Between the Stars Coming Soon!

Between the Stars is coming out on August 25, 2022! It will be released as the ebook, audio, and paperback!

But first, enjoy the first chapter! I can’t wait to see what you think of Jace and Abbi’s story.

Between the Stars (c) Shey Stahl 2022

All Rights Reserved

“Poof!”

“Poof what?” I stare at Sev, wondering if she’s trying to turn me into a frog again. I lift my eyes from the whiskey I’m trying to drown myself in, but never quite get there. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve been trying for four years. I’m practically a professional at it.

Drunk or not, I’m a little nervous. Why? Do you see the three-year-old little girl in front of me holding a dart? You’d be nervous if Sevyn Rae Grady was holding a dart next to you too. She’s anything but sugar and spice. She’s naughty, and I’m putting this nicely when I say I think she’s a witch. No, seriously. She might be one.

“Yous in love,” she says, jumping up on the chair next to me in attempt at being eye level.

Holding two fingers of whiskey in one hand and a dart in the other, I raise an eyebrow, smirking at the little girl with blonde curls in her face. “With who?”

“Me!” Without looking, she tosses the dart at the wall, scowling at me. “Boyfren.”

I chuckle at her use of boyfren. I’m twenty-one years older than this kid, but she thinks we’re gonna get married someday. Regardless of the age difference, me getting married is laughable. Get to know me a little and you’d realize I’m not one you love long term. Unless you’re my mom. She thinks I’m pretty special. Ask the girls I’ve had a string of one-night stands with and they’ll tell you otherwise. I’ve been told I’m too much to handle, too hot-headed, stubborn, secretive, and weighted with emptiness. That last one was from my high school counselor, but he’s in prison now so I don’t put much weight into that dumb fuck’s theory.

“Sev!” Granger yells from behind us, pulling a dart from his calf. “Stop throwin’ darts.”

She tosses another one at him. “Stops yous complain’.”

More than likely, she heard that from her dad and she’s repeating it because what kid says that shit, right? The Grady kids. 

Without missing a beat, Sev quirks her lips. “Do yous thinks he’s bleedin’?”

“Maybe.” I take a drink of my whiskey smiling at her. “Ten bucks says he is.”

She blinks, flashing those beautiful blue eyes my way and pushing curls from her face. “I not have ten bugs.”

“Too bad for you then.”

You’re probably wondering why I’m hanging out with a kid and not a girl my own age. Well, Sev’s not my daughter. I wrap it up. Now, I can’t say the same for her dad, Barron. Which would explain why he’s got two kids under six and his wife is in California fuckin’ some other dude.

Not my problem though. I got enough of my own, which, in fact, explains why I’m at a bar with a three-year-old, who is now holding a pair of scissors. From one weapon to the next. “Uh, no. Put those down,” I warn, grabbing her wrist as she swipes them at me.

She laughs. “I needs yous hair.”

Setting my glass down, I hold her up, her arms pinned to the side. She smells like cookies and trouble. “Why do you need my hair?” I shouldn’t be surprised why she wants my hair. Sevyn Rae Grady, we call her the devil with blonde curls.

Her blue eyes brighten, and she reminds me of Barron when he was younger. Wild, untamable yet he’d comfort you after he knocked you on your ass. “To puts a spell on ya.”

“How about we share some nachos instead,” I suggest.

Sev eyes me, scowling and then lifts her stare to the bar. “Fine. But no soars cleam.”

I smile. “Sour cream?”

“Yeah.” I set her down on the ground in front of me. She tugs on her pants, staring up at me and reaches for my hand. “I means dat.”

You’re probably wondering a few things by now. One might be why there’s a child in a bar. Well, to be completely honest, there are two. And full discloser, their dad’s aunt owns the bar so rules don’t apply unless the Liquor Control Board steps in and we ain’t about to see them in this weather. We also live in the middle of nowhere, Amarillo, and nobody comes here unless they’re forced too and like to be sandblasted by wind that smells like cow shit.

“Who’s that with Barron?” someone asks from beside me as I set Sev on the stool next to me. “Is that the chick who hit the shop with her car?”

I ignore him for the time being. I’ll get back to the one next to me, because believe it or not, the second I go to tell them, Sev is screaming in my ear. “Not-cho-ho,” Sev tells Tilly when she rounds the corner. “No white stuff!”

I smile, a proud I’m-that-influence-on-the-kid’s-attitude grin. Granger, the one who asked about the girl, he laughs. “I don’t like white stuff with my hoes either.”

We chuckle, and thankfully Sev has no clue what we’re talking about. Tilly does though and she glares at me as she twists the cap back on a bottle. “Jace, one day you’re gonna have kids and this will no longer be funny to you.”

I lean over the bar, grab the whiskey, and refill my glass at the same time. “I’m going to disagree with you. Not-cho-ho in the place of nachos will always be funny to me.”

“Uh-huh.” She yanks the Midleton out of my reach.

“So this chick,” Granger continues, his eyes drifting to the girl, then back again, “when’d she get here?”

“Last night. Where were you today?” I ask. We literally had this conversation at work today, but I guess he was shoveling snow all day. Probably missed most of the talk around this chick. We had a huge snowstorm come through town last night that blanketed Amarillo in something like three feet of snow. Yet somehow, this chick with Barron managed to drive her Mercedes through it. I guess driving through it is a term we should use loosely here. She did crash into the side of a building and mangled a buck in the process.

I glance over my shoulder at Barron and the mystery girl, who’s matching him shot for shot. I’ve known Barron Grady my entire life and work for him now at Bishop’s Repair. And that girl next to him—the one who remodeled Bishop Repair last night—we don’t know anything about her other than her driving skills in the snow could use some work. From what I’ve learned, Kacy Conner is from California, and probably crazy. Actually, she is. I had a conversation with her. Aren’t all women though? In my experience they are. Okay. Maybe I am. Because that’s where my problems stem from, right? If you ask everyone but me, they’d say yes.

“You headin’ to Tennessee for Abbi’s wedding?” Granger asks Rhett as he takes a seat next to me and Sev.

I stare at Granger’s hair curling out from under his backward hat before his words register. Granger is growing a mullet, and every day I’m tempted to take scissors to it and shave his mustache off.

But then the words sink in. Wedding. Goddamn, those words sting deeper than I want them to. My throat tightens and I draw in a quick breath. Every single time it’s mentioned my heart literally feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. I can’t say I blame it. I hate me too for letting the girl go.

“Oh, I suppose,” Rhett says, removing his beanie cap, flakes of snow falling from it and onto the lip of the bar. “It’s not until February.”

Not if I have anything to say about it.

“Where’d you go?” I ask him, trying desperately to change the conversation from the wedding. He’d been playing darts with Sev and me before she started stabbing everyone with them.

“Left my damn lights on,” he tells me as Sev leans forward and licks the lip of the bar where the snow left water. “Battery’s dead now.”

Sev slides from her stool to Rhett’s. “Ready for some Not-cho-ho’s?”

Rhett chuckles, his hair falling into his eyes. “Sure, girly.” Rhett Lockett, he’s more than Abbi’s brother. He’s one of my best friends, and even though I don’t agree with him most days, he has my back. As long as it’s not turned toward his little sister.

“She’s too good for you” are the words I heard often.

In every sense of the word, she was. Still is.

I think about the conversation I had with her dad, two days before she told me she was leaving.

“I know there’s something going on between you and my daughter.”

I stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge it. I swallowed and waited for the next set of words. I knew how he felt about me, and a DUI certainly didn’t help my cause. He didn’t trust me any longer and I couldn’t blame him on that one. I wasn’t good enough for someone like Abigale.

“And I expect you to let her go. You hear me, son?”

Again, I offered nothing. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect Kurtis Lockett, but I was not about to go public with Abbi and me. She made me swear I wouldn’t, especially to her father.

He didn’t need to let me know I wasn’t good enough. Those words were enough. I wasn’t meant to be hers and she would soon be onto something better.

When the nachos arrive, thankfully the talk about the wedding isn’t mentioned again.

You might be wondering why I’m worried about a wedding. It’s not mine, but I bet if you had to guess, you’re gonna say girlfriend, right? Nope. Just like the mystery girl with Barron, my relationship with the bride-to-be is even more complicated.

“So this chick.” Rhett takes a drink of his beer, looking over his shoulder at Kacy. “You know anything about her?”

“Not really.” I pick at the chips smothered in cheese. I’m with Sev who looks like she’s wearing most of them. I’m not sure she’s successfully gotten any in her mouth at this point. I hand her a napkin. “Stop wiping your hands on your shirt, kid.”

She ignores me completely and takes the cheesy palms of her hands and wipes them right down the front of her shirt. “I not.”

“You literally just did.” I love this kid, but Barron’s girls are excellent birth control for most of the guys in the shop.

“Where’s she from?” Rhett asks, his blue eyes drifting to the table where she’s sitting with Barron still.

“California,” Camdyn tells him, climbing up onto a bar stool. Camdyn is Sev’s older sister and completely unlike her. Two kids, same parents, and polar opposites. In looks, personality, pretty much every way possible. “I don’t even know where that is.”

I think about what Camdyn said about the mystery girl. California. I smile thinking Barron’s wife, okay, someday ex-wife when he actually signs the fucking papers, left him for California. She’s a model now. Granger jerks off to her photos on Instagram. Don’t tell Barron. He’d fire his ass in a heartbeat. Not only do I like Granger, but I’m not about to work by myself for Barron. He’s needy and a bastard sometimes. Plus, I just got all the gravy work. If Granger gets fired, I have to do all that shit myself.

When Sev’s finished with her nachos, I take her over to the dance floor to give Barron some time with California. Maybe if I occupy his kids, he’ll get laid tonight and will ease up at work. I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but I work for Barron at his dad’s repair shop. Small-town shit. We live in the wind-stricken cold as shit in the winter and hot as the devil’s ass crack in the summer. That would be what some refer to as Amarillo. And this bar, pretty much where I’ve lived out the last four years before I let the girl go.

Ah, yes. Back to the girl. Are you surprised?

Didn’t think so.

“Turtles All The Way Down” blares through the bar as I dance with Sev. She has her head on my shoulder, nearing sleep and twirling the button on my flannel between her fingertips. Pressing my lips to her temple, I think about Abbi. I think about what it would be like if she was here and we had kids. I imagine if she was, we probably would.

I remember the last time I saw her. She was alone in a feeling I didn’t return and the air between us filled with everything I couldn’t say. To this day, my lack of words haunts me deeper than her expression. Predictable, right? Girl asks for more and the guy leaves her hanging.

“I’m leaving.”

I could feel it in the air before she said the words. I knew. Girl like her, she wasn’t meant to stay in this town. She deserved more. She’d gotten into the University of Tennessee, and I didn’t. I suppose it had something to do with not applying. I wouldn’t leave this town. My future was here, in Amarillo, and not with this girl. Her daddy told me so. And though I would never agree with Kurtis Lockett, he was right.

Without looking at me, she blew air into her hands, and I could barely draw in a breath. “Are you going to say anything?”

I stared out the windshield and into the field. Same field I chased this girl next to me until she let me kiss her. Same one I tackled her in years later and made her swear nobody would ever hold her heart like I did.

I glanced over at her, the light in her eyes had disappeared with my lack of words. She didn’t want to be alone in this feeling. She wanted me to tell her to stay. For us. But had there ever been an “us” publicly? No. There’d always been the secret of Jace and Abbi.

I could barely see her eyes as the radio crackled, but I knew this was the end. I couldn’t hold her here any longer, because what the fuck did a ranch mechanic have to offer a girl like her?

Love?

That wasn’t enough.

“Say something.”

What was I going to say? She was crying again, digging deep for me to react. Stranded in a feeling I didn’t understand, I hated those words because what the fuck did she think I’d say? We were toxic. To everyone around us. We’d been lying for seven years. Parents, friends, lovers… we’d hurt so many people along the way, including ourselves. Eleven years old, I kissed her for the first time and told her not to tell anyone. Why? The week before, my best friend¾ and her brother¾warned me to stay away from her. I didn’t listen and neither did Abbi.

And now here we were, seven years later, still sneaking around and hurting everyone including ourselves.

“Fuck,” I growled, gripping my hair at the roots, but it didn’t stop the regret. “What do you want me to say? To beg you to stay? You know I can’t fucking do that, Abbi. That’s not fair to you.”

“Why?” she asked, her words shaking, tears rolling down her heated cheeks. Her chin quivered. “Why can’t you just tell me how you feel and that you love me? That’s all I’m asking from you. Choose me.”

I reached out and touched my fingertips to her cheek, brushing away the tears I’d caused once more. “Even if I do, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“What? Yes, it does!”

Defiant met desperation and we stared at one another. I shook my head. “Don’t—”

“It means everything!” she yelled, slapping my shoulder and turning to face me. She moved closer, so close I finally saw her eyes in the darkness and the agony etched in them. She straddled my lap, wedging herself between me and the steering wheel where I was forced to see the damage. The callous expression I’d been holding onto faded. “Damn it, Jace, just tell me.” She pressed her cherry-red tear-soaked lips together in a flat line. She stared at me, like I was the one who started this fire. How dare I try to blow on the flames? I held strong, despite the burning in my chest. “Don’t let me leave here and think the last seven years meant nothing.” Gliding her hands up my shoulders, she took my face in her palms.

 I stared at her, trying to force myself to give her the words she so desperately needed. 

She was tired of the situation, and I believed I couldn’t give her what she wanted. What she didn’t see, what she couldn’t understand was this, right in front of us, stayed here. I couldn’t leave this car and tell the world this girl was mine. She had a future out there, miles away from this small town, and I couldn’t trap her here. I saw it with Barron and Tara. Married at eighteen and a baby on the way. Their future was in this small town. Abbi deserved better than that.

Stranded in the silence, Abbi cried harder, her head on my shoulder. She was hyperventilating and I couldn’t give her anything. I held onto her, pinned her wrists and hands, but never offered the words she wanted. I couldn’t. “I can’t do that,” I told her, holding tighter. “I can’t be the one holding you back.”

She was crying harder than before, her words barely audible. “So you’re just going to let me leave without telling me how you feel?”

“You won’t get too far from me.” Letting go of one of her hands, I traced my fingertips over freckles and knew, no matter what, this girl would always have a piece of me with her. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Her eyes didn’t shy away. She held still. Demanding. “If I leave this truck, I’m not falling for you again.”

Tears stung my eyes, but they didn’t fall. I wouldn’t let them. My hands shook as I held her in place against me. “You deserve better,” I agreed, because what else could I say?

I’ve been told too many times, I’m not the one for her. Her father warned me I wasn’t good enough. Hell, my own best friend said the same. “Stay away from Abigale Mae Lockett” might as well have been written on my birth certificate and a number one rule of my life.

Abbi was wrong though. She did fall for me again, time and time again in the last four years, but it never changed the outcome. She’s still engaged to someone else.

That night in my truck, I could relive that memory over and over again, but it doesn’t get me anywhere but drowning in my regrets. I should have stopped her, but my pride had a way of getting in the way. So I leave it hanging there, with my reasons that had nothing to do with me. But is that the truth? My dad once told me if you love a woman, don’t let her go.

I didn’t listen. I let her go because she was too good for me and I couldn’t give her what she needed at the time.

“You won’t get too far from me. I’ll make sure of it.”

Those words are still true too. We still talk, even now. She texts me on my birthday every year and I do the same. I’ve seen her seven times since she left, hooked up with her a time or two, and follow her on Instagram. I give those hearts to every single post even the “it hurts to see her pictured with anyone but me” ones. Why? Because sometimes letting someone go is better for them, not you. I always know where she is, who she’s dating, and any time she’s in town, it’s my arms she runs to.

Still, my stomach burns with guilt. I fucked up letting her go and everyone in this town would agree with me. If they knew.

Somewhere between groveling in my misery and Sev taking nap on my lap in a booth, I fight through the urge to text Abbi. ’90s country blares through the bar, and though I don’t want to think of her, I do. Over and over again.

I scroll through her pictures on Instagram, and everyone paints a life of happiness, but is she really? Can she be without me? I think about the last time I saw her. Last fall before she started dating this guy she’s engaged to. I met up with her and Josie, my sister, at a concert in Birmingham. I swipe through the photos on her feed to the one of that night.

Sighing, I hold the phone steady and immerse myself in the memories. Look at that spark in her eyes and the smirk on mine. You see it, don’t you? Nobody knows this, but I fucked Abbi twice that night and every time I hear “If I Didn’t Love You” by Jason Aldean, I think of that night. Truth is, if I didn’t love her, everything would be easier. I often wonder, why her? But then again, I think she asks herself, why me. I’ve made it clear over the years I’m not someone she’s going to forget.

As another song ends and one begins, I notice Morgan and Lillian at the bar now, their shoulders touching and eyes locked on one another. I have a fucking bone to pick with that motherfucker Morgan. He borrowed my Jeep the other night and turns out, he fucked Lillian in it. Lillian is not his wife though. Yep. Married to someone else. Small-town drama at its finest.

Morgan Grady, he’s a big guy. Burly linebacker stature, cowboy hat, full beard, badass, and word to the wise, don’t throw a punch his way unless you expect to get knocked on your ass. And never, ever give him tequila. You’ll fuckin’ regret that shit the second he takes the first drink. He makes the worst decisions ever. Probably what he was drinking when he fucked Lillian in my Jeep.

That’s right. My fucking Jeep.

I let him borrow it and now look what happened. Don’t tell him, but I had sex in his bed one time with Abbi. You tell him and I’ll deny it. For now, I’m going to go ahead and remain pissed off.

I shove his shoulder as Sev runs over to Barron. “What the fuck, man?”

“What?” Morgan snaps, turning around to face me, Lillian next to him rolling her eyes.

I stand my ground, my hands on my hips. “You two are cleaning my Jeep. Sanitized, steamed and all that shit.” I wave my hand around in his face.

Morgan smirks, lifting the glass in his hand to his lips. “I’ll wash it.”

“Bet your ass ya will.” I take his drink and sniff it. It bites back and I narrow my eyes. “Goddamn it. Who gave you that?”

He nods to Lillian. “This girl.”

“I did not, Jackass.” Lillian rolls her eyes and takes Morgan’s keys from him. “You stole it.”

He probably did. Morgan takes off toward the bar once more and Lillian shakes her head. “What am I going to do?”

“Probably should have thought about that before ya fucked a married man.”

Lillian snorts, hitting my shoulder. The Christmas lights hung up over the bar twinkle in her eyes. “They’re getting a divorce.”

“Uh-huh.” I snake my arm around her shoulder. “That’s what the other woman always says.”

She stares at Morgan, disappointment in her eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

There’s truth in that statement but I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I point out the bruise on her arm and give her a one-armed hug. “What the fuck kinda shit are y’all into?”

Lillian glances at her arm and then rolls her eyes. “It’s sad. The bruises he left last longer than he does.”

I have no idea what she means by that. And then she walks away from me, toward California. I sneak a glance at the girl Barron’s so captivated with. This isn’t going to end well for him. Hell, maybe it will, but to me it has drama written all over it.

Sighing, I know I need to get home before the roads are a solid sheet of ice. Which they probably are already, but at least I might avoid the ditch a few more times the earlier I head home.

“I’m taking off,” I tell Barron, making sure he knows where Sev and Camdyn are before I leave. They’re causing trouble next to the jukebox, fighting over what song will be on next.

“See ya tomorrow?” Slouched to the side with his arm around the chair next to him, Barron grins, his cheeks flushed, and eyes hooded. I’ve seen this look before.

I nod. On Saturdays I work the ranch with him and Morgan. Been that way for the last ten years, and on Sundays, I spend them with my mom. I guess there’s one thing about small towns you can appreciate. Traditions.

Outside, I take my time walking to my Jeep. The frozen chunks of ice cling to the gravel like it’s going to be there a while, and a slow trickle of snowflakes falls from the sky as my boots crunch on frostbitten ground.

Every time I breathe in, my nose hairs stick like I’ve inhaled glue. Yep, nearly negative outside. Prying the door to my Jeep open with both hands, I slide into the driver seat and crank the engine over. The cool air blasts through the vents and it’s like pellets of ice on my warm cheeks. Looking up, I give the bar another glance, the neon reflecting off the gray-lit sky, and think of Abbi.

Tilly’s bar and the ranch behind it, Abbi and I spent our childhood here, on this land causing trouble, and where did it lead us? To that night in my truck when I couldn’t return the words she so desperately wanted, and it’s a memory I don’t mess with. It doesn’t stop me from picturing that light in her eyes and it reminds me my heart is still waiting for the end.