by L A Cotton
* * *
A thunderstorm rolls in today. Clouds so black they make me cry.
I feel it all inside my heart. A vision of things to come.
But then you call, I hear your voice. It keeps the storm away somehow.
You say you’ve got me, you always do. Because that is what friends are for.
Yeah, that is what friends are for.
* * *
To pull you up when you fall down. Or wipe away the tears that fall.
To share the burden of a thousand secrets. Or tell you what you want to hear.
To hold your hand when things get tough. Or give you hope when you need it most.
To share your successes, failures too. Or raise you up when you’re feeling down.
* * *
Whenever thunder rumbles overhead, and you think you can’t survive the storm,
Just remember, all you have to do is look for me.
Look for me, cos I’ll be there. I’ll always be there. And there isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you.
* * *
A rainbow shimmers in the sunlight. Lighting my soul up so bright it hurts.
I feel it all inside my heart. The hope that things can be okay.
Because you’re here right by my side. And I know together we can walk in the light.
You say you’ve got me, you always do. Because that is what friends are for.
Yeah, that is what friends are for.
* * *
Just remember, all you have to do is look for me.
Look for me, cos I’ll be there. I’ll always be there. And there isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you.
* * *
Silence enveloped me as my eyes fluttered open.
Oppressive.
Unpredictable.
Suffocating silence.
My lungs ached with it. But I found the courage to meet the judges faces, waiting for their verdict. Colton had explained earlier, during the arrival briefing, that the first round was instant elimination. If the judges didn’t find you up to par, you didn’t progress to the live audience show this evening. The bar was high and places were limited. Even if you did make it to the final round later, if they put too many contestants through, they would have to verbally deliberate. Which meant, you could receive a pass now and still be eliminated.
Nausea washed deep in my stomach as I clutched my guitar.
“You wrote that?” Sarah Lou broke the silence, and I nodded, unable to find my voice. “It was beautiful. Can I ask, is it about someone special?”
Another nod. “My best friend.”
“Beautiful,” she uttered again, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “Well done.”
“Thank you.” Slowly, my confidence tamped down the nervous energy radiating through me. I’d given it my all. Hit every note, played every chord to perfection. It couldn’t have gone any better.
But it still didn’t mean it was good enough.
“You have a beautiful tone to your voice, darlin’,” the older lady added. “So controlled with great range. It’s not your first rodeo, is it?
“No, Ma’am.” I’d performed a lot when I was younger. When I was a young girl unafraid of the world.
“Well, I’m certain it won’t be your last.” She gave me a wink.
“Hudson? Anything to add,” Garth prompted, and I understood now, he was the judge the others took the lead from.
“It was… good.”
He couldn’t sound more disinterested if he tried.
My heart sank.
Sarah Lou shot him a questioning look while my fingers tightened around the neck of my guitar. He didn’t want to be here, that much was obvious. It shouldn’t have bothered me he didn’t have something nicer to say. He was no one to me. But I couldn’t deny his impassiveness stung.
“It was better than good, Evangeline,” Garth said. “You should be very proud of yourself. You have a pass from me. Betsy?”
“Pass.”
He looked to Sarah Lou next. “It’s a pass from me.”
“Hudson?” he asked the indifferent guy on the end.
“Pass, I guess.”
“Four passes, congratulations. We look forward to seein’ you later.”
An assistant ushered me off stage before I could process what was happening. It wasn’t until Molly reached me, I finally snapped out of my reverie. “Well?” she asked.
“I did it,” I gawked at her. “I’m through, I got—”
Molly launched herself at me, squeezing me tight, shrieking, “I knew it. I knew you could do it.” She finally let me up for air. “So what did they say? What did Hudson say? Tell me everythin’?” Looping her arm through mine, she led me back toward the holding area.
Because I was still stunned.
I’d done it.
I was through.
I could still be eliminated, but I’d gotten four passes. It was as good as it could get at this point in the contest.
“So…” Molly prompted again.
“Hudson was… not impressed.” I grimaced.
“Impossible,” she scoffed. “I heard you, we all heard you. You killed it, babe.”
“You heard me?” Of course they did.
“I’m so damn proud of you.” Molly guided me to a chair, and we sat down. “How did it feel? Playin’ again like that?”
“I… I don’t really know. I kind of zoned out.” Carried away with the music, the familiar feel of the strings beneath my fingers.
“You’d better call your parents. Your mom has been blowin’ up my cell.”
“In a minute. I need to let it sink in for a second.” I screwed my eyes shut, trying to remember how it had felt playing to them. It felt good.
It felt like home.
“You’re smilin’,” Molly said, and I peeked up at her. “I am?”
She nodded. “I always used to wonder what your mom meant when she said music is in your soul, but I get it now. Seeing you like this, hearin’ you… music will heal you, Eva. If you give it a chance, I truly believe it can help you.”
“H- help me?” I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.
“Oh come on, you think I don’t know you by now? Almost six months in remission, babe. Six months and you’ve barely stepped foot outside.”
“Molly, I go—”
“To the store with your mom. To the store with me. For dinner with your parents. To the coffee shop with me. That’s not living, babe. It’s barely survivin’. But what I can’t quite figure out is if you’re just scared the cancer will come back, or if it’s somethin’ else?”
Relief sank into me.
She didn’t know.
Molly didn’t know the truth.
She suspected something, but she hadn’t worked it out, not yet.
“You’re right. I’m just scared.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But the doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said, Mol.” I was in complete remission. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t come back. It doesn’t mean I’m home free.”
“But you can’t let fear shackle you. Not when you have so much to live for.”
“You’re startin’ to sound like Pastor Branneth and Mom.”
“I’m sorry,” she chuckled, “I just worry about you. It’s senior year. The year of big decisions and even bigger mistakes.” Her brows waggled.
“Oh no you don’t.” My hands flew up. “I’ll leave the mistake makin’ to you, thank you very much.”
Molly nudged my shoulder. “You mean you won’t be my wing woman this year?”
“Do I get a costume?” I grinned.
“Do you want a costume?” She grinned back.
Laughter filled our quiet corner of the holding area. It felt good to laugh. To pretend I was normal. Just a normal girl at a talent contest with her best friend. But there was nothing normal about me.
Not anymore.
And that was just something I was going to have to learn to li
ve with.
“Seriously, Mom, again?” I groaned, watching as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
“It’s the hot sauce, it was very… hot.”
We all exploded with laughter. The production team hadn’t wanted us to leave the building, so Mom and Dad had brought lunch to us. We’d managed to find a quiet area where we could sit and eat until I had to return to the holding area. But already it was almost time for the final. In less than five minutes, Colton would pull the remaining contestants into a room and deliver our fate. Whether we got to perform again, or whether our journey ended here.
“Well, can you please stop? It’s makin’ me—”
“Oh, hush now, and get over here and give me a hug.” Mom came for me, pulling me into her arms. “Whatever happens next, I am so proud of you, Eva. So darn proud.”
“Okay,” Molly said pulling me away from Mom, “it’s time.”
“Good luck, sweetheart,” Dad added, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The way the two of them were acting, anyone would think I was about to perform for the Artist of the Year. But I knew what this meant to them.
What it meant to all of us.
I was slowly realizing, maybe Molly was right. Maybe music could help me heal. If I only gave it a chance.
“Evangeline Walker,” someone shouted, and we all turned to find one of Colton’s minions beckoning for me.
“Okay, I’ll see you soon. But hopefully not too soon,” I added, feeling a swell of nervous anticipation in my stomach.
Dad slipped his arm around Mom’s shoulder, and she hugged Molly into her side. The three of them were my rock, my family, and now that I was here, I wanted nothing more than to do this for them.
“Evangeli—”
“Coming, I’m comin’,” I shouted across the room, grabbing my guitar and hitching it over my shoulder.
“We meet again,” Josiah fell into step beside me. I’d managed to avoid him most of the day. But like an infection that wouldn’t go away, here he was, burying himself under my skin.
“So it would seem.”
“Nervous?” I heard the smirk in his voice.
“Nope.”
“You should be.” He moved ahead of me but not before shooting me a victorious wink.
Ugh. He was such a smug jerk. If I didn’t have to see him ever again, it would be too soon.
One by one, the remaining contestants filed into a small room. It was a damn sight quieter than this morning. The excitement and chaos of the first round was replaced with quiet contemplation and a gentle hum of apprehension that made my hairs stand on end.
“Okay, listen up,” Colton said. He stood at the front of the room, every bit the man with the power. “We have a full house out there. Three thousand of Ploughton’s finest. And they want a show so let’s give them one. Some of you will know the routine by now. One song apiece. Each judge will choose one contestant to advance to the final show in Camdena, two weeks from now.”
Twelve contestants.
Four finalists.
And at least twenty people standing alongside me waiting to know their fate.
“Okay. If I call your name, unfortunately, your journey ends here. Please gather up your things and leave the room through that door.” He pointed to a door on the far side wall. “There’ll be someone waiting to give you your official contestant goodie bag.”
“Mackensie Salida, Clay Brown, and Martha Lockstock.”
People started filing out of the room. A low rumble of commiserations filling the air as other contestants offered their sympathies. Not me though. I was too busy trying to breathe; my heart crashing so violently against my chest I felt lightheaded.
“Peter Summers and Liza Lowell.”
A thickset guy grumbled his disapproval, storming from the room, the door slamming behind him.
“Always one,” Colton deadpanned, as if it was business as usual. “Okay, I have two names left. Trevor McGee and…” the room seemed to inhale a collective breath. “Tamara Miller.”
He waited for them to leave before adding, “Congratulations everyone. You are this year’s Ploughton Regional Finalists.”
Everyone exploded with excitement. Even Josiah managed to hug a couple of other contestants. I was grabbed and shook and high-fived. But I hardly registered a thing.
“Guess your friend wasn’t blowin’ smoke then.” Josiah sought me out. “But you know, you’re going to need to bring somethin’ special for the final.”
“Why don’t you worry about your own performance, instead of mine?” I arched a brow, growing tired of his crap.
“Ignore him, honey,” a woman who reminded me of a young Dolly Parton joined us. “He’s just afraid of a little fresh competition.”
“Keep out of it, Delilah,” he spat before skulking off.
“What’s his problem?” I asked.
“Josiah is harmless enough. He just takes himself, and these contests, too darn serious. Just keep doing what you’re doin’, hon, and don’t let him get under your skin.”
I wanted to tell her it was easier said than done but Colton returned and announced, “Okay, everyone, it’s showtime.”
I was to perform third.
Relief had washed over me when Colton informed me I only had to wait a short time until my performance. But then a young girl called Gina hit the open notes of a country version of Eastside by Benny Blanko and I completely froze. She was good. Really good. I couldn’t see the audience from the wings, but I knew she held them in the palm of her hand, felt the collective intake of breaths as she strummed her guitar.
Damn.
It was good enough to be a hit on the Country Radio Music Chart.
“Evangeline,” a production assistant whispered to me. “You have five minutes, okay?”
I gave her a tight smile, my pulse spiking. And before I knew what I was doing, I inched away from the wings, weaving my way through the people milling about.
“Restrooms?” a woman asked me and I nodded. She pointed toward a door. “Down that hall.” An understanding smile broke over her face.
I must have looked as bad as I felt.
Bursting through the door, I moved quicker, desperate to find refuge before I completely lost it.
I didn’t end up in the restrooms. Instead, I found a dimly lit alcove to hide in. Leaning against the wall, I tipped my head back and squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in big greedy breaths. “You can do this,” I repeated, over and over, until the words bled together.
“Evangeline Walker,” my name echoed through the building, lurching my heart into my throat.
Crap, that was quick.
Had it really been five minutes?
The roar of the crowd was a like a rumble of thunder in the distance. Far enough away not to be a threat, but with a lingering warning that things could get worse at any second.
Molly was out there. Mom and Dad too. They were waiting for me. For my big comeback. But I was back here, hiding in darkened hall, trying to tamp down the fear coursing through my veins.
“You can do—”
“I’m guessing you should be on stage?”
My head snapped over to the figure blanketed in shadows. “I... they told me to get ready and I choked.”
“It’s happens to the best of us.” He stepped into the stream of light and I sucked in another breath. But it wasn’t because of my impending panic attack this time. He was... gorgeous. No, that didn’t accurately describe him. He was something else. Cloaked in black; dark jeans ripped at the knee, a faded Ramones t-shirt, scuffed military boots, and a thick black leather rope banding his wrist. He looked familiar, but it was impossible. I didn’t know anyone here except Molly and my parents.
“Are you a contestant?” I asked already knowing the answer. He wasn’t, I’d met them all. But the words had just spilled out, because I was suddenly more interested in him than the fact I was supposed to be out on stage giving the performance of my life.
“Nice guitar.” He fl
icked his head to my Gibson, ignoring my question. “Is it a Hummingbird?”
“Montana,” I corrected him, my eyes tracing the full sleeve of tattoos covering his left arm.
“Cool. I know my way around their EB range but have limited experience with acoustics.” The faintest of smiles tipped his mouth. “So am I going to get to hear you play it?”
“I...”
“Last call for Evangeline Walker.”
Crap.
I glanced down the hall leading back to the stage.
“You should probably go,” he said.
“I should?”
Nodding, he thumbed the piercing in his bottom lip. “It could be the big break you’re looking for. You’d be a fool to pass it up.”
Disappointment tugged my stomach. For a second, I’d thought we’d shared a connection. But he thought I was just another kid looking for their ticket to bigger things.
A bitter laugh spilled out before I could smother it.
“Something funny?” His eyes narrowed, and I was struck by how gray they were. Like two pools of molten silver.
“It doesn’t matter.” I pushed off the wall and grabbed my guitar. “You’re right; it only takes a second.”
Confusion edged into his intense gaze. “A second?”
“Yeah, for everything to change.”
I knew that better than most.
Without another word I walked past him, but his voice stopped me just before I made for the stage. “Hey, Evangeline, good luck out there.”
But I didn’t need luck anymore. Something about my brief introduction with the mysterious guy lurking in the shadows had calmed my nerves.
Or maybe it was because he was so gorgeous your brain short-circuited? I shook the intrusive thoughts from my head and made a beeline for the production assistant.
“Evangeline?” I nodded, and she let out a huff. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, I needed a minute.”
“Don’t we all, sweetheart, now get out there, it’s showtime.”