Just One Song (Just One... Book 2)

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Just One Song (Just One... Book 2) Page 12

by Lynn Stevens

“Maybe I like having you here.” He raised his eyebrows. I laughed again and he helped me to my feet. “Since we’ve failed already,” he said, then he kissed my forehead. The rest of the band whooped and Dylan let me go.

  “It’s about damn time,” Heath said.

  “What’s about damn time?” Hank asked as he strode into the dressing room. His makeup was already on, making him look like a caricature of himself. Onstage though, he’d look younger, more vibrant. Beneath the foundation and eyeliner, rage boiled. “Are you going to tell me or just fucking ignore me as usual?”

  “Nobody’s ignoring you, Dad,” Dylan said, crossing his arms and blocking my view of Hank. Or maybe he was blocking Hank’s view of me. “Cami’s video is over ten thousand views. They’re just giving her shit about it.”

  “Over ten thousand?” Hank asked. The doubt in his voice irked me to no end.

  “Yeah, it topped the mark this morning,” Heath said.

  I smiled at Heath and he winked. It was nice to have someone else on my side.

  “It’s a great cover,” Crystal added. She sidled up next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. “I’m really proud of our girl here.”

  Hank glanced at each one of us. “Whatever. We’ve got a show to do. I’m just here to remind you all that a music reviewer from the L.A. Times is in the crowd tonight. This asshole’s been gunning for me for decades, so be your goddamn best tonight.” His eyes zeroed in on me. “And no showboating.”

  “Calm down, Dad,” Dylan said, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder.

  Hank glanced at Dylan’s hand then shoved it off. He sneered at his son then each one of us, spending a little too much sneer time at me. I pressed my lips together to keep my mouth shut. Hank shook his head and stormed out of the dressing room. That man had a serious chip on his shoulder. But I didn’t care enough to wonder why.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The show started off without a hitch. Hank sang better than he had all summer. If he wasn’t so damned unapproachable, I would’ve asked him for advice. My vocal chords have gotten pretty raw lately. The days off and milk with honey helped, but I knew I could do more. Crystal and I sounded great. There was no more battling for domination. We worked together. Unbeknownst to Hank, we’d freshened up our dance steps a bit. Everything was going exactly as it should. Even Dylan worked the crowd more than usual and his dad pretended like they were best friends on stage.

  Then it stopped.

  “Can I hear you scream?” Hank asked the crowd. He spun around, a hand to his throat, as the crowd screamed.

  “Louder,” Dylan said, casting a worried look his father’s way.

  Hank opened his mouth and croaked into the microphone. Nobody else heard him but the band. Dylan played a long guitar riff, then reintroduced the band.

  The next song was Hank’s ballad “Everyday.” Hank still hadn’t faced the crowd as he downed a bottle of water. He glanced to Dylan and nodded. Dylan started the slow opening. Crystal and I began our sway with a beat on the left. But Hank didn’t start singing. The mic was to his open mouth, but no sound came out. Dylan extended the guitar riff, drawing the crowd’s gaze and the spotlight away from Hank. I glanced at Crystal. Her mouth was in a tight smile. She needed this job as much as I did.

  Hank took the opportunity to disappear backstage. Dylan turned around toward me and mouthed Sing.

  I knew the words like I knew my own name, but it didn’t feel right. My heart hammered double time, but he only nodded.

  There wasn’t a chance to think because it was time. The guitar riff ended and someone had to take over. I glanced toward the back stage where Hank had disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d be back before the refrain.

  I closed my eyes and let the music fill me.

  He left me yesterday

  In a rush, in a fuss

  Only a note that read

  Everyday I wait

  Everyday I stay

  But you don’t come home

  Or don’t see me.

  Every day

  My heart breaks.

  Crumbled note in my hand

  I found him at the river

  My heart stopped as I said

  Everyday I wait

  Everyday I stay

  But you don’t want me home

  Or don’t see me there

  Every day

  My heart breaks.

  Somehow I was center stage with no idea how I got there. I was singing, lost in the words, in the feeling, but I wasn’t at my best. Dylan’s guitar solo echoed beside me. He pressed his side against mine and everything clicked.

  We held each other

  As the rain began

  Our tears mixed in

  Everyday we waited

  Everyday we prayed

  For something we didn’t

  Know we already had.

  Everyday we wanted

  Every day we needed

  What we already had.

  Every day.

  Every day.

  Every day

  Starts all over again.

  The song closed on my high note and the lights shut off completely. Dylan stayed beside me as the silence filled the theater. Then the applause started thundering so loud I felt it in my chest. Dylan kissed my cheek.

  “They love you. Let’s do ‘Walk Away’,” he said against my ear. “Acoustic.”

  “What about Hank?” I asked.

  Dylan shrugged and ran backstage. The lights came back up as Dylan and a stagehand brought out two acoustic guitars and two stools. I was supposed to be doing something to distract the audience from the setup, like talk or joke or something.

  “Hi, y’all,” I said, not really sure what to say, but I needed to say something. “I’m Cami Ann Harris.” God, why did I use my middle name? I sound twelve. Why do I have an accent? “Can we give Hank some love for letting me showboat a little tonight?”

  Dylan raised an eyebrow at me and I smirked. The crowd loved it, but even a rookie could tell they were a little confused. They’d come to see Hank Walker, not some no name kid.

  So I lied to get on their side. “Hank’s been a big supporter of mine since I auditioned, and he wanted to give me a chance to sing a couple of songs for y’all.”

  Dylan nodded and rolled his hand to keep going as he tuned a guitar.

  I had no idea what to say. “How many of you have been to Branson before?” A small splattering of cheers. “How many are here for the first time?” A louder applause. I was losing them. “We’re sure glad to have you here. I’m gonna do one more song then turn it back over to the real reason y’all are here.”

  My legs shook as I walked toward Dylan. I settled onto the stool next to him and closed my fingers around the neck of the guitar. I did a double take. It was my guitar. I’d left it at his house while we wrote together. My fingers smoothed down the familiar strings. I could do this.

  Dylan nodded a count of three and we began the intro together. I lost myself in the music. We’d made it decidedly more country, more Cam and less Hank. It was a completely different song. I didn’t look out into the audience. I didn’t focus on anything except the words and the heartache of having to walk away. The song was fused with a fear, an emotion, I’d only discovered. I imagined being the one to walk away from Dylan and channeled how that felt inside. It was heart wrenching.

  I finished the song a capella.

  This time the crowd didn’t wait. They exploded in applause and cheers.

  “Cami Ann Harris, everyone,” Dylan said as I stood from the stool.

  I bowed. Out of the corner of my eye, Hank strode back on stage with his usual swagger.

  “Yes, give it up for our Cami one more time,” Hank said with a rough voice. “Isn’t she one of Branson’s treasures?”

  I grinned and bowed again, then rushed back to my spot with Crystal. She reached out and squeezed my arm. The smile on my face stretched wider when Dylan turned around and gave me a thumbs up. My g
aze shifted to Hank who just glared.

  The moment disappeared. He hated it. I think he actually hated me for doing it. I pressed my lips together as the next song started. The rest of the show went off with rough vocals by Hank but smooth otherwise. Hank’s voice strained. After the set, we shuffled off stage before the first encore.

  “You,” Hank growled and jammed his finger into my chest. “You’re fired.”

  “For what? Saving your show?” Crystal asked.

  “Bailing you out?” Heath added. The rest of the band crowded around me. Heath shook his head. “You gonna fire all of us, Hank? Including Dylan?”

  Dylan stood by his father. “Relax, Dad. Let’s get through the encores.”

  Hank glared at me. “This is my show, little girl. I knew you were trouble the minute I saw you. First you fuck my son, now you’re trying to steal my show. Back off. I. Will. Ruin. You.”

  He stormed onto the stage to the roar of the crowd.

  “Don’t worry about it, Cam.” Heath said as he put his hand on my shoulder. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

  I glanced at Dylan who met my gaze. His worried eyes told me all I needed to know. Hank Walker could and would ruin any chance I ever had in this business if I crossed him again. And he’d enjoy it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I woke to my phone vibrating against a book and headphones on my nightstand. I’d turned the ringer off when I finally got home the night before because I desperately needed sleep. The last few weeks had been a hodge podge of naps and restless nights. I grabbed the phone before it fell off onto the floor.

  It was only seven in the morning. Four hours of sleep. I couldn’t keep going like this. I’d hoped to stay in bed until at least nine before getting up for church.

  I’d missed the call, but that didn’t matter because it started vibrating again.

  Dylan.

  “Hey,” I said rolling onto my back. “What’s up?”

  “A shitstorm. Can I get you? We need to talk.” Dylan’s voice strained.

  “I have church.” I pressed the heel of my free hand against my eye.

  “Church?”

  “Yes, church.” A yawn slipped through my lips. “Every Sunday.” And I meant every Sunday since I could remember, even when Dad had been in the hospital. My eyes widened with a crazy idea. “Come with us.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Put on nice jeans, no holes, and a collared shirt and come over.” I yawned again, not very ladylike either. My mouth tried to inhale all the air in the room. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  The phone fell from my hand as I drifted back into bliss.

  “Cam, get up,” Mom shouted a few minutes later.

  The last thing I wanted to do was roll out of bed. I pulled my phone from beneath my pillow. It was nine. If Dylan hadn’t called me, I would’ve had six hours of uninterrupted sleep. I wondered if he was going to church with us. I opened my messages and sent him a text.

  Are you coming with us?

  His reply was fast. Yes.

  Where are you? I sent back.

  In your living room.

  I smiled. By the sound of the shower, Jake was up. Mom banged a pan in the kitchen and the faint voices of the TV came from the living room along with Dad’s muffled laugh. I could barely hear Dylan’s voice, but it was there. I climbed out of bed and padded down the hall to the living room.

  Dylan sat on the sofa with one ankle resting on his knee. His hair was extra messy and shiny. A stubble had started on his jawline. I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. Dylan laughed at something Dad said. I wasn’t listening. My focus was on Dylan. He’d put on a black polo with gray dress pants and dress shoes. I’d never seen him in anything but t-shirts and ripped jeans. It was sexy as hell.

  “Hey, Pumpkin,” Dad said with a laugh.

  Dylan turned toward me. The laughter in his eyes disappeared into something else entirely. If he kissed me in that moment, we’d never come up for air.

  Mom cleared her throat. I tore my gaze away from Dylan and looked at her. She stood in the kitchen in a yellow dress and motioned up and down. I cocked my head, because I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. She raised her eyebrows, pointed at me then repeated the motion. I glanced down at my clothes. Or lack there of. Shit. I was in a t-back tank and sleep shorts. My eyes widened and I turned around, running into my little brother as he came out of the steaming bathroom.

  “Watch it, loser,” he muttered before disappearing into his room.

  I took a quick cold shower, then hurried back to my room to get dressed. I’d never worried about what I wore to church before, but I wanted Dylan to look at me like he just had again. I’d also wanted nothing more than to climb on his lap and kiss him into oblivion, among other things. That would have to wait.

  “Hurry up, Cami,” Mom yelled again. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

  Shit, shit, shit. I grabbed a white sundress and slipped on a pair of tan sandals. My hair was too wet to do much with. I towel dried it again and used the blow dryer until it was just damp then pulled it on the top of my head in a messy bun. Not my best look, but it did in a pinch and I was definitely in a pinch. I put on mascara and lip gloss because I was out of time. The front door had opened and Mom had already started the car. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever been the one making us late for church. I knew the drill.

  The living room was already empty. I rushed out the front door, only to watch Mom drive away. My shoulders dropped. The church wasn’t far away, just over a mile, but it was hot outside already and walking wasn’t my idea of a good time. I looked toward the street. Dylan leaned against his car with his ankles crossed and his hands in his pockets. I hadn’t even thought of taking his car. Silly me. The church routine had been ingrained in my life for so long, it only went one way. We were doing something new today. New was good.

  I walked toward him, but he didn’t move. His gaze traveled up and down my body before meeting my eyes. I stopped in front of him.

  “You’re killing me, Cam,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow and put my palm over his overacting heart. “Am I?”

  “Destroying my resolve.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he had the same expression he had in the living room. “I wanted nothing more than to carry you back to your bedroom and not come out for days.”

  I smiled, sadly. “But you won’t.”

  “No,” he said.

  I leaned in and pressed my lips gently to his. “Let’s go. All this talk about sin is making me want to risk hell.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Me too.”

  We climbed into the car. There wasn’t much time to talk as I gave him directions. He parked in the church’s lot. Dylan leaned forward and stared at the steeple. Grove Baptist Church wasn’t big or fancy. It was a small white church with a single bell in the steeple, like any other church that dotted the south. The Catholic Church down the street was a glorious monster of faith. Grove Baptist dwarfed in size, but it was home.

  “Before we go in, I have to tell you something,” Dylan said. He took my hand and squeezed. “That reporter from the Times posted his review this morning.”

  “Really?” A bubble of excitement grew until I glanced at Dylan. He wasn’t smiling. “How bad?”

  “Dad’s going to be furious tonight.” Dylan looked out the windshield again. “And he might fire you again.”

  The bell rang, ending any chance at further conversation.

  “We have to go,” I said, scrambling out of the car. The choir would be getting ready to walk in from the nave and I wouldn’t be there. Again. This was getting to be a really bad habit of mine. Over my shoulder, I shouted as I ran toward the back door, “Go about halfway up the aisle. Mom and Dad will be on the right.”

  “Where’re you going?” he asked.

  I pulled open the door and grinned. “To sing.”

  Reverend Matthews held out my robe as the door closed behin
d me. “I was beginning to wonder if you had finally left us for the rock and roll lifestyle.”

  “Never.” I took the robe from him and put it on.

  “Good to hear,” Reverend Matthews said. His smile reached his eyes. He’d been our pastor for all my life. His tall stature and kind demeanor endeared him to his congregation. “Mrs. Matthews has chosen ‘How Great Thou Are’ for you today. Can you manage?”

  “One of my favorites,” I said, zipping up the robe. The rest of the choir, four men and three women, waved me toward them. I smiled at the reverend and joined the choir. Together we walked out and took our seats in the two pews behind the pulpit. The organ played the opening hymn and I sang along, searching for Dylan. He sat beside my father, head down in the hymnal he held for both of them to sing from. I grinned. This felt right. The entire moment felt like it was kismet or fate or God’s will or whatever. It was how my life needed to be. How I wanted my life to be.

  And it scared the hell out of me too.

  My life could never really be this. I was leaving in at the end of summer. There wouldn’t be a lot of this any more, even if Dylan did come to church with us again. It broke my heart a little. My family was my everything.

  Reverend Matthews took us through the readings. The first hit me like a ton of bricks, 1 Timothy 5:8.

  But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.

  Then he recited Proverbs 15:27.

  Whoever is greedy for unjust gain troubles his own household, but he who hates

  bribes will live.

  If I stayed, wouldn’t I be failing my family by not providing? The verse might’ve been referring to the head of the household, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t apply to me. If I left and made money as a singer, I could take care of my parents. Mom could work less. Dad could have better medical care.

  But if I leave, wouldn’t that be greed too? I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was taking everything too literally.

  The opening notes of “How Great Thou Art” began and the choir rose as one, just as we had for the last six years. I began singing, closing my eyes and losing myself into the words. And I asked for answers in my vocal prayers. The spirit moved me to tears. I’ve always believed in God. My Sundays were one of my favorite days. But never had I felt so ... spiritual as I did in that moment. It was weird and wonderful at the same time. I let my voice soar.

 

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