edge isn’t wise.

“Girlfriend? Since when? Not every girl you mess around with is girlfriend material, son.” My mom’s eyes have trouble focusing on me.

Cash tenses beside me. Her hand grips mine like a vise. I hate seeing her upset. I hate that it’s my mother upsetting her. I can sure as fuck guarantee that if my mother becomes too much and I have to choose, it’s going to be Cash by my side.

My mother has been a mess for most of my life. I have pockets of memories to remind me that she can be a loving mother, but those are few and far between after the age of eight. My mother’s first love isn’t me, my father, or her many lovers. Mom’s first love is the burn of whiskey that numbs the world around her. Maybe that’s the reason I opened a bar. Fucked up, I know.

I grit my teeth, glaring at my mother. “This is a helluva lot more than messing around.”

“That’s what you said when you fucked Celia after you fucked all my other backup singers.” My mother turns to Cash. “He’s good at makin’ you feel like a star, baby girl, just like his daddy. I promise you, sweetheart, you’re only the new flavor. Once that pussy loses its sparkle, my boy will stop being interested.”

Dropping Cash’s hand, I approach my mother, getting in her face. “That’s enough, Loretta. You don’t get to come into my house and talk to my girl like that. I love you, Mom. I always will. But don’t test me. There’s been no one for me but Cash. The first night we met, she sealed the deal. I love her.”

Mom arches one drunken eyebrow before spinning on her booted heel and clacking down the hallway.

I groan, turning toward Cash. “I’m sorry about this. She’s not usually so…” I trail off, unable to think of the right word.

The fact is, these last few decades have been hard on Mom. The music industry is brutal, and it eventually consumed her, along with the whiskey. That’s probably why I ran off with all those older women. They gave me something Loretta couldn’t. It took years of therapy to find out how fucked up it was to use sex to deal with a lack of love. It’s not like my mother didn’t love me. She did, she does. But she loves booze more. Much more.

“You love me,” Cash whispers so low that I almost don’t hear her.

I frame her face, bending and bringing her forehead to mine. “With every fiber of my being, Cash. I love you so much that the thought of being without you makes me feel like the world is about to end. You’re it for me, Cash, and I’d rather be buried six feet under than lose you.”

“Lemme cook you kids some bacon and eggs,” Mom says as she opens the refrigerator.

She pulls out all the condiments. Salad dressing. Ketchup. Mustard. Mayonnaise. Her frown grows by the second as she juggles them in her tiny arms. She’s so plastered that she doesn’t realize she’s pulling out everything except eggs and bacon. It’s not like they’re hidden. I see them in the fridge door.

“Mama, let me take those.” I grab the items and deposit them on the counter. “We’re okay with breakfast for now. I was thinking of takin’ Cash out for greasy diner hash browns. You don’t need to—”

“Stop, stop. Leave me alone.” Mom is annoyed with my fussing.

That’s Loretta Shaw, a fucked-up drunk who can’t handle anyone pointing out that she’s a fucked-up drunk. Taking care of her has been the story of my life, but I’m tired of it. I’ve put so many dreams on hold so she wouldn’t be alone. I moved across the country to keep my eye on her. I’ve lived my life for her.

The urge to yell at her is so strong. It simmers at the edges, about to boil over. But I do what I always do: bite my tongue so she doesn’t spiral out of control. She may look frail, but when that woman digs her heels in, God help anyone who tries to move her.

“Mama, please. Sit and tell me what you’ve got going on today.” I loop her elbow in mine and try to steer her to the barstools at the kitchen island.

“Gunner, let go of me.” She swats my hands away.

My eyes land on her gnarled fingers, trembling with the need for more alcohol. Or less? It’s hard to tell anymore.

Her cocktail of pills and alcohol clouds her judgment and pollutes her perception of reality. The more I press her into treatment, counseling, or plain connection, the more she rails against me. As far back as I can remember, I’ve never known when my mom was up or down. All I knew was I had to keep her calm before she blew. And right now, I would do anything to keep my mother from blowing with Cash here.

“Mrs. Shaw, let me make you a cup of coffee.” Cash stands across the counter, battling with the coffeemaker.

“Unless you’re puttin’ a little nip of something good in it, I don’t want it.” Her words are abrupt as she digs inside her huge designer purse and pulls out plastic medicine containers. God knows if she needs any of it. Those hack doctors prescribe narcotics like Tic Tacs.

Finally, her fingers wrap around a tiny flask decorated with red rhinestone roses, and she uncaps it. “Johnny Loveless gave me this pretty little thing. I’ve carried it every day since.” Mom winks at Cash and tips her head, drinking a few quick swallows before recapping it. “You know who Johnny Loveless is?” She wipes her mouth, eyes not even looking in Cash’s direction.

“Sure. I grew up on his first three albums. He’s one of my favorites.” Cash’s eyes dart from my mom’s to mine. I sure as fuck hope she isn’t planning an escape route because I’ll end up in jail for kidnapping.

“He sure was a cowboy in the bedroom, let me tell you.” Mama shakes her head, a deep smile turning up her lips. “The night we played the Opry together, he gave me this. Said he had it made for his wife, but she didn’t sing anywhere near as pretty as I did…”

Fuck, here we go. My mom reminiscing about all her affairs and the marriages she broke up isn’t a conversion I want her to have with my already skittish girlfriend. “Okay, well, always lovely revisiting memory lane, but—”

“Oh, don’t get all jealous of me because you gave up on the career you could’ve had, Gunner. I opened doors for you and gave you the best shot in the business. But instead of climbing that ladder and reaching for the moon, you dropped everything, moved here, and opened a pathetic bar,” my mother rambles.

Good old Loretta Shaw, the queen of country music, the pioneer for women in the industry, and a sloppy drunk who never appreciates what she has unless it can put her in a damn alcoholic coma.

“Hey, Mrs. Shaw. I’d love to hear all about your time in the industry. I’m just coming off my first world tour. There were so many things I want to do better next time. Would you like to take a walk outside with me? We’ll get some fresh morning air and talk music—”

Mom’s eyes hold Cash’s for long beats before she trails her gaze up and down her body. “Do you write your own music?”

“It’s my favorite part,” Cash says with a nervous smile.

“Well, ain’t we two peas in a cute little pod?” Mom grins at me, loops her arm with Cash’s, and lets her guide her out the front door.

I have to do something about my mom, but I haven’t figured out what yet. She wants to fight with me about everything I say rather than find a solution. The only thing I know for sure is that there’s no way I’ll let Cash be in the orbit of a mean drunk.

I stare through the window like a peeping tom as my mother and Cash wander the front yard. They pause, and Cash says something that makes my mother’s face contort like she’s just heard the most disgusting thing imaginable. Before I know it, my mother pulls her arm back and slaps Cash in the face.