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

by Lynn Stevens

  When I sang my last note, I opened my eyes and met Dylan’s gaze.

  Someone tugged on my robe, pulling me into my seat. I hadn’t realized that I’d been frozen in place.

  Reverend Matthews smiled at me before taking his place behind the pulpit. He began his sermon, but I didn’t hear a word. My gaze stayed locked with Dylan’s. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to look away. There was something in his eyes I couldn’t figure out. It didn’t scare me by any means. It was possibly maybe positive.

  When the organ began again, he looked away. I watched as he opened the hymnal, found the right page and held it out for my father. Then he met my gaze again. He didn’t sing, but I sang loud enough for both of us.

  Reverend Matthews was already at the front doors to great his parishioners as they left. Dad tapped Dylan’s arm and Mary pulled me toward the back door.

  “Girl,” she said when we were out of sight of everyone else, “I don’t know who that boy is, but he sure has a thing for you.”

  Theresa snorted beside her. “You saw that too? I thought they were going to stop Reverend Matthews in the middle of the sermon and demand he make them legal and all.”

  “What?” I stared at Theresa, totally shocked.

  She just raised an eyebrow.

  “Here, give me your robe,” Mary said with her arm stretched out. “Don’t leave him waiting. I’ll hang it up for you.”

  “And when you get him alone, don’t do anything you shouldn’t do, child,” Theresa added with a motherly nod. “No matter how much you want to do it.”

  I had to get out of there. Taking Mary up on her offer, I tossed my robe over her arm and took off out the door. They were talking crazy. Sure, Dylan and I had a moment. Sure, it was during church. But it wasn’t like I was going to strip down and sin in front of everybody there. That was meant for the privacy of a bedroom.

  My face flushed, burning hot. I blamed it on the weather and not on my dirty thoughts. Church never failed to remind me of my morals. Even when I wanted to shuck them out the door.

  Dylan stood by my parents with his hands in his pockets. It was so natural. That feeling of right crept into me again. I stopped a foot away from them, hoping to catch a word.

  “No, I can’t let you do that,” Dad said. Mom held his arm, keeping him steady. “Take Cami out for lunch. We’re going to head home, watch the game.”

  “It’s no problem. We can eat wherever you’d like,” Dylan said.

  Dad’s face clouded over. I saw the storm brewing in his eyes. Dylan didn’t get why Dad turned down the offer of lunch. It was a matter of pride. Dad couldn’t afford to take us all out. He didn’t want some twenty-one-year-old doing something for his family that he himself couldn’t do. And Dad hated people seeing him like this. He tried to stay lighthearted and carefree, but his disability bothered him a lot.

  “How’d I sound, Daddy?” I asked, innocently interrupting.

  He tore his gaze away from Dylan and smiled at me. All the anger was gone. “Like an angel, Pumpkin.”

  “You really did,” Mom added, squeezing Dad closer to her.

  “Thank you.” I bounced on my heels and faced Dylan. The hungry look from earlier was back. It turned my insides into molten lava. “Ready?”

  He nodded, shoving his hands farther down into his pockets. “You hungry?”

  “Not really.” I shrugged and turned toward his car. Over my shoulder, I waved goodbye to my parents. “You wanted to talk about that review, remember?”

  We stopped beside the passenger door.

  “Cam, I really don’t think we should be alone together.” He leaned closer to me, whispering so only I could hear.

  “Why’s that?” I asked in the same manner.

  “You know why,” he said. Then he stepped back and rounded the front of the car.

  He was right. So very, very, very right. If we went somewhere alone, he’d break his promise to himself. I didn’t want to be the cause of that. If I was, he’d resent me. I opened the passenger door and climbed in.

  “Let’s go downtown. There’s a café there I think you’ll like.” I buckled my seatbelt and smiled brightly. “Okay?”

  Dylan started the engine but didn’t back out of the spot.

  “What’s wrong?” I touched his hand.

  “Your dad was right,” he said before looking up at me. The heat in his gaze went straight to my toes. “You sounded like an angel.”

  “When you mean what you sing, you sing better,” I said.

  Dylan turned his hand over and entwined our fingers together. He lifted them to his lips, kissing the back of my hand. That simple gesture made me want to pull him into the backseat then and there.

  “Diner?” I croaked.

  “This is hard, isn’t it?” he asked, kissing each of my knuckles. “For you too?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “But kissing is still fine?” His nose skimmed over my fingers.

  “Better than fine,” I said breathlessly.

  Dylan dropped our hands and leaned toward me, pressing a very hot, very chaste kiss on my lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  His hands were too busy with lunch to do anything else. It was actually nice though. Instead of making out or doing other things, we talked and just enjoyed being together. Well, I enjoyed it. I could only hope Dylan did too.

  “Okay,” he said after he finished his open-faced beef sandwich. “We really do need to talk about the review.”

  “It’s not like I’ve been avoiding it,” I said, setting my fork on my plate. The southwestern salad had been delicious, but the mention of the review made me lose what was left of my appetite. I’d only eaten about half of it.

  “Yeah, but I have.” He leaned back, stretching his arms to drum his fingers against the table. “Like I said, Dad’s going to be pissed tonight.”

  “I don’t get what that has to do with me.” I sipped my water. Since I started the show, I’d been more conscious about eating healthy. It helped with my energy levels. Junk food made me feel sluggish. Some days called for that but not every day. I needed every bit of energy I could get.

  Dylan closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

  Patience had never been my strong suit. “Dylan?”

  His eyes popped open. “The review wasn’t all that great for Dad.”

  “Wait, I thought you said—”

  “It was great for you.” He shook his head. “The guy loved your impromptu songs. He thought it was Hank being a decent human being and letting new talent show off. You and I both know what really happened.” He leaned forward and took my hand. “Cam, most of the review was about Hank’s discovery of you.”

  Uh-oh. This wasn’t good at all. Hank already hated me.

  “He’s going to make your life hell,” Dylan said, squeezing my hand before letting go. “I can only do so much to protect you.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me.” I stared at the table. “He can’t fire me without a replacement.”

  “Not necessarily.” Dylan’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Pamela came back last night.”

  “So?” I lifted my head.

  “She’s the one who has the audition list.” He bent his head to the side. “He could find someone from that, and you’ll be gone. All we can do is hope he’ll play nice.”

  “If he replaces me, then he’ll look like an ass, Dylan.” I shook my head. Hank would be crazy to drop me after that review.

  “He can just say you left to pursue a new opportunity.” Dylan’s voice hitched a notch. “He can ruin you with every music exec out there. Just because he can. Think about it, Cam. Hank Walker won’t stop until he’s destroyed you.”

  “Why would he do that? This isn’t my fault,” I said, reaching for his hand.

  “I know.” Dylan scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe he’ll see reason.”

  I hope so.

  Dylan dropped me off to get ready for the show. Nobod
y was home, a rare thing at my house. I had a few hours until I needed to be at the theater, so I debated between a nap and a long shower. It was eerily quiet without the TV on or Mom humming in the kitchen. I checked for a note and didn’t see anything. Mom usually left one on the counter. She hadn’t texted me either. At least not that I heard. I pulled out my phone only to realize it was dead.

  Great.

  After I plugged my phone into the charger in my room, I sat on my bed. I wasn’t really tired anymore. I’d taken a shower already. I couldn’t remember a time when I was alone in this house. It was really starting to creep me out. Glancing around the room, I saw the real answer to my problem: my guitar.

  I’d brought it home after the show to work on my song. Picking it up, I settled it onto my lap. The music flowed through me as I played an old song Dad used to sing to me. Then I played the song I written a few days before. As much as I enjoyed both of them, they didn’t move me in this moment.

  The silence in the house, the heat then cold from Dylan, the utter aloneness I felt crashed against my chest. I grabbed my laptop and a notebook. Once I set my screen to record, lyrics poured through me.

  Alone in a world of my own

  Alone in a place I have sewn

  It doesn’t take much

  To feel so hopeless

  It doesn’t take much

  To feel so incomplete

  How’d I get so alone

  How’d I get so alone

  I played it back. It sounded great the first time. Then I realized what I’d done. Again. It was one of Hank’s songs. I’d written shitty lyrics to his biggest power ballad. Fraud, that’s what I was. There was no way I’d ever be able to stand up to him when I didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  Dylan warned me about Hank’s wrath, because it was coming. There was no doubt about it. I just didn’t want to be protected. My father had been protecting me all my life. I wanted to live, take risks, and do what I love. I didn’t want to hide behind somebody’s wall of safety. That wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

  But I needed to tell Dylan that.

  And I needed to stop actually letting people protect me, too.

  When Dad was in the hospital, I’d needed someone to hold me up. Dylan had been there for me. As much as I appreciated that fact, I couldn’t expect him to do it all the time. He’d probably head back to L.A. when Hank did. I wasn’t sure where I was going once the show was over, but Nashville felt more and more right.

  I reached for my phone to text him that we needed to talk. Then I saw Mom’s messages.

  Dad’s at the hospital.

  Cami? Where are you?

  Answer your phone!

  Call me now.

  Get here asap.

  Damn it, Cameron. Where are you?

  I called her, but she didn’t answer. Then I called a taxi. Dad was fine. I knew it. There wasn’t anything wrong. It was probably indigestion or something simple. Just like last time. There wasn’t anything wrong.

  There couldn’t be.

  I started to text Dylan and stopped. He needed his space. I needed mine.

  A horn beeped outside and I ran out without locking the door.

  Dad’s fine.

  Dad’s fine.

  Dad’s fine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Mom and Jake sat in the ER waiting room. Jake looked so young leaning against her shoulder. Mom’s arm was around him, her face a mask of exhaustion. By the redness in their faces, they’d both been crying hard. Jake turned his head toward the entrance and met my gaze. My little brother hadn’t shown me any brotherly affection since he hit puberty. He ran toward me and hugged me hard. A sob escaped his throat before he dropped his arm and stepped back.

  “Dad started shaking.” He stared at his shoes. “Then he started drooling.” Jake finally looked at me. “His body did this weird contortion thing. It scared the shit out of me.”

  I forced him to hug me again. When the stroke happened, I’d been there. I’d seen it. I knew how my brother felt. “He’ll be okay.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jake said against my shoulder. Tears clouded his voice. “I just sat there and watched.”

  I closed my eyes to my own tears.

  “It ... this is my fault,” he said before another sob racked his body.

  “No, it’s not.” I hugged him tighter. “He’s been sick for a long time.”

  “I didn’t do anything to help.” Jake’s voice cracked.

  There wasn’t a single word I could say to comfort him. Mom joined us, wrapping her arms around Jake.

  “Where have you been, Cameron?” she asked. Her stress ringing in her voice.

  My heart broke into a million pieces. “I’m sorry. My phone was dead and I didn’t realize it... I’m sorry.”

  Mom nodded and guided us back toward the seats. We sat in the hard chairs that barely had enough room for our butts. There wasn’t anything to do but wait. I wanted to storm behind the swinging doors and demand answers. Instead, we stared at the TV hanging so high on the wall it almost touched the ceiling. One show ended, then another began, repeat. My phone rang in my pocket. I let it go to voice mail.

  It rang again. I fished it from my short. Out of the corner of my eye, Mom stood slowly. I pushed my phone back into my pocket and stood too. Her gaze was locked on the doctor walking toward us. My heart hitched in my chest. The long white coat didn’t billow around him or anything TV-ish. It just hung around his long legs. He strode past us. The breath I didn’t know I was holding whooshed out of me. I watched him as he stopped in front of a family several seats down.

  “Mrs. Harris?” a woman said in front of us. I snapped my gaze toward her. She pursed her lips together and delivered the bad news. “Mr. Harris is being admitted for further testing. He had another stroke, but he’s awake and responsive. He’s getting out of a CT scan now and will be taken to a room 1051. His neurologist will speak with you once he gets the test results back. It might be a while.”

  “Thank you,” Mom said.

  The doctor nodded and strode away.

  “Let’s go,” Mom said, gathering her purse. “We’ll let them know we’re here, then grab a bite to eat or something.”

  Jake and I didn’t say anything. His neurologist had warned us that it was likely to happen. We followed Mom on the familiar path. Nobody said a word.

  My phone rang again. I ignored it.

  Dad was in his room after another thirty minutes. They’d sedated him. We stood around his bed, knowing there wasn’t anything we could do. The doctor said it was a TIA, which he explained was basically a mini-stroke. He also said it was possible this was the second TIA he’d had recently, that his last trip had been misdiagnosed. Mom only nodded.

  “He’s going to be out the rest of the night,” the doctor said. “We’ll keep him comfortable.”

  “Cami, can you take Jake home?” Mom asked.

  “I’ll stay,” Jake said.

  “Me too,” I added.

  “No, he’s going to be sleeping. There’s nothing to do.” Mom tore her gaze away from Dad. She looked so much older than she was. “And don’t you have to get to the theater, Cami?”

  Shit. I nodded. “I can miss one show.”

  “You’ve already missed the sound check. Go, before you get in trouble.” She waved us away and settled in the one chair in the room. “Go. Just keep your phones on.”

  She doesn’t want us to see him die, I thought. Then I shook that morbidity out of my head. Jake didn’t want to go, so I forced him from the room.

  “This is my fault,” he said again, more to himself than me.

  “You didn’t make him have a stroke,” I said, pulling out my phone to call for another taxi.

  I had eight missed calls and twelve texts. As we waited for the cab, I listened to the voice mails. Six were from Dylan, each more panicked. One was from Crystal and the last one from Hank. It shook me to the core.

  “Cameron, if you aren’t at the theater in t
ime for tonight’s show, you’re fired. Your grandstanding last night was unprofessional and childish. If I had a replacement ready, you’d already be gone. Get your ass here.” Hank’s gravelly voice sounded downright horror movie evil.

  Then I went through my texts. All from Dylan. The last one was sent less then three minutes ago.

  I’m on my way to your house.

  The taxi pulled up and took us home. When we got there, Dylan’s car was parked in the driveway. He turned around at the sound of the tires on the gravel of the drive. Jake climbed out as I paid the driver.

  “What’s going on?” Dylan asked as I walked toward the front door. Jake had already opened the house and was inside. “Cam, I called you and texted.” His gaze drifted up and down my form. “You’re still in the same dress from church. What the hell’s going on?”

  “Dad had another stroke.” I walked past him and into the house. Exhaustion rolled through me. “I’ll change, then we can get to the theater,” I added over my shoulder before disappearing into my room.

  I tore off my dress and threw it in the trash. After I put on clothes for the show, I sat on my bed and stared at my reflection in the mirrored closet doors. Dad installed them when I was eight or nine. I wasn’t really sure when exactly. A sob hitched in my chest. If I couldn’t remember that, how would I remember him when he was gone? What if he was gone now? Or tonight while I’m on stage singing backup for a hateful man?

  The bed sank beside me and I fell against Dylan. I wasn’t strong enough to handle this. I wasn’t strong enough.

  “You don’t have to go on tonight,” Dylan said. “Just stay here with your brother.”

  I shook my head. That was the last thing Dad would want me to do. Besides I needed the distraction. “Let’s go. I ... I’ll be fine.”

  Dylan put his hands on each side of my face. “I’m sorry. About your dad.”