by Lynn Stevens
“That’s great, hon.” Mom finally started eating her food while my plate was almost empty.
“How’s work?” I asked, changing the subject off Dylan.
“The same. You know how it is during tourist season.” Mom shrugged. “Are you still planning on leaving after the show ends around Labor Day?”
I nodded, not entirely sure why she would ask. It had been my plan since before Dad’s stroke.
“Of course, she’s heading out in the world,” Dad said with a laugh. “She’s going all the way.”
Mom’s head dipped so I couldn’t see her expression. But I knew it. I didn’t need to see her face to know she was disappointed in me.
Graduation was a rush of emotions, farewells, good lucks, and thank-God-we-survived. While it lasted its allotted time, it felt like longer. Reverend Brand at least kept his speech short and to the point. Then it was over. All of it. High school was finally done. It was surreal. Those four years felt like forever, but they were gone in the blink of an eye.
“We did it,” Iris said, throwing her arms around me.
I laughed as her hug almost brought us both down onto the track.
“Did you see who was here?” She let go and spun me toward the stands.
I half-expected to see Dylan, but it was Hank Walker staring back at me. He pushed through the throngs of parents and stopped.
“Cameron, congratulations,” he said before shaking my hand. He nodded once at Iris then turned around and disappeared into the crowd.
“What the hell?” I muttered, more to myself than to Iris.
“That’s a good question. Did you have a clue?” Iris’s nose wrinkled.
“No. I thought... It doesn’t matter.” I thought Dylan might show, not Hank. Why was he here? I shook it out of my head. There was no way I’d ever find out. Hank Walker did what he wanted, when he wanted. He probably saw the crowd and thought it was a show. Unless he counted the high school band’s rendition of “Pomp and Circumstance”, he must’ve been highly disappointed.
Miranda jumped on Iris’s back with tears streaming down her cheeks despite the huge grin. “You guys are really leaving me.”
Iris laughed as Miranda slid off. “You know where I live, silly.”
I wrapped them both in a big hug. “I’m here for a few more months, and we’re going to have a blast.”
Miranda snorted. “You don’t have to work as a maid.”
“Not this year,” I said. It was a gentle reminder of all the years I did work as a maid or a cashier or whatever job I could get over the summer. “But who knows what I’ll be doing this fall.”
“Singing,” they said together. Their confidence was uplifting, but after this morning’s breakfast, I wasn’t so sure I should leave.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The lights felt brighter, hotter, and just overwhelming. It wasn’t the first time I’d been on stage, but this was so much more significant. It was sold out. Hank was in a mood, stomping around and acting as if everything had already fallen apart.
It wasn’t until Heath showed me an article on his phone that I got why Hank was being an ass. It was a review in the Branson Ledger. And it wasn’t good.
Mountain View Theater is known for risky shows. Two years ago, Michael Reynolds brought in Gracin Ford and changed the face of Branson theater for the better. Last year’s show with Miley Michels was fresh, fun, and the up and coming popstar made the most of her win on “Talents to the Stars” by showcasing her extreme vocal range and fun-loving spirit.
Hank Walker’s show does none of that.
It’s stale and, quite frankly, a boring experiment. The band is fine and sharp, but even they look like the material is not worth rehashing. The backup singers do the same dance moves from Hank’s prime. And Hank’s voice has lost its edge. The grit is gone.
Save yourself the money and listen to one of his live albums instead. This year, the risk for Mountain View Theater was one not worth taking.
“Oh shit.” I stared at Heath.
He shrugged. “It’s not entirely wrong, you know. The music needs something fresh.”
“Do you think...” I didn’t want to finish the sentence.
“We’ll close?” Heath shook his head. “Nah, the shows sold out through June. We’ve got that long, but I doubt Mr. Reynolds will admit defeat. And I doubt Hank will either.”
“What do you think we should do?” I asked, staring at the one sentence about the backup singers.
“Us?” Heath snorted. “We get paid.”
He took his phone and moved across the dressing room. We get paid.
Dylan stepped into the room without his usual swagger. He glanced around until his gaze met mine. But he didn’t acknowledge me for more than a brief nod before he started talking to Mike. Sweat coated Dylan’s hair, flattening it against his head. His shirt was damp and clinging to his body.
“You’re being too obvious,” a smoky voice said beside me. I glanced up at Crystal. “He already knows you want him, so he’s going to play hard to get. Then when you finally get him, he’ll know he’s won.” She shrugged and sat down beside me. “It’s all a game for guys like him.”
“We’re just friends,” I said before slamming the rest of the water in my bottle.
“Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, kid.” She crossed her legs and leaned back into the chair. “If you ever take anyone’s advice, take mine on this. Guys like Dylan Walker don’t hang around, so don’t get hung up on him. When the show ends, he’ll be back to L.A. or New York or wherever his daddy goes. Branson will be nothing but a blip in his rear view mirror. And you’ll be nothing but a memory.”
I wanted to prove her wrong just for the sake of proving her wrong. But I couldn’t. One, Dylan made it clear nothing would happen between us. Two, she wasn’t wrong.
“You did great,” Dad said for the millionth time outside the theater. He’d wanted to see the show again. I had a feeling he’d see it as much as possible over the summer.
“It was alright,” Jake said, earning a smack upside the head from Mom.
“It was fantastic.” Mom had worked the breakfast and lunch rush so she could bring Dad again. She smiled at Jake who grinned back. “Your brother was singing along.”
“Thanks.” My face burned. It felt like forced praise. Or maybe that was just because of the review. Or maybe it was also because I heard the same thing from Miranda and Iris less than five minutes ago. Either way, it didn’t settle well. Dad was always going to tell me I was amazing. Mom would too, just to support Dad. I had a feeling Jake’s assessment was more honest.
I helped Mom get Dad in the car. Jake needed to do this more. I wasn’t going to be around forever. Just before I jumped in the backseat, someone shouted my name. I turned toward the voice.
Dylan waved then jogged up to us.
“Cam, Hank wants a post show meeting with everyone.”
“Now?” Mom asked.
Dylan nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He’s on a rampage. I’ll drive her home after he’s done yelling about everything.”
Mom glanced at me as I closed the door. “You sure you want to stay?”
I shrugged, because I really didn’t want to but I had to. Hank would sack me in a heartbeat if I didn’t. “I’ll be fine.”
Dylan stood beside me as I waved my family off. Once their taillights were out of sight, I turned to head back into the theater. Dylan grabbed my arm, steering me toward his car.
“What about the meeting?” I asked.
“I lied.” He grinned and unlocked his car. “Well, partially lied. Dad’s already half in the tank and on his way to the cabin with his security. You and I are going to have a ‘meeting’ about the show.” He put air quotes around meeting. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“What’re you really up to?” I asked with my hand on the door.
Dylan leaned against the roof of the car. “I need a break, Cam. Something other than Hank Walker, other than this show. I thought you might wa
nna just hang.”
“Okay,” I said, barely containing the smile. I could just hang with Dylan whenever he wanted. “Do you want to go to a party? It’ll be lame.”
Dylan grinned and raised his eyebrows. “A party, huh? Sounds like just what I need.”
“Even if it’s lame?” I opened the door and climbed inside.
“A party is a party is a party,” he said as he got in.
After a stop at a local liquor store, I directed him toward a cove ten minutes north of Branson. It wasn’t a touristy spot and it wasn’t a good fishing spot. The popular kids used it as a weekly place to drink and be stupid. Tonight, my graduating class planned on celebrating our freedom. Dylan parked along the side of the road.
“You ready for this?” I squeaked.
“Me?” He shut off the engine and turned toward me. “What about you?”
I shrugged then rolled my eyes. “Okay, to be honest, I was never invited to a lot of parties. If I was, I never really had a lot of time to go.”
“Well, Cameron, let’s get this party started.” He handed me the keys. “In case I don’t stay sober. Or I throw the keys in the lake.”
“You’ve done that?”
Dylan grinned. “Well, not a lake, but Dad’s BMW keys are somewhere in the bottom of the Pacific.”
I locked the car after Dylan grabbed his brown bag of booze. We walked toward the music blaring from someone’s two-bit speakers. It switched from a rap song to the latest country party song. Several people started singing along. So did I.
Dylan stopped me with a hand on my wrist. “Louder, like you’re on stage.”
I did as instructed and let the music flow through me until the guitar solo.
“Interesting,” Dylan said then he started walking again.
“Wait. What’s interesting?” I hurried to catch up with him. “Dylan, what’s interesting?”
“Your voice,” he said. And that was the only answer he gave me. “Don’t drink tonight.”
I stopped and lost him on the path toward the cove. Don’t drink tonight? It was my party. Not that I had planned on getting drunk, but seriously? His audacity set my skin on fire. He wasn’t my boss. He wasn’t anything other than the guitar player in a band. Hank was my boss. If I wanted to get drunk, I’d damn well get drunk.
By the time I got to the party, Dylan was already talking with Lola Tanter. I shoved the keys into my pocket before I threw them in the lake.
“Cam?” Eddie Blake stopped beside me. He was a junior and Miranda’s one true love. Or so she said. He wasn’t a bad looking guy with dark brown hear and wide brown eyes. We’d always gotten along despite Miranda’s insistence that I should hate him at all costs. Miranda confused the crap out of me sometimes. “What’re you doing here?”
“It’s kinda my class party,” I said, taking the unopened bottle from his hand. “Thought I could make it to one high school party before the option was completely out the window.”
Eddie laughed. “I guess I never figured you for the partying type.”
“I was always working.” I chugged the beer in my hand. “Got another?”
“Damn, I’m impressed,” Eddie said, his eyes going wider than normal. “Yeah, there’s a lot more. Come on.” I followed Eddie to a collection of coolers at the edge of the bonfire. “Take your pick.”
I opened grabbed a wine cooler and tore of the cap. Drinking wasn’t my thing. I never had time to really get drunk. When I wasn’t in school, I was at work. I’d lost my job a month before graduation when the Icee Hut closed. Since I wasn’t planning on staying in Branson anyway, I didn’t bother to look for a new job. Then the audition happened, and here I stayed. Might as well party hard while I was stuck here. I drained the bottle of sweet grapeyness and grabbed another one.
“Wow, Cam,” Eddie said. I’d almost forgotten he was still there. “Maybe slow down a bit. Enjoy the buildup of the buzz.”
“Why?” I sipped the grape flavored alcohol.
“Because you’re gonna feel it tomorrow morning,” Eddie said with a laugh. His gaze traveled down my body and back up slowly. I shivered at how creepy that felt. He nodded down to the lake. “Walk with me.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Dylan was too close to Lola. She brushed her chest against his. Shaking my head as a sinking pit of anger mixed with disappointment and hurt filled my chest, I turned back to Eddie. “Sure.”
Eddie grabbed two bottles of wine coolers and two beers, then led me away from the party. The music quieted behind us until it was just background noise. Eddie stopped by a boulder on the edge of the shoreline. I’d already finished my third drink when I took another from his hand. The wine cooler went down like water. He didn’t say anything as we leaned against the large rock, listening to the water lap against the rocky shore. With the music soft in the distance, it was almost romantic. Almost.
Wrong guy.
I drained another bottle.
“Saw the show,” Eddie finally said. He ducked his head and chuckled before glancing back at me. His face was a little fuzzy and he swayed too much. “You were amazing.”
I snorted. “I stood behind a sixty-year-old former rockstar and moved left to right. It wasn’t hard.”
“No, you commanded the stage. It was ...” Eddie ran his hand down my arm. “I’ve never seen you so confident.”
“You’ve never really seen me,” I whispered. The weight of my words forced me down. I slid down the boulder until my ass met the rocks. I felt steadier with the added support. The water wasn’t that far away. I slipped off my shoes and stretched my legs out. The cold lake water reached the edge of my heels. “Nobody really has.”
Eddie sat beside me. “Oh, I noticed you, Cam. A lot. But you’re always with Miranda and...”
I drained the bottle then looked at him. His face was blurred in the moonlight. Or maybe that was the alcohol. He had four really big eyes instead of two, and his nose looked like Picasso had painted it in the wrong spot. Eddie leaned in and pressed his mouth against mine. I turned my head to get away from his sloppy attempt at a kiss. He slobbered against my cheek.
“Get off,” I said, pushing him away as I leaned too far away.
Then he was gone.
I opened my eyes and met Dylan’s angry gaze.
“Jesus, Cam.” He turned away, and I heard some scuffling, words.
I sat up. The headache rushed to my temples. I lost my balance and started to fall over. Dylan’s hands caught me, steadying me. I leaned against him for more than balance. He was warm, soft, right.
“Damn it, I told you not to drink,” he whispered.
“You didn’t want me to drink so you could bang Lola Tanter,” I muttered. Tears welled in my eyes. Some part of me, the mature part of me, knew I sounded like a child. Not that it stopped me. “You just wanted me to drive you home.”
“No, I didn’t want you do drink because I knew you couldn’t handle a hangover like I can.” He pulled me closer. “The booze isn’t good for your vocal chords either. We’ve still got a show tomorrow.”
The tears broke free and the blubbering followed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want him to...”
“Eddie wanted to get laid. You were drunk. That dickhead saw an opportunity and took it.” Dylan helped me to my feet. “You okay?”
I laughed. What a stupid question? No, I wasn’t okay. I needed a shower and aspirin. I needed more alcohol to erase this night from my memory.
“What’s so funny?” Dylan asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
“Nothing.”
Dylan didn’t push. We walked back toward the party, then past it to the car. Dylan didn’t say a word as he started the car and pulled onto the road. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window. Why had I drank so much so fast? I knew better. Not that it excused Eddie from putting his nasty lips on me. What would’ve happened if Dylan hadn’t been there to stop him? I shuddered at the thought. Never would I have expected Eddie to be
such a jerk. I tried pushing it all out of my mind. The lyrics to “Cry” by Reba McEntire filled the cab. I mouthed the words as the car rocked me.
Sometime during the drive, I fell asleep and woke up in a huge bed that wasn’t mine.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The walls weren’t mine. The blinds weren’t either. I blinked my eyes several times as if that would morph this room into the one I’d slept in since I was born. It didn’t work. I rolled off the bed, my feet getting stuck in the sheets and too soft duvet, and landed on the floor with a bang. My brain rattled in my head like a pinball machine. I closed my eyes, blocking out the sliver of sun slipping between the bottom of the blinds and the window.
Where am I?
The door opened and a pair of feet, very male feet, stopped just in my line of vision.
“About time?” he said as loudly as possible.
I squeezed my eyes tighter. “You don’t have to be so loud, Dylan.”
“Yes, I do.” He pushed my hair back. “Are you okay? You took a hard fall.”
I pointed down to my still tangled legs. Cool hands brushed against my skin as the duvet and sheets disappeared. I opened my eyes and watched him. He was gentle and soft and damn it. The night rushed back. Well, most of it. Part of it was too fuzzy. One horrible part that wasn’t was Eddie’s slobbering lips. Miranda was going to hate me for life. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t wanted Eddie to kiss me. She’d only see it for what she wanted it to be.
A sob escaped. I didn’t even feel the threat of crying before it started, then it wouldn’t stop. Oh my God, I never, ever would’ve done anything to hurt Miranda. I shouldn’t have had the alcohol either. And I wouldn’t have had any alcohol if it wasn’t for Dylan flirting with Lola.
My logic was sound. Anger soared and I kicked away from him.
“This is your fault, you know.” I crawled away and stood on shaky legs. “Every damn thing.”
Dylan knelt in the same spot with the mint green sheet still in his hand. “How do you figure that?”
I huffed. My stomach rolled. I bolted toward the bathroom on my left. Leaning over the sink, I caught my breath and managed not to throw up. Thank God. That would’ve been too much. No, that wasn’t true. This entire situation was too much.