Luckily, I live in Texas and it’s hot as Satan’s living room, so my nipples won’t be on display to the world. That’s the only bright side about this too tight, too short, too strappy piece of stretchy black cotton.
Balling up my clothes, I toss them on the small bench in the corner of the bathroom and tug the door open before stepping out into the salon. The room goes quiet as soon as I enter. Lifting my gaze, I look over at the three women who are just staring at me.
“Who knew that body was under those clothes?” Exeter mumbles.
I snort. “Let’s just go.”
“Girl, you’re smokin’,” Channing announces.
Shaking my head, I take a step toward them. Laurie has already changed into a coral lace tube top and a white stretchy, short skirt. She has also put her hair up into a quick, but beautiful updo so that the world will focus on her gorgeous curves and not her hair.
I wish that I were more like her. I wish that I could confidently wear what she does, head held high and not giving a flip what the world thinks about her.
I’m not like that though. I’m Hutton Baker, I’m so shy that this dress makes my stomach ache. Just the thought of wearing it out in public makes me want to throw up and hide. There is a reason I stay home, why I don’t go out and date. I’m painfully shy, and stuff like this, it just makes me feel sick.
“Maybe I should just go home…”
“Oh no,” Channing speaks up. She reaches for my hand, taking it in hers and squeezing. “It will be fun. We have your back.”
“But this dress…”
“Is stunning on you,” Exeter announces.
Without another word, the three of them whisk me out of the door toward Exeter’s car. She has a newer compact SUV. It’s cute as can be, and the four of us fit perfectly inside. Exeter and Channing sit up front and Laurie and I sit in the back.
Laurie reaches for my hand as soon as we strap ourselves in with the seatbelts. She squeezes my fingers, and that’s how we stay until we arrive at the venue. Her silent show of support, this is one of the reasons that I love her, that and usually she doesn’t push me too hard to do something.
Usually.
Chapter Five
BEAUMONT
“Where’re the girls?” I ask, looking between Louis, Rylan, Ford, and Wyatt.
Rylan grins and looks down at his dirty work boots, but Wyatt is the first to speak. “They got their hair done, used those extra tickets, and are bringing a couple friends,” he explains.
“Not that crazy fuckin’ cousin of Exeter’s?”
Wyatt snorts, shaking his head. “You missed a hell of a lot, man. She and Robby are datin’,” he explains.
My eyes widen and I think about Sheriff Robby, the brother of the woman who fucking ruined me and fucked up my insides. Fucked up any chance that I have at finding and holding onto a good woman.
No, that’s not true.
I found a good one, I just couldn’t keep her. Didn’t trust her, or myself, enough to even try. I don’t respond to the news of Robby and Emily dating. I don’t know enough about either of them to make a comment, but fuck, that sounds like a goddamn disaster.
“They’re really good together, surprisingly enough,” Wyatt explains.
I nod, looking down at my own boots. I refused styling for this show, for this entire tour. Which right now, I’m wondering if that was a good idea or not. Usually, I have a whole wardrobe to choose from, it stays with me throughout an entire tour so that each show is cohesive to my style at the moment.
My style.
What a joke.
Not my style—the label’s style.
Tonight, I’m wearing my dirty boots, my regular everyday jeans which have a few worn holes in them. I threw on a clean navy blue V-neck t-shirt and my hair, I just ran my fingers through it after I showered. I still need a fucking cut, but that’s not really a priority for me.
“This is the look for the new show?” Louis asks, dipping his chin.
He gets this shit more than the rest of the guys, because he has to go through the same bullshit when he’s visiting radio stations, giving interviews, and in the spotlight before and after a big fight.
“I decided recovering-struggling-to-hold-on-alcoholic was as good as I could muster,” I grunt.
“Could have at least combed your fuckin’ beard,” he points out.
I shrug, not giving much of a fuck about my beard, or anything else. I’m going to be damn lucky if I can even finish the set. I also have a new song that I wrote last week and for whatever stupid as shit reason, I’m going to debut it tonight, live and streaming, to thousands of people watching from home.
Rylan chuckles and I turn to look at him. “Girls are just pulling in. Their friends don’t know who’s playing. They’re going to be at the bar waiting for us,” he says, turning toward Wyatt.
“We’ll see you after?” Ford asks.
He’s been pretty quiet this entire time, even at the dinner I went to with everyone the other night, Ford didn’t say a whole lot. Granted, he’s not a guy who really does say much, but it still feels like he’s being purposely quiet.
“Ford,” I call out as soon as they all turn around to leave.
He pauses, looking over his shoulder at me. “Talk to you for a minute?” I ask.
Ford lifts his chin, then turns around to face me. I watch the other men walk away, leaving us alone as he crosses his arms over his chest. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out as I lift my gaze to meet his.
“We cool?” I ask.
I watch as he tilts his head to the side, his eyes roaming over my face as his mind works. I can practically see the wheels turning before he shakes his head once.
“Pissed off at you, Beau,” he states. Nodding, I close my eyes in a slow blink. “But probably not for the reasons you’re thinkin’,” he continues.
I open my eyes as my brows furrow together. “Why are you mad, then?” I ask when he doesn’t elaborate.
“You hid all this shit from us. We’re your family,” he grinds out.
I blink. He’s not wrong. I did hide it from them. “I did and you are,” I agree, confused as fuck as to why he’s so mad about that.
“Family is there for one another, Beaumont. We could have helped you,” he says.
My lips twitch. Reaching forward, I wrap my fingers around his shoulder and give him a squeeze before I shake him once.
“Nobody could have helped me, Ford. Not until I was ready to help myself.”
“Don’t matter, we should have known,” he barks.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t in a good place. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“This still about Chelle?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I lift my hand and run my fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends. I want to tell him that it isn’t, and really it isn’t, but she’s the underlying reason for half the shit that has gone wrong and right in my life.
Without her leaving me, I wouldn’t have dove into my career the way that I did and I probably wouldn’t have ever been discovered. Then again, maybe I would have found a good woman, maybe I would have kept the good woman that I had and would have been living happily ever after in a little house in town like Wyatt and Rylan. Who the fuck knows?