3. Waylon

Chapter Three

WAYLON

T his cannot be the right address.

I thought maybe it would be a bigger town, like Memphis or Nashville. At least civilization.

But this town?

This place where I think I blinked and missed the actual town because I didn't see one coffee shop. Not one store. Nothing in the city limits except a bar and a post office building smaller than my bedroom.

This can't be right.

I drive down the old, paved road in the rental Jeep I picked up at the airport and hope Soren got the address wrong. I flew into Nashville, but I've been driving for two damn hours now, and the navigation tells me I'm two minutes from my destination.

This can't be right.

It just can't.

I have to admit the scenery is gorgeous. I'm surrounded by trees as the Jeep climbs up a hill, and when the navigation says to turn off the road, I do it, pulling up to a row of five cabins on the top of the hill.

I check the address again as I park in front of one of them.

I don't see a soul in sight. There aren't even any cars parked outside of the cabins, and I don't see garages.

This is it. This is how I die.

The city boy comes out to the hills, deep in Tennessee country, and dies. Wild animal? Maybe. Falls off a cliff? Possibly. Crazy hillbilly with a gun? Could be.

Goodbye, cruel world.

I climb out of the Jeep and shut the door, just as a truck that looks brand-new but is covered in dirt pulls up. My heart is racing in my chest as I await my fate when the door to the truck swings open and Justin climbs out, his eyes hard and angry.

He slams the door and stalks up to me, looking pretty much the same as last time I saw him. No leather jacket though. Despite the sun starting to set, it's still pretty sweltering out here, with humidity that nearly steals your breath away.

He's wearing worn-looking jeans and black boots with a black t-shirt that clings to every ridge of chiseled muscle. His hair is a little bit longer, the black strands hanging over his eyes.

"Why?"

"Good to see you too. I'm totally fine, by the way. Thanks for asking," I deadpan, crossing my arms and feeling completely out of place with my expensive dress shoes and suit. But this is what I wear.

I wouldn't be caught out and about in anything else, not even in the hills of Tennessee. His eyes drift over me, and I hate that my entire body heats and not from the summer weather. "Go home."

"You can't be seriously living here," I say, looking around the deserted area. There's nothing out here. I've known Justin for a long time. He likes the finer things in life. He likes his food delivered and doesn't know how to cook. He likes his assistants to pick up his dry cleaning and groceries.

I cannot believe he can survive out here.

"I'm doing just fine. Go home. You don't work for me anymore."

"This is how you tell me I'm fired?" I ask him, moving a little closer, now that I know it was Justin in the truck and not some Deliverance type of shit. I didn't make it through that movie, but I saw enough to be scared as fuck out here.

"I told you I was done being Justin St. James from Immoral. And then I left. What else do you need?"

He steps into me, and I try like hell not to breathe him in. He smells the same, but there's a hint of outdoors there too. Maybe some sweat. He smells too damn good. "I need you to come back home and stop this shit."

"Why? You aren't hurting for 10 percent of my earnings, Waylon. You'll be just fine without me."

Except I won't be.

I can't say that though. I square my shoulders instead and look him dead in the eyes. "It's not about a goddamn paycheck. It's about the fact that we hooked up, and then you moved out into the middle of nowhere. In Tennessee."

He scoffs at me, all broody and angry. I remember a time when he enjoyed the fame. The music. The crowds. When he was truly happy. But I barely recognize this man before me. The man he's become slowly over the past few years as he grew tired of it all.

And I ignored it.

Because I didn't want to believe he was miserable.

"You really think I left because you jerked me off?" He moves into me, and for a brief moment, I lean into him, my eyes closing as I remember the way his strong body felt against mine. He's added muscle since then. I wonder just how damn solid they'd feel under my hands, but I quickly remember myself and step back.

"Why did you leave then?" I ask seriously because I'm at a loss. I know he was getting tired of it, but I didn't expect him to just pick up and leave. "And why Tennessee?"

"It's none of your business, Waylon. You're fired. Go home. Go back to the city. It's getting dark."

I look around, seeing the sun setting behind the trees and try not to show my nerves. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me. If this is about us, you need to tell me. I know I messed up."

He laughs again, but there's no humor there. "It's not about you and me. My bags were already packed. You were just too busy to notice."

I study him carefully, my eyes narrowed in his direction. "Why did you leave? You can be Not Justin St. James in Kansas City."

"No. That's not true, and you know it."

"Fine an hour outside of Kansas City, like Mav." The man likes his privacy too and hasn't had any trouble finding secluded areas.

"Go home," he says as he locks his truck and starts toward one of the cabins.

"I'm not leaving. You know me pretty well," I say as he stops to look at me. "You know I'm not giving up this easily. Talk to me."

"No," is all he says before unlocking the cabin and going inside, slamming the door behind him. I don't miss the click of the lock when he gets inside either.

Well fuck.

What the hell am I going to do now? I look at my phone and see absolutely no bars on it. No service out here.

This is just fucking great. This really is how I'm going to die.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I decide to get back in the Jeep and make my way back to the nothing little town I drove through, finding the bar I drove past and parking outside. I see lights on, and a couple of cars are parked outside, so I assume they're open.

I lock the Jeep and head inside. The five people inside stop what they're doing to stare right at me, their eyebrows raised.

Great. I'm back in high school all over again. Yes, I know I stick out here. Thanks for staring, townsfolk.

I make my way to the back of the bar, where an older woman wearing a black t-shirt studies me carefully but greets me with a smile. "What can I do for you, sweetie?"

Well at least she seems fairly friendly, even though I still feel eyes on me from where a jukebox is playing country music that makes my ears bleed, and the whole place smells like smoke and some sort of meat. I think.

"Do you know if there's a hotel around where I could stay?"

Her eyebrows lift in amusement, and yeah, that's what I was afraid of. "Well, I think Sam Kershaw was renting out a couple of his places. I don't know if he'll do that for a night or two though. Usually rents on a monthly basis."

I nod my head at that and pull out my phone. Still no bars. "And how would I get hold of him?"

She eyes me cautiously, and I just hold my damn breath, sure she's about to have one of these country-boy behemoths escort my ass out of here any moment. She looks past me, and time moves slowly because yep, I'm getting tossed out of here.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Rose?" An older man walks over from where he was standing with another man by the pool table.

Rose—the nice woman behind the bar smiles and then nods in my direction. "This young man is looking for a place to stay. Didn't you say you were renting out your cabins?"

The man looks me up and down, sizing me up as I shift uncomfortably while he takes in my suit. His eyes land on my shoes for an awfully long time before they travel back up to my face. "That's two city boys in one week."

My jaw nearly drops at that moment because he has to be talking about Justin. "Guess we're drawn in by the scenery out here. Pretty peaceful."

He studies me carefully. I'm not liking the stare-down, but then he nods. "Okay, I'll need to run a credit check and get some paperwork. How long are you looking to stay?"

Somehow, I don't think I should say " no longer than I have to ," so I settle on, "I can pay you for a month to start."

He nods at that.

"I'll need a deposit. If you pass the credit check."

I nod, not at all worried when I'm sure I could pay him in cash for a year's rent tomorrow—you know, if I could find a damn bank. "Not a problem."

Goddammit, please don't let me be stuck here the entire month for Justin to pull his head out of his ass and come home.

I'm not sure I can even take a full week.