Free Whiskey Wedding (Tasting Nashville series Book 3) by Kimmie Easley

 
    CHAPTER ONE
    Joselyn
    Goose bumps stipple my pale skin as I sit in the front row of the Stapleton Arena. The thousands of other people in the room fade into the background. The rest of the world no longer exists. It’s simply Whiskey Bent and me. More specifically, Dean, my strength. My hero. My very own knight in Converse.
    He owns the stage. His presence overshadows the entire auditorium.
    My heart is in my throat as I drink him in. The man still gives me wild butterflies. However, it’s not all physical. I see him and he sees me. It’s deep rooted, once in a lifetime. His strong voice washes over me. The soft lines around his ocean blue eyes are now deeper and more defined, which only makes him that much hotter in my book.
    The man possesses every part of me.
    Stick a fork in me – I am done.
    The song is drawing to a close. How do I know? The lyrics are engraved on my tattered, stitched up soul. I wrote the weighted words from the same cold chair week after week as medical staff pumped poison through my cancer ravaged body. It had been a long, dark road, but I finally chose to fight. It was a close race, but I crawled tooth and nail across the finish line.
    Remission.
    I can still hear the glorious sound resonating through the halls as my shaking hand pulled the string, ringing the bell on the wall of the Cancer Institute.
    It had only been a mere two years, but some days, it feels more like a lifetime. Ironically, some days feel like it was just yesterday.
    That’s how I feel now, witnessing my love pour his entire being out for the whole world to see. Mesmerizing. Captivating. Whatever you want to call it, the man has me, hook, line, and sinker.
    The band wraps up, holding that last note, sending everyone in the room to their feet. I don’t trust my legs, but attempt to follow their cue while swiping at the stray tears. Dean searches for me in the crowd, flashing me his signature grin.
    Those dimples are my undoing.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, that leads us to our next award, Song of the Year. And what an honor it is to have her back with us tonight. The music industry, especially the heart of country music, hasn’t been the same over the last two years. Hell, I don’t have to tell you that. It just so happens that we have someone here who would like to say a few words. Dean?”
    I fall back into my seat. Dean shakes hands with the host before gripping the microphone.
    He dips his head and cups his chin for a second. Once he finally looks up, his gaze penetrates me.
    “I must have rehearsed what I was gonna say at least a hundred times. I don’t know why I bother. Now, my mind’s blank.” Relief sets in when I see that the laughter from the audience eases his tension. “I guess I’m missing that little, but very loud, voice in my ear. Yeah, tonight, that precious voice is sitting in the front row.”
    His voice cracks and he pauses. “Joselyn Tillman is the hardest headed chick I’ve ever known. And for that, I thank God daily. She’s also the most persistent chick I’ve ever known. When her life was in danger, she fought, hell, she continues to fight. When her career was in jeopardy, she paved a new way to take the music world by storm. I watched helplessly from the sidelines. I watched her struggle. I watched her fight. And I watched as she wrote this song. I witnessed the tears and pain as ‘Last Call’ came to be. This is more than a song, more than words on a page mixed with music notes. No, ‘Last Call’ is a gift, a gift from Joselyn to herself, to all of us. She deserves this and so much more. Damn, she deserves a hell of a lot more than me, but for some reason, she keeps sticking around. Everyone, please, give her a hand for Song of the Year. My better half, Joselyn Tillman, ladies and gentleman.”
    Applause erupts. I hold my breath, attempt to smile, and struggle to fight back the sobs as I scramble up the steps to the stage. Elegance seems less important these days. I set my sights on