Come Back To Texas (Twelve Beats In A Bar, Book 1): Twelve Beats In A Bar, #1

By KK Hendin

Everyone thought we’d be the ones who made it through high school. The ones who’d get married and stay married forever. The example of how young love can work.

We thought so, too.

Too bad life had other plans.

It’s been three years since Hayley and Nate broke each other’s hearts. Three years, and a lot has changed. Hayley’s a freshman in Bushwick University, and the only things keeping her sane are stress baking, and her a cappella group, Twelve Beats in a Bar.

Nate’s a Marine, stationed in Afghanistan. The only thing that’s keeping him sane is the last picture he has of him and Hayley, and the hope that maybe when the hell of deployment is over, he can find her again and apologize.

One explosion will change everything.

When a bomb kills all of Nate’s unit, leaving him missing a leg and eyesight in one eye, he’s sent back home to Texas. Texas, where he loved Hayley more than he could possibly imagine ever loving anyone else.

With seemingly endless amounts of free time and needing something to distract himself, Nate starts making YouTube videos, imploring Hayley to come back to him, and come back to Texas.

Hayley’s life is wrapped around the Beats, making sure she doesn’t flunk out of biology class, and babysitting Ohio’s smallest monster, Brandon. She doesn't want to admit it, but she misses Nate more than anything.

It’s too bad she doesn’t know just how much he misses her, too…

• Language: English
• Publisher: KK Hendin
• Release date: Aug 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501466380

Book preview

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Hay, there’s mail for you. It’s from Bushwick. Julianne walks into our room and drops the letter on my bed. Why are they sending you mail when you live on their freaking campus? Seems kinda stupid to me.

Well, yeah, sounds stupid to me, too. But right now I’m more concerned about what the letter says than why they’re wasting stamps on it. Thanks, Jules.

She gives a flourishing bow. Anything for you, madam.

I force a laugh and rip open the envelope, praying that everything is still okay. That all my scholarships are still actually my scholarships, and that I don’t all of a sudden have to pay the astronomical amount of money for full tuition. There are few things I want more than to stay in Ohio at Bushwick University, and there are few things I wouldn’t do to make sure it happens.

Breathe, Hayley May. It might just be nothing.

And it might be that the work study stuff fell through and I’m going to be kicked out of the dorm. Both are entirely plausible.

I take a deep breath and pull out the sheaf of papers. I scan the letter on the first page and heave a sigh of relief. It’s an explanation of what the scholarship covers and a reminder of the events I need to attend.

Everything okay? Jules asks from her perch on her bed. She’s surrounded by textbooks and notebooks and her laptop and I’m not really sure how she has that much homework already. I mentally pat myself on the back for not taking that extra class this semester—between work study stuff, babysitting for Brandon, the Beats, and the ridiculous amount of homework I do have from the classes I am taking.

Yeah, everything’s fine.

You sure? Because you were just having a little heart attack over there before, and my first aid certification expired. Not that I would know what to do, anyway.

I laugh. They should have an emergency Google thing, I say. Where there’s some way that you can Google your symptoms and if they’re really that bad, it automatically alerts the local emergency folk.

You’re a freaking genius.

I shrug. Nah. It probably wouldn’t work, anyway, because you know that there would be people who’d just Google random stuff without actually exhibiting symptoms and everything would be shot to hell.

Well, if you ever figure out how to make that work, you would make a killing. Jules twists her long brown hair up onto the top of her head, anchoring it with a pencil, something I’ve always wanted to do but could never really figure out how to pull it off.

First maybe I should pick a major or something. I open up the biology textbook with distaste. It’s a shame that sleeping with textbooks under your pillow doesn’t actually transmit all the information from the book to your head. That would really make this bio class a little less painful.

Oh, please. It’s October. We’ve been in college for like, a month.

Yeah, but if I pick a major now, I won’t have to worry about it later.

You? Jules laughs. I can’t really see that.

I throw a pillow at her. Shut up, Jules.

You know I’m right. She tosses the pillow back. Wanna do this with a bribe?

Do what?

She gestures to the piles of work we both have spread on our beds. Yeah, there are desks, but the desk I sat at in the third grade is bigger than the desks in our room. Whatever homework we have to do. All the homework we have to do.

What kind of bribe?

Whoever finishes their work last has to buy the other one dinner.

Well, that’s all well and good if I win, especially since Kris still hasn’t paid me for babysitting for Brandon this week. I do a quick run-through of my current bank account balance. As long as dinner doesn’t mean going out to La Renoir, I can probably figure it out if I need to.

Deal.

Jules smiles. I’m in the mood for Chinese.

That’s nice for you. I’m in the mood for caviar.

Really?

Ha, no. I don’t even know what caviar tastes like.

Probably like chicken.

That’s such a Nate thing to say. Doesn’t everything? I say, trying to push that thought back down to the box of memories I’ve tried and almost succeeded in hiding away.

Well, not cheese.

You have a point, I concede. Okay. I’m going to do this bio homework and make you buy me dinner.

There’s a new Mexican place that opened up right off campus, Jules says. The food’s supposed to be good there.

I laugh. Not as good as it is in Texas.

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I slam my textbook shut. HA! I win! I roll off the bed and do a little victory dance, complete with a high kick or two. Bow before me, peasant, and be ready to buy me dinner.

You suck, Jules grumps, looking up from her laptop. How are you so fast?

Because I can’t really afford to buy you dinner.

Magic.

You should share magic with your roommate. That would be so sweet of you.

I salute. It’s all yours for now. My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Kris’s PA, because Kris can’t be bothered to actually text me herself. Which would be all well and good if Kris was some CEO and I was working for her company, but I don’t think Kris actually works at all. And I babysit her kid.

Reminding you that Brandon will be going to the country club tomorrow for karate lessons, and Kris wants you to take the Audi.

Great. Wonderful. Yeehaw. Woopdey freaking do.

Driving in one of Kris’s cars that probably cost more money than all of my college tuition with one of the brattiest children in existence in the backseat? Yup—definitely my idea of paradise.

Thank you. I text back, because what else am I supposed to say? This whole working for people who seem to have more money than God is really nerve-wracking, mostly because the feeling that I’m doing everything wrong never quite leaves.

Ugh, stop texting your boyfriend, Hay. I’m hungry!

Just the word boyfriend is a punch in the gut. Which it shouldn’t be. It’s been long enough. You know I don’t actually have a boyfriend. Anymore.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, we’ll fix that. Jules throws on her jacket and taps her foot impatiently by the door.

No, it’s really okay. I pull on my oversized Cowboys sweatshirt and follow Jules out the door.

Don’t you want to bring your phone?

I shrug. Nah, if I bring my phone, I’d have to deal with babysitting crap, and I really don’t want to have to right now.

I don’t know how you do it all, Jules says, shaking her head. I’m kinda scared to start interning this week.

You do what you need to, I say, same as my mom always does. You figure things out.

God, I hope so. Jules bumps her hip into mine, grinning. So, caviar for dinner?

Ha. You’re hilarious.

I know. I try.

We end up at one of the pizza places on campus—the grossest one, I’m sure. But it’s the only one that doesn’t card, and not too surprisingly, it’s the one that’s the busiest. Jules hip-bumps some random girl and grabs an empty table in the corner. HA! she crows, sliding into the seat. Don’t say I never do anything for you, Hayley Summers.

I raise my right hand. I, Hayley May Summers, solemnly swear that I will never say that you never do anything for me. So help me God, Amen.

Crazypants. And now is the true test of roommate-ship.

I’m scared, I say, trying to keep the grin from blossoming across my face. I don’t know what I did to deserve to have won the roommate lottery like this, but I’m not complaining. What happens if I fail?

I’ll be crushed and never recover, she promptly replies. I’ll move into the library and hide among the stacks, and haunt random college students.

Oh, please. Like haunting the library would be a hardship for you.

Not the point, Padawan. Now, pay attention and think hard before you answer. What toppings are you going to get?

You couldn’t give me an easier question to start out with? I raise my voice in attempt to be heard over the sounds of the frat guys at the next table arguing about how real Candace Bergenton’s boobs are. Like, if Candace’s boobs are real?

Who the hell is Candace?

I shrug. Ask them, I say, pointing to the boneheads at the next table. They all seem to know about her and her boobs.

I’m sure they’re real. Who would get a boob job before they’re eighteen?

Who says she’s eighteen? I ask. Maybe she’s forty.

If she’s forty, why do they all know her?

Stranger things have happened.

Maybe in Texas, Jules says, doubtful.

Oh, not the Texas card again. What, it’s not normal here? I ask, batting my eyelashes and trying to seem as innocent as possible.

Uh, not really? Jules seems a little confused.

Perfect.

Really? I let my drawl thicken until it’s almost impossible to understand if you’re from anywhere over the Mason-Dixie line. That’s so odd! My mama is a good thirty years older than my daddy is.

Really? Jules’s eyes bug out.

Really, I lie smoothly. And how they met was so sweet and all.

How did they meet?

Well, my mama was working in a playgroup, and my daddy was in her class. She fell in love with him and waited until he was almost legal before they got together. I was born when he was in junior year in high school.

Swear to God, Julianne’s poor eyeballs can’t handle much more of this. Wow, she finally manages. That’s…so sweet.

I can’t help it anymore. I drop my head to the table and burst into laughter. Oh…my…God, I gasp, practically cackling. You believed me?

What the hell, Hayley? Jules says, confused. I don’t get it.

I keep laughing. Lying to people about Texas hasn’t gotten old in the past month and a half since I’ve left. Your face, Jules. You should have seen it.

When you made cow eyes at me and told me some insane story about your mom meeting your dad when he was in playgroup? And you kept such a straight face I wasn’t sure if you were lying to me or not? Of course my face was crazy!

Life lesson, Jules. Do not make any assumptions about my part of Texas, because I’m just going to make something up. And I can be as convincing as necessary. I grin, unrepentant, and lean back in the booth. Oh, and I want vegetable pizza without any mushrooms.

What’s wrong with mushrooms?

I make a face. Ew. Everything is wrong with mushrooms.

You need to be a little more specific about that.

They taste like bad rubber, I say.

What does good rubber taste like?

Like beef jerky and cowboy boots.

Jules throws a napkin at me. You’re crazy. Actually, legitimately, crazy.

Everyone in Texas is. We’re all nuttier than…

Nuts?

Well, obviously. Nuts aren’t very nutty.

Peanut butter?

Um, I guess?

You guess?

I don’t know. Peanut butter’s not all that nutty, either.

It’s made of nuts. No, that doesn’t help, does it?

I put my head down on the table and laugh until my sides ache. Julianne’s sense of humor reminds me of Nate’s sometimes—like when we argue about how nutty peanut butter is. It’s the kind of thing Nate and I would have argued about.

It’s still a stab in the heart, every time I think about Nate. It’s been almost three years since I saw him last, and the last thing I said to him still haunts me. Good luck not regretting the stupid shit you’ve done.

I don’t know if Nate regrets what he did, but I definitely did. I do.

Where’d you go, Hay?

I shake my head a little, trying to refocus on the pizza joint instead of memories that are better left buried. Sorry, I spaced out for a little.

Yeah, I figured. You okay?

Yeah, I’m fine. Why?

Julianne shrugs. I don’t know… you seemed kinda sad before.

No, I’m fine. Really. I plaster a smile on my face and try to convince myself that I did the right thing. I really am okay. I mean, it’s been almost three years. I should be over this by now. I shouldn’t be pining away like some spineless Victorian lady in a corset, wailing on a widow’s walk.

It’s 2014, Hayley May. Even in Leland. You don’t pine. You grow a backbone, bury your memories, and move the hell on. You try to enjoy the experience of being in college, and of getting out of Texas.

This is what you wanted, Hayley.

This is what I wanted. It is. It really is.

Then why is it so much harder than I thought it was going to be?

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Fucking Helmand.

Everything here has been just one disaster after another since we got here three months ago. There is sand everywhere, including places that sand has no permission of ever being. Hell, if my butt crack is going to be filled like a sandbox, I may as well be at a beach.

HellLand? No beaches here.

Just villages and compounds and way too many explosives. Too many starving kids. Too many starving animals. Too many assholes who care more about making a point to… hell, I don’t know who, than to taking care of their families.

A bugle sounds, and I grab my shit to go shower. It’s a luxury that I haven’t had in longer than I care to remember, but here in the middle of Hell, nobody really gives a shit what you smell like. People here are more concerned about not dying.

In and out, asshole, Garret calls as I jog to the shower. Nobody cares how clean your ass is.

You should, I call back. Considering all the kissing you do.

Fuck off.

To you, too.

It’s a sobering thought—the fact that we might not get out of here alive. I had thought about it when I was still in Texas, an idiot high school senior who just wanted to get the hell away from everything, protect his country, and maybe turn into someone worth something. But three years later and having seen more people die than I’ve ever wanted to, things look a little different. There are times that I don’t even remember why I’m doing anything—times where all I can remember is don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. But that needs to be enough. I can have a fucking nervous breakdown after this deployment. I can wuss out and cry if I need to.

But right now there are people who need saving, and I’m apparently the moron who’s going to put on a cape and try to save them.

I dress again, feeling the sand scrape against my somewhat clean skin. The sacrifices you make so others can be free, Captain Montain says.

Less than eight hours before we descend into the pits of Hell. Safe back in my bunk, I pull out the picture I’ve been carrying around since I left for the Academy—one of the last pictures I have of Hayley. Dammit, Harrison. Man up. It’s been three years since you were a fucking idiot and broke her heart.

And yet I’m carrying around her picture like it’s the only thing that will keep me sane. That will keep me calm.

Wherever she is, I hope she’s doing okay. I hope she’s happy.

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How am I lost, again?

I’ve been living on this campus for a little over a month, and all I want to do is get to class. Instead of being in the Waterford Building, I’m…I look around. I have no idea where I am.

I would say that all the buildings look the same, but they don’t. And for some reason, that’s infinitely more confusing to me. I check my phone, and wince. Class starts in fifteen minutes, and for all I know, I could be on the opposite side of campus.

Why, why, why isn’t there an app or something with a map of the Bushwick campus? My life would be so much easier if I knew where I was ever.

Ugh.

I think I’m lost, I text Olivia. Olivia’s the beat boxer for the Beats and is in class with me. She’s also the type who will know where I am. Olivia seems to know everything, and I will use that to my advantage.

Where are you? she texts back, almost immediately.

Saying I don’t know isn’t helpful, is it?

Nope. What do you see?

Weird buildings and lots of trees.

Thanks, Christopher Columbus.

Ugh, shut up. This Ohio nonsense is out of my comfort zone.

LOLOLOLOLOL. Laaaaaammmmme.

No, seriously, Liv. I don’t know where I am and if I show up after Lennan, I’m dead. I don’t want to die yet. Save me. I add a fishing emoji to the end of the message.

I don’t get the fishing part.

You’re going to have to fish me out of the lake, because I’m probably going to stumble in and it’s going to be like a horror movie and I’m going to die horribly.

Geez. And I thought *I* was overdramatic. But seriously, Hay. Where are you?

I look around, trying to find some landmark. WTF. There’s a building shaped like a giant penis.

Ohhhh! You’re at the Phallic Protrusion.

That can’t be what it’s actually called. What the hell is this place?

My phone buzzes. I haven’t figured it out yet. I don’t think there are that many classes held there. Walk past the Penis Building—head toward the windmill. When you get to the Rodney Building, make a right and walk through the park. You’ll see the building.

K, thanks. Wait. How do you know how many classes are given here? OMG LIV! Only you would take a class just because it was in the Penis Building.

I’m passing the Rodney Building when Liv texts back. Pfft. You would too.

I neither confirm nor deny that. I check the time, and break into a sprint. If I run, I can get there before Lennan.

You look terrible, Olivia says as I collapse into my desk a few minutes later.

Gee, thanks. I lean over, trying to catch my breath. I don’t think I’ve ever ran that distance that quickly before. The things I’ll do to show up on time for class in college seem to be a bit more extreme than the things I’d do to get to class in high school. That’s really nice of you.

Oh, shush. She pulls out her makeup bag, and turns toward me. Don’t even bother fighting, she says as I try to wiggle out of her reach. This is only going to make things harder for you.

Olivia…

It’s for your own good. You look like you got run over by a truck. Do you not own any concealer?

I was more concerned about studying for the bio test than about putting on concealer. And then I ran halfway across campus. Plus, I don’t think there’s a concealer that can deal with bags this big.

She tsks, and pulls out another tube of something. Maybe if this was a one-time thing, you’d be forgiven. This is the fifth time in two weeks, Hay, and Jules says you’ve been in the dorm, doing homework, or at work. So it’s not like you’re even getting some and have an excuse to look like shit. Unless you’re lying about the work and really you’re having a torrid affair with someone. She purses her lips as she feathers some powder onto my cheeks. Bronzer? Blush? I have no idea. I don’t ask any questions. Hmm. How torrid is this affair, Hayley? Who are you sleeping with?

Ha. The thought of me even hanging out with a guy in a potentially romantic way is kind of laughable. Liv, you need to lay off the romance novels. I’m not having any torrid affairs.

Torrid Affairs should be the name of a band, Liv muses.

But an ironic band, I say.

Nuns. If nuns had a rock band, it would be called Torrid Affairs.

Well, if I ever meet nuns forming a rock band, I’ll pass on the name.

As you should. Just make sure I’m credited. Liv pulls out yet another tube of something and I swear to God, nobody wears all this stuff. I think. But seriously, Hay. Is everything okay?

Everything’s fine, I say, not really sure if I’m lying or not. Lack of sleep, hormones, and homesickness is a lethal combination. I just haven’t been able to sleep, I admit as she wipes and brushes and does whatever it is she’s doing to my face. So I look like crap.

Worse than crap. You need a facial and a nap.

I’ll just take the nap.

After practice tonight, I’m shoving you into bed. I don’t care. Do your homework some other time. Olivia lines my eyes with eyeliner, and then finishes everything off with mascara. Damn, I do good work, she says, leaning back to admire my face. You actually look human now.

I flip her off and grab a mirror. I don’t just look human, I look like some sort of supermodel. I have no idea how she does it—give her two minutes and she’ll make me actually look hot, as opposed to someone who got run over by a truck.

How was last night? I ask, passing

Reviews for Come Back To Texas (Twelve Beats In A Bar, Book 1)

[CaseyDunbar · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I would have loved an epilogue. The ending seemed fairly abrupt.