Chapter Seven

Jesse

I passed the sign welcoming me to Tulsa and couldn’t help the small smile that crossed my face. Tulsa always had a weird place in my heart now. Partially amazing, partially a subject for more of my heartbreaking honky-tonk lyrics, Tulsa was a town I avoided like the plague and yet desperately wanted to go back to. Just to see. Just to try.

The Bethel Hotel dominated the skyline as I drove down the highway. It was hard to miss, with its new-age architecture and sparkling glass windows. Considering this time, the drive had been a much longer one, driving straight here from St. Louis, I was more than ready to check into a hotel room and crash, even if it wasn’t a massive suite on the top floor.

Hell, I didn’t care if they shoved me in a broom closet if it meant I got to see Charlotte again. I just needed to know if the man she was with, the one she’d left my bed for, was still with her. Or if I had a shot. If I ever did, that was.

The truth was, I didn’t know if she ever intended on giving me a real chance after my ex, Lacey, told her I was her babydaddy. Which was a load of horseshit. For one, the timing didn’t match up. The last time I’d been with her was at least a month before she would have gotten pregnant at the earliest. It was impossible. And while the kid in the picture she showed Charlotte did resemble me, something about it looked off. Like it was too… professional? It was just weird.

I cut contact with her immediately after that and had been hounded by her and lawyers ever since. But none of that mattered if I had Charlotte. I’d deal with a million Laceys if I had Charlotte by my side.

Two years was a long time. Maybe she was married now.

Or maybe she was single again.

My stomach felt like it was doing flips, and I desperately just wanted a good strong drink. Thankfully, it was still early in the evening, and the bar at the hotel would be open by the time I got there.

Flynn said he would meet me there, which was interesting. Flynn normally didn’t go to cities where we had shows, much less cities in between cities we had shows in. With us playing Oklahoma City tomorrow night, Tulsa was a convenient stop for me, but Flynn tended to fly directly to whatever city he wanted to attend a show at. I wondered what was so important that he wanted to meet me here.

I had no idea what room I’d get, since Flynn said he’d book rooms for us, and as I parked the car in the hotel parking lot, I grabbed my overnight bag and guitar case and nothing else. Most of the time, everything else stayed in the car anyway, but if I was going to end up in a tiny place, I didn’t like the idea of being cramped.

Mentally, I was going over what I was going to say to Charlotte if I saw her. A lot depended on how she reacted, obviously. If she had a ring on her finger, it would be a much shorter conversation. A quick goodbye and thank you for being so important to my life. Then I’d have to get on with the business of getting over her, something I had yet to do, and wasn’t entirely sure was possible.

However, if there was no ring, then I had a different pitch. One that involved running away with me, even just for a night, and then figuring everything else out afterwards. After exchanging phone numbers, of course.

It struck me that both times I’d come through town were almost the same day in July. I absolutely just had to come through here in the hottest time of year, didn’t I? The cool air of the hotel blasting out when the automatic doors open immediately cooled the sweat collecting under my arms and made me uncomfortable for a moment until I got used to it.

A quick glance at the check-in desk was disappointing. A man and a woman were there, looking very much like they were the only two working. The man’s nametag read Stan, which seemed familiar, but I couldn’t tell for sure if it was the same guy I’d talked to two years ago. The woman, a younger, bubblier blond girl, also looked somewhat familiar, and had a nametag on that I tried to read as I passed her. My heart sank when I did.

Her name was Jessica. And her title read Hotel Manager .

Which meant that Charlotte had either been transferred, was no longer working for the company, or had gotten promoted. And no matter which of those it was, she wasn’t going to be here. Dammit.

I glanced ahead of me to the bar area and saw Flynn sitting at one of the tables with his laptop open. He was obsessive about his laptop. While most people had switched to tablets and phones, Flynn was insistent on keeping all his information on the computer and backed up in the cloud, rather than just depending on the cloud itself. He said it was easier to work on the laptop, which I assumed was just a product of the fact that he was a couple years older than me. Technology had moved so fast, just a few years separated entire generations of kids from what they felt was a comfortable machine.

The kitchen was clearly still open, as the smell of hot food filled my nostrils and made my stomach rumble. I’d been so concerned about seeing Charlotte that I hadn’t eaten all day, and now it was becoming increasingly obvious that it had been a stupid decision. Flynn saw me coming and waved me down, and I took a seat across from him.

“Good to see you, bud,” he said, apparently incapable of using anyone’s name. Maybe it was a California thing.

“Hey, Flynn,” I said. “You order dinner?”

“No, but I was thinking about it,” he said. “You hungry? My treat. Hang on.”

He looked around for a waiter, but I knew there wouldn’t be one. Instead, I made eye contact with the same bartender from before. He raised his hand to wave at me and then came around the bar to us. I took his hand for a shake, and we exchanged hellos while Flynn looked on in confusion.

“Oh, Flynn, this is Mark,” I said, my eyes flashing over his nametag just in time. I hadn’t gotten his name the first time around. “He was the bartender here last time I came through. Fan of the band. Mark, this is Flynn Moody, our manager.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mark said, shaking his hand. “What can I get you fellas to drink? I’m afraid the last time I gave you a shot of the special house whiskey, and it disappeared the next morning. I think someone caught wind of what I did and punished us by taking it away.”

“Ah, well, I don’t mind paying for the good stuff. Just mix it like you did my last one and I’m good,” I said. “Can I make an order for the kitchen here?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “What can we get for you?”

We placed our orders, and Mark stepped away for a moment, then came back with our drinks. I took a deep sip and savored the warm whiskey going down my throat.

“That’s the stuff,” Flynn said. “Say, Mark, how long have you been the bartender here?”

“Since we opened,” he said. “Before that, I ran my own place just down the street for years. We had to shut up shop about a decade ago or so. They had just built this building, and the first manager was a regular of mine. He asked me to come on, just to help them transition in their opening, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Fascinating,” Flynn said, and I believed he meant it. While details of the lives of his clients seemed to slip from his mind, he always did seem to be particularly interested in other people, specifically people in service or hospitality jobs.

“Speaking of managers,” I said, “the one that was here when I was here last, April, is she still with the company?”

“Very much so,” he said, nodding. “Moved on up in the world, but very much in the company. She’s a regional manager now. Oversees several hotels, including this one. I’d bet you just missed her by a day or two. I’m sure she was here checking in on the weekend. She’s based out of Dallas now, though.”

“Dallas, really?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Mark said.

I exchanged a look with Flynn, who raised his eyebrows.

“How coincidental,” he said.

“What’s that?” Mark asked.

“Dallas,” I said. “After Oklahoma City tomorrow, we’re supposed to hit Dallas on Friday.”

“Oh, so no Tulsa show again?”

“'Fraid not,” I said.

“Shoot,” Mark said. “Well, just know you have at least one fan working the bar up here who wants you guys back.”

“Duly noted,” Flynn said. “Tulsa is on the list for the next southwest tour.”

“Great,” Mark said, then noticed someone coming from the kitchen with our food and another person bellying up to the bar. “Well, it looks like I’ve got company and you have food. Y’all enjoy.”

A plate with a gorgeous steak was placed in front of me, another plate of fries to one side, and a similar though smaller steak was placed in front of Flynn. I dug in quickly, ordering a beer, which Mark delivered not long after.

“So,” Flynn said after I had demolished a good half my steak and a third of my fries, “who is this April girl again?”

I wiped my mouth with my napkin and took a long sip of my beer, contemplating just how much I was going to tell him.

“Well, her name is actually Charlotte April, and I know her as Charlotte. But she is an old friend of mine from back in Foley. I ran into her at the hotel too. She was the manager at the time.”

“Ahh,” he said, then waggled his eyebrows. “So you met up with her here then?”

I ignored the embarrassingly on-point insinuation.

“I just haven’t seen her since, and I figured if I was in town, in her hotel again, we could meet up again. But she apparently moved to Dallas, so…”

“So you’ll see her then,” Flynn said. “We will be there in less than a week. You’ve got to introduce me. I never hear you actually mention a girl by name. It’s always, ‘the blonde from so and so,’ or ‘the brunette from such and such.”

“Yeah, well, Charlotte is a bit different. She’s a very good friend,” I said. “I’m just curious as to how her life is going, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ll make sure we stay in a Bethel then,” he said, bringing his laptop back to life despite our food being on the table. “There’s only one down there. She has to be there. Want the big suite again?”

I shook my head no. “Not for this trip,” I said. “It feels like such a waste.”

“It’s not,” Flynn said, suddenly very serious. “You are a superstar in the making, Jesse. You belong in penthouse suites with runway models. It’s going to be part of what sells the band. Hard rocking country bad boy named Jesse James. Come on. I need photos of you with models, Jesse, and that can’t happen if you don’t throw parties like you used to.”

“I guess,” I said.

How little he knew that if Charlotte was there and available, those days would be long, long behind me.