by Lynn Stevens
Dylan flipped him off, but a genuine smile filled his face.
“He’s right,” I said, opening the door. “Those songs aren’t going to sing themselves.”
Dylan met me at the front of the car. He held my hand as we walked in together. There wasn’t any reason to hide our relationship from Hank anymore. I put my head on his shoulder.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“Love you, too, Cam,” Dylan said before kissing the top of my head. He hummed one of Hank’s love songs.
I’d known this thing between us was fragile, but now that I was going to be staying in Branson it was like walking a spiderweb.
Eventually it would break.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hank seemed sedated during the show. His eyes glazed over and his movements were almost non-existent. The normally vibrant man had become human. Dylan made up for it where he could, but the crowd wasn’t there to see Dylan Walker. They wanted Hank and only Hank.
Unfortunately, Hank checked out midway through the performance. He walked off stage at a predetermined time, but he never walked back on.
Someone had to take over the song and finish the rest of the set. There were only two more songs, plus the encore. I could do it. I started singing the next verse and danced my way to the center of the stage.
Just as Dylan took over the microphone.
His voice was rough like his dad’s, unrefined. And sexy as hell. Why hadn’t I heard him sing like this before? I’d taken a step back when he caught my eye and motioned me toward him with a nod of his head. A smile teased his lips. Together we finished the song. The crowd loved it. Or they loved it better than Hank’s performance.
“Finish the set,” Dylan said as he strode away, strumming the opening cord for the next song.
I nodded, not thinking about anything other than singing. It felt right to be center stage. It felt right to let myself go. After the last time Hank bailed, I’d been so focused on keeping to together than I kept myself somewhat contained. I poured my heart, my soul, my everything into my voice. The theater came alive with the music. I fed off the crowd and never felt higher.
When the final song ended, we ran off stage for a moment, preparing for the encore.
Hank grabbed my arm. His eyes were still hazy, but the fury was written all over his face.
“This again?” he snarled. His fingers dug into my flesh. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? I step off for two seconds and you take over my show.”
“You were gone for fifteen minutes,” I said, yanking my arm back. That only caused him to tighten his grip. My knees collapsed under the pain. “Please?” I begged. “You’re hurting me.”
“Dad, stop.” Dylan rushed toward us, grabbing his father’s fingers and prying them off of me. Heath joined in, along with Crystal. “Jesus, what’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Hank snapped, whirling on his son. “She’s trying to steal my show.”
“She’s trying to save it,” Heath said. “You disappeared, and someone had to do something. Cami saved your ass.”
“And not for the first time,” Crystal added. She lifted her head. “You’ve been an idol of mine since I was a girl.” She shook her head. “What the hell happened to you?”
It was like she slapped him across the face and stole his candy.
Hank deflated. He dropped his gaze and headed toward the stage. “Come on. We’ve got an encore to perform.”
The rest of the band followed him out, but I hung back. I didn’t want to go out there again. My arm throbbed from where he’d grabbed me. It was too dark to see how bad the damage was, but it was definitely bruised.
Dylan ran his finger down my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t even known was there. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not.” I stepped back. “I can’t do this again.” I took three more steps back before turning. “I’m done.”
The tears broke free on my cheeks as I ran to the dressing room. It surprised me and terrified me, but I wasn’t going to deal with Hank Walker anymore. I shouldn’t have to. He was hateful. He was always pissed at everyone, but it seemed like he preferred me as his target. And he was downright abusive.
I grabbed my purse and the few makeup items that were mine, shoving them in the small bag. The only thing that wouldn’t fit was a picture of my family. My chest felt heavy, as if the weight of letting them all down was already pressed against me. The money I’d lose from the show would’ve helped them out so much. And I was throwing it away.
Shaking my head, I walked out the door with the photo in my hand. The money wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth the pain in my arm.
No job was.
I walked home. Not the safest thing to do, but I knew the streets of Branson better than anyone. I’d all but drained my checking account. An Uber would make another dent, and every penny counted at this point. And Mom would’ve taken too long to get to the theater. I couldn’t wait.
Halfway home, my cell rang. I didn’t even take it out of my purse. By the time I turned down our street, Dylan’s car was already there. He leaned against the driver’s door and stared at the house. His head was down, focused on something in his hand. Then he raised it to his ear.
My phone rang again. The sound was muffled, but it was loud enough to get his attention. He turned toward me, his arm falling to his side.
I almost ran to him, but my legs ached and my arm throbbed. It wasn’t his fault. I just didn’t have the energy.
“Hey, been waiting long?” I asked when I sidled up beside him.
He grabbed my face and pulled me against his chest, kissing me like he hadn’t seen me in a decade. I sank into him, reveling in how perfect we fit together. Too bad this wasn’t going to work. The thought yanked me away from him.
“Cam?” He reached for me again.
“I can’t,” I said. My eyes were dry, but I felt the tears in my chest. “This. Us. I can’t.”
“I’m nothing like him,” Dylan said, choking on his words.
“I know that. But...” How could I explain it? It wasn’t just about Hank. It was about our lives. Our future. Together, we didn’t have one. And I couldn’t go on loving him more each day if there wasn’t going to be a chance at a future. I was stuck in Branson. He was going home to L.A. sooner rather than later. And, yeah, Hank factored in. Even if I had the money to move to L.A., I wanted nothing to do with that man.
“I thought...” Dylan shook his head. “I love you, Cameron.”
“I love you, too,” I said, meaning every word.
“Leave with me.” His hands cupped my elbows. “Right now. We’ll go to Nashville. To New York. Just us.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t leave my family.”
Dylan’s eyes glazed over. “I don’t understand. You were going to leave when the show ended. What’s changed?”
Everything. I shook my head.
“Or you don’t want to leave with me?”
Tell him yes. It will be easier. But I couldn’t lie.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a whisper. “Talk to me.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said, taking a step away and breaking all physical contact. “I just...”
“Cam –”
“Don’t, Dylan. Let’s just...” I took a deep breath and another step back. “Let’s just stop fooling ourselves. Love isn’t everything. Hell, it isn’t enough to put food on the table. It isn’t enough to keep a roof over your head.” I glanced toward the house. Mom loved Dad and look where that had gotten us. “I can’t leave. And you can’t stay.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “You’re lying to yourself, Cam. You can leave. You’re just too damn scared.”
“Scared? You think I’m scared?” I clenched my fists but kept my arms firmly to my sides.
“Yeah, I do. I think you’re scared to leave. I think you’re scared to stay.” He shrugged his shoulders, that cool mask of indifference covering his fa
ce. “I think you’re scared of what we might have together if you do leave.”
I stared at him. Yeah, I’m scared. I’m scared my mom and brother will end up homeless. My dad will be on the streets. I’m scared my family will fall apart because they can’t afford to live here. I’m scared I won’t be able to make enough to help. But damn it, I’m going to try.
“You should go,” I said.
Dylan pushed off his car and opened the driver’s door. He refused to look at me, but he didn’t get in right away. “I’m not going to wait for you to realize you’ve fucked up, Cameron,” he said. “If you let me drive away, I’m done. I won’t play your games.”
“This isn’t a game,” I said.
Swallowing my heart, I walked past the trunk of his car and headed into the house. Dad said something, but I didn’t hear. I went to my room, closing the door behind me. Dylan’s car started and rumbled gently for a few minutes. I collapsed onto my worn comforter and listened to his engine. The tears only came as he drove away.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I went to every restaurant and put in my application. Nobody was hiring at this point in the summer. There were too many college kids out for break. Once they went back to school, the tourist season would die off. The jobs might be harder to find. But restaurants weren’t the only places that hired people with little to no experience.
And I knew someone who owned a hotel.
There was still a performance that night. Despite how things had ended with Dylan, I wasn’t going to not show up to my job. Pamela had texted me earlier and asked me to come back. Not for Hank, but for the rest of the band. They had my back when Hank was being a dick. I didn’t want to let them down. She also reminded me of the contract I signed which required two weeks notice before quitting the show. And I needed the money. My family needed the money.
So I arrived to the theater thirty minutes early and went straight to the office off the lobby. Mr. Reynolds wasn’t there for every concert, but I was banking on him being there after Hank’s behavior the night before. He needed to be prepared to cover for Hank or kiss patron ass if the show went to hell in a hand basket.
I knocked on the door. There was distinct mumbling inside, so I waited patiently. Either he was with someone or he was on the phone. After five minutes, Miranda opened the door. Her mascara smeared under her eyes, but that didn’t stop her from glaring at me as if I was the devil and she was ready to smite me.
“What do you want?” she snapped, wiping under her eyes to stop the tears that had slipped out.
“Is your dad here?” I knew full well her dad was in there. Nobody pissed Miranda off more than Mr. Reynolds.
“Come on in, Cami,” Mr. Reynolds said somewhere in the office. “Miranda, remember what I said.”
She huffed and pushed past me. I watched her storm out, wishing I could fix things and knowing I never did anything to deserve her cold shoulder. Whatever friendship we had dissolved the night Eddie put his lips on me. He stole Iris from me, too. She hadn’t returned a text or call in weeks. I’d finally stopped trying.
Once she was out of sight, I entered the inner sanctum of Mountain View Theater. It wasn’t what I expected. Mr. Reynolds sat behind a simple desk with a pen cup, a blotter and a monitor. That was it. He leaned forward with his hands clasped.
“Have a seat,” he said, nodding to one of the two matching chairs in front of the desk.
I sat down, taking in the rest of the room. There was a bookcase with non-descript tomes and two filing cabinets. A new family photo hung on the wall. I knew it had been taken recently because Miranda complained about it and because it included Gracin Ford. Mr. Reynolds had basically adopted Gracin into the family. It helped he was also Carly’s boyfriend.
“What can I do for you?” Mr. Reynolds asked in a fatherly manner.
It was enough to make me cry. A small sob escaped. Then another. Before I knew it, I was full on blubbering incoherently. Even I didn’t know what I was saying.
“Take a deep breath,” Mr. Reynolds said, a touch of annoyance in his tone. I may have once been Miranda’s best friend, but that didn’t afford me the privilege of fatherly advice from this man. “Another.”
“Sorry.” I took a third just to keep myself under control. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Reynolds. I’m just ... overwhelmed.”
“What’s going on?” He leaned back into his chair and wove his fingers together over his stomach.
The entire story wanted to spill from my mouth, but Mr. Reynolds couldn’t care less about my family problems. He knew my parents, sure. That was as far as it went.
He checked his watch.
“I’m looking for a job and was wondering if you were hiring,” I said as calmly as I could. If I had to admit, it wasn’t very calm.
His eyebrows furrowed, and he suddenly sat up. “I thought you were leaving Branson after the summer season.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. And a true one at that. I shrugged. “Things changed.”
“Might I ask what exactly has changed?”
“I need to stay here for a little while longer. That’s all,” I said. God, I wanted to tell him everything. Maybe Mom could work for him. Maybe he could pay her more. Then I could go to Nashville. Or New York. L.A. was officially out.
“What kind of job?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever.”
He nodded, slowly at first, then it picked up speed. “Yeah, I think I could find a place for you. Nothing fancy, of course. I’m assuming you’d want to start after Hank Walker leaves?”
“No. I’d like to start as soon as possible, sir. I mean, if that’s alright with you.” I sucked my lip into my mouth and bit back more verbal vomit. “I could work the days I’m off the show for sure. Then as much as possible after the show ends.”
“Okay, come to the office at the resort on Monday. I’ll get you a uniform and a schedule. We’ll go from there.” He reached over the desk, and I shook his hand. He held mine tight. “Cami, you’d tell me if there was something going on, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said before remembering my place. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Reynolds nodded once then went back to his computer. “I’ll see you Monday at nine.”
“Yes, sir,” I said again as I stood. Clearly, I’d been dismissed. I moved toward the door but was stopped by his voice.
“And I mean nine in the morning,” he added.
“I’d be there at six if you wanted.”
He smiled, but his gaze didn’t leave the computer.
I left his office and glanced at my phone. There was less than two minutes before I was expected backstage. I cut through the theater, leaping over a vacuum cord. The theater was spotless before each performance. I’d never even taken the time to get to know the woman who cleaned it. Stopping at the stage, I turned around. It wasn’t just one woman. There were four running vacuums. My heart sank into my chest. Was this my future? Was I giving up my dreams already? Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes.
Sighing, I dropped my head and climbed the short set of steps to the stage. Someone cleared their throat, and I lifted my gaze. Dylan stood in the center of the stage, his eyes cold and lifeless.
The tears spilled over and I hurried backstage so he wouldn’t see them. The dressing room was quiet as I entered. Whatever had happened back here had cast a shadow over tonight’s performance. I sat at my table and picked up the makeup brush I’d unpacked earlier. It felt heavy in my fingers. Crystal reached out and took it from me before it fell from my hand. Just that simple gesture broke me. Heavy sobs erupted from my chest. She pulled me into a hug, whispering that everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t.
She ran her hand down my hair, comforting me in a way my mother hadn’t done in years. Not that it was Mom’s fault. She was rarely home. I wondered if she knew what I’d done. If she knew how much I had sacrificed to keep our family above water. If she knew that I’d done everything to keep her from drowning.
> “You wanna talk about it?” Crystal asked softly.
“Yes and no.” I pulled back from her and stared into her kind eyes. It was crazy how we ended up here. “Everything has changed.”
“How so, baby?”
I opened my mouth to answer when Hank Walker’s bellowing voice shouted into the dressing room.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” he snapped. “Let’s have some fun tonight.”
He raised a bottle of Jack as he stumbled farther into the room. Now I knew why the dressing room had been so quiet. Hank was loaded. He stumbled and tripped over his own two feet. Dylan rushed in after him.
“Come on, Dad. Let’s go party in your dressing room.” He hooked his arm under his father’s shoulder and hauled Hank to his feet. “I’ve got this great coffee drink that will make you feel like a million bucks.”
“Coffee? Why the fuck would I want coffee?” Hank slurred.
“Pamela shipped it from home. It’s the stuff from Jamaica that you love. We’ve got a show, Dad.” Dylan tugged him toward the door. “You don’t want your adoring fans to see you this loaded.”
“Like they haven’t seen that before,” Hank said with a maniacal laugh.
“Yeah, don’t forget what happened in Bakersfield.” Dylan pulled harder and Hank gave in.
“Fuck Bakersfield,” he said, but the air had left him. Whatever happened in Bakersfield was enough to make Hank want to sober up. “When’s Pamela coming back? She’s a good assistant.”
“End of summer,” Dylan said as he finally got Hank to move.
Nobody said a word as we went back to preparing for the show. Crystal turned my chair and applied the makeup. Normally, I did it myself because I didn’t like her style. Tonight, even if it was for a few hours, I wanted to be somebody else. She finished up just before we headed toward the stage for a quick soundcheck. With a sad smile, she turned my chair.
The woman staring back at me was so different than who I was. She had an attitude. My blue eyes popped from the cat’s eye shape the black eyeliner was drawn into. My cheeks had more bone and less babyfat. And my lips puckered with a deep rose red. I turned toward Crystal.