by Meghan March
The same picture pops up in an article dated over a year ago, and a rush of relief washes over me—at least until I slam headfirst into a mental wall.
Why am I doing this to myself?
I don’t know, but I can’t help it. I keep scanning until I see an article with a picture of Amber holding up lingerie in some fancy-looking boutique that I couldn’t afford to step foot inside, let alone buy a pair of panties. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t wear them. Still, the headline makes me throw up a little in my mouth.
* * *
Country Starlet Plans to Take Back Her Man
* * *
I snort and think, He doesn’t want you back, bitch. He wants me. Whatcha gonna do about it?
Then I catch myself. What am I doing? I need to be searching for apartments and doing something useful, like finding a second job I can work during the day so I can get on my feet faster.
Then my cell phone rings, obscuring the picture of perfect Amber and her perfect freaking lingerie.
Hope.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask. “Everything okay?”
She had a doctor’s appointment this morning for her annual, which reminds me I really need to get on it and do the same.
“Yeah, fine. I just stopped into work to pick up something, and there are a ton of voice mails from people asking about you.”
“What?” I shriek the word and it echoes through the empty apartment.
“Yeah, agents, some label scouts. They all want the name of the girl who either sang that Carrie song or rocked the duet with Zane Frisco.”
“No way.”
“Have you been online today at all?”
I lie. “Um, no. Why?”
“Your video with Frisco is everywhere. I mean, we’re talking almost a quarter of a million hits, and it’s not stopping there.”
I know you can’t technically tell when all the blood drains from your face, but the tingling sensation in my cheeks leads me to believe that’s exactly what’s happening. Or maybe it’s the way my stomach is flopping like a fish.
I drop onto the futon, a second from putting my head between my legs. “No way.”
“Yes, way. Girl, your whole life might’ve just changed. I know you said you didn’t know what you wanted to do, but this might have decided that for you.”
“That’s impossible. I mean, I . . . I can’t. That’s not—”
“Calm down, Rip. It’s only if you want it. You know these things build for a while, and then they die out eventually if nothing else comes of it . . . but you need to give it some serious thought before you dismiss it. This could be huge. A chance to live that dream you’ve buried. For you and . . .” She trails off, but I know what she wants to say.
For me and my mama.
My response is to stay silent, because words have deserted me.
“Think about it, Rip. This might be life handing you exactly what you need, when you need it.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll think about it.”
I can tell she wants to say more, but instead she whispers, “Love you, girl.”
“Love you too.”
When we hang up, I open my browser again and search for Zane Frisco duet.
The results load in a half second.
Holy Jesus. It’s on dozens of sites, and Hope’s right. The YouTube hits are still steadily climbing.
Oh God. This is really happening.
Then another thought slams into me. How long until they connect it to the girl who supposedly broke up Boone’s engagement?
I groan and flop back onto the futon. I need coffee. A whole boatload of coffee.
* * *
After sneaking down to the corner coffee shop the next morning in a baseball cap and sunglasses to hide the dark circles under my eyes from a restless night and the rat’s nest of my hair, I see a handful of people gathered in small groups in the seating area.
No one looks at me twice, and for that I’m thankful, because I’m being nosy and see the video of the duet on at least one screen.
I get my coffee and get the hell out of there. I’m halfway up the stairs to Hope’s apartment when my cell phone rings. Balancing my coffee and muffin in one hand, I pull my phone out of my pocket.
Zane Frisco.
I answer by saying, “Oh my God. What the hell did you do?”
“Me? You were part of it too, girl. And everyone’s going crazy over this shit. I was trying to sleep in, but my phone wouldn’t stop. My agent’s already looking into what needs to happen to get us into the studio together to record the cover.”
I lose my grip on the muffin and it bounces down the stairs. “What are you talking about? You told him I don’t sing, didn’t you?”
Frisco laughs. “It’s kinda hard to tell him that when he saw the video.”
“You know what I mean. I don’t sing like that. It was just a one-time deal. I’m a bartender, not a wannabe country star.”
“I hate to break it to you, Rip, but you’re not a wannabe anything. Right now, you can actually be whatever you want. Not everyone gets that chance.”
I know he’s talking about his sister, and guilt is like a shiv in my gut.
“This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You sure you want to shut the door on it without even giving it a shot?”
I sit down on the stairs, not caring that the worn carpet has seen better days. “I don’t know. This isn’t something I expected to be worrying about this morning, okay? I have no idea how to respond.”
“All I’m saying is you should give it some consideration before you shut it down. Thousands of people would kill for this kind of exposure, and if you think for a second you might want to try out this life, then you have to take it. It’s not going to wait around for you. Right now, you’re a mystery. A hot new sound everyone wants to get their hands on. If you wait too long, they’ll move on to the next new thing.”
I know what Frisco is saying is true, but didn’t I just decide yesterday that every time I try to reach for something, I get smacked down? If I took this opportunity and it all went south, how humiliating would that be?
I was afraid to start something with Boone because I knew it would throw me into the spotlight, but wouldn’t this do the same? And if I fail, there’s no one else to blame. It’s all on me.
“I get what you’re saying, but I can’t decide right now. I’m sitting on the stairs, wishing I had another muffin because mine plopped facedown at the bottom of the landing. You gotta give me a minute.”
Frisco’s quiet laugh comes over the line. “All right, Rip. Go get another muffin and think about it. You work today?”
“Yeah, at six.”
“Don’t be surprised if you’re mobbed for more than drinks.”
“I’m not too worried. Behind a bar, I blend in like furniture.”
“You’re totally friggin’ wrong about that. I saw you clear as day, and Boone sure did too.”
For a second I wonder if Frisco is still annoyed that I hooked up with Boone after I shut him down, but the tone of his voice is good natured.
“You sure you’re not holding that against me? That I—”
“That you picked him and not me? Nah, I’ve got a big enough ego that I can handle it.”
“Now that, I actually believe.” I hesitate but ask the question that’s on the tip of my tongue, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Have you heard from him?”
“Nope. I’m a little surprised about it. You?”
“No.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Shit. Sorry, Rip, I gotta go. Think about what I said.”
He hangs up, and I’m left wondering why it’s interesting Boone hasn’t contacted either of us.
13
Ripley
I slam my palms on my steering wheel.
“Why? Why would you do this today? Come on!”
My Javelin is dead. She turned over once, sput
tered, and went quiet, and now I can’t get her to cough up a sound. And it’s not because I ran out of gas again.
“Come on, girl. Just one more time.”
I turn the key and pump the gas pedal, but nothing happens.
“Shit.” I rest my forehead on the wheel for a moment.
Why me?
When there are no answers, which there never are, I suck it up and climb out of the car. I have fifteen minutes to get to work, and it looks like I’m walking—and adding new car to the list of things I need to save up to buy.
With a deep breath, I shove my keys in my bag. At least my shoes are comfortable for the sake of my ankle and the long shift ahead.
When I think about my ankle, it twinges a little with each step. I’ve done my best to ignore it, and found that pretending it doesn’t exist is the best pain relief out there.
Avoidance. Imagine that.
I’m about three blocks from Hope’s apartment, walking toward Broadway, when a rumbling truck slows beside me. With a single glance, I know who it is.
He shoves the passenger door open from the inside. “Looks like you could use a ride.”
Boone’s familiar voice is almost enough to break me right now. Once again, things have gone to shit, and he’s got a front-row seat. Great.
When I keep walking, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, the truck inches forward next to me.
“Come on, sugar. Let me help you out.”
I take a deep breath and slowly release it before climbing into Boone’s big black truck.
“Thanks,” I say without meeting his eyes.
“I was in the neighborhood. No big deal.”
Awkwardsauce . . .
I clutch my bag on my lap and stare straight out the windshield as he flips off someone who honks at him before he accelerates again. I want to ask him if the charges have been dropped, but before I can form the question, he starts talking.
“Javelin finally gave up the ghost?”
“I’m hoping it’s more along the lines of a temporary setback.”
Boone’s gaze cuts to me. “Temporary setback. Got it. So you need me to take a look at it and see what’s going on?”
That’s exactly what I need, but asking for help still isn’t my strong suit. Then again, I also have no idea who to call that won’t rip me off. The last time she played dead, I had a guy come out and charge me four hundred dollars to tell me there was nothing he could do. I didn’t have the extra money to throw away then, and I sure don’t have it now.
“Do you know anyone good?”
He nods. “Best guy is down in Kentucky. He could make her run like she just rolled off the line. Actually, probably better. He did my 442.”
I think of the beautiful muscle car that Boone drives, and know instantly that his guy is totally out of my budget. “How about someone close and cheap?”
“I’ll find someone.”
“If you don’t, it’s no big deal. I can handle it—”
“Yourself?” Boone finishes for me. “You’re one of the most capable women I’ve ever met, so I’m sure you could. But sometimes, you gotta accept a little help.” He nods down at my ankle, reminding me that I accepted his help before and it turned out okay.
Okay? The orgasms at his house were more than okay.
I’ve tried to forget how his hands felt on my body, and how his mouth—
Stop. Don’t go there. My admonition doesn’t help, and now my nipples are hard, and I’m pretending I’m not thinking about what it would be like if Boone put this truck in park and yanked me onto his lap.
Ahh. Stop. I shut down that line of thinking just in time for Boone to pull up behind the White Horse. I reach for the door handle of the truck.
“Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it.”
Before I can escape, he hits a button and I’m trapped. I jerk my head to look at him.
“What the hell?”
“Child locks.”
“Yeah, I get that. Now let me out.” To myself I add, Before I do something stupid, like throw myself at you.
Boone crosses his arms and his expression turns determined. “You’re not gettin’ out of this truck until you tell me you’re not giving up on us. I saw the video of you and Frisco. I know the song. If that was supposed to be some kind of message to me, I’m saying no fucking way. I told you we’re not done. We’ve barely gotten started. Now I need to know that you get me.”
“It was just a song.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out with a sharp edge. “You want to feed that line to someone else, go right ahead, but I perform for a living and I know when an artist feels the lyrics they’re singing.”
“It wasn’t just about you. It was about me too.”
Boone’s blue eyes drill into mine. “And I have an even bigger problem with that. You’re not giving up on yourself either. I won’t let you.”
“That’s not a choice you get to make.”
Boone grips the steering wheel with one hand, his frustration evident as his knuckles turn white.
“Give me a chance, Ripley. Just one goddamned chance to prove that this can work, that it can be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever had in your life.”
The conviction behind his words knocks a few bricks from the wall I’ve built around my heart.
I want that. I want something beautiful. But I’m scared to believe him, and feel the sting of life ripping it away from me.
“I need to go to work. I can’t afford to lose this job, Boone.”
His lips compress into a thin, flat line and his nostrils flare. “I’ll pick you up at closing. You’re not walking home.”
“I’ll get a ride. It’s no big—”
“I’ll be here to pick you up.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, and the clock on the dash says I don’t have any more time for it either. And, dammit, I didn’t get to ask him about the charges being dropped.
“Fine.”
Boone unlocks the door, and I open it and slide out.
Before I can shut it behind me, he asks, “You gettin’ onstage again tonight?”
I shake my head. “It’s not open-mic night. Why?”
“Because I want to hear that incredible voice of yours in person.”
14
Boone
I can do incognito. It’s a skill you hone in this business, and tonight I’m putting it to work and walking into the White Horse unnoticed.
I’m not taking the chance that Ripley will get it into her head to be stubborn and walk home. I just found her, and there’s no way I’m going to risk losing her.
Sitting at the bar, I glance at the stage, wishing I’d been here last night when the videos I saw on YouTube were recorded. Am I insanely proud that she can bring a crowd to its feet and hold them enthralled? Absolutely, even if it does complicate things.
Ripley isn’t prepared in the least for what she’d be stepping into if she decides to take this opportunity and run with it. Shit, Nick even called me when he saw the video and said he’d think about signing her, because right now it would be so easy to get her a deal.
Nick’s exact words? “You can’t make up a better backstory. Former bartender with a tragic past, discovered at open mic-night after capturing the attention of one of country music’s biggest stars. Who wouldn’t sign her?”
But to me, Ripley can’t be summed up that easily. She’s so much more than they realize. Definitely more than she realizes.
I’m at the end of the bar Hope is working, but with my thicker beard, cowboy hat, and pearl-snap shirt, I look like another wannabe cowboy. It sucks to ditch my T-shirt and ball cap, but I’m willing to suck it up for one night of anonymity.
I keep my tattoos hidden in the shadows as I nurse a beer and watch Ripley hustle. Do I feel like a stalker? A little. But I choose to think of it as keeping an eye out to make sure she gets home safe.
More than one person has approached her, and I can tell when it’s about las
t night’s performances because her body language changes completely. She goes from customer-service mode to totally uncomfortable in a heartbeat.
She doesn’t even realize she could probably have a record deal by next weekend if she wanted. Likely with a crap label who’s going to give her a shit deal.
Unless . . . There’s one label in town that’s starting to make a reputation for itself as an artist’s label—Homegrown Records. Holly Wix Karas wouldn’t let it be anything less. If Ripley wants to do this right, Homegrown is the way to go.
I need to make a call. Just in case.
Now that Holly’s back to work part-time after having the baby, I bet she’d be interested in picking up some new talent for her label, especially someone as down to earth as Ripley.
The more I think about it, there’s no one else I’d feel as comfortable having her sign with, not even my own label.
I lower my beer when I realize where this train of thought has taken me.
It doesn’t matter what I want or don’t want for Ripley. All that matters is what she wants. And if she wants to run with this, I’ll support her every step of the way and make sure she has every advantage.
15
Ripley
The crowd gets thicker as the night goes on, instead of thinning out like I hoped. I should be happy the tips are flowing, so I focus on that instead of the fact that my ankle is aching something fierce. Of course I forgot to grab some Advil to shove in my bag, and the first aid kit is out, so I’m gritting my teeth against the pain.
The bands booked for tonight weren’t bad, but they also weren’t great. Regardless, I’ve been thinking all night about what it would be like to be onstage instead of behind the bar. Standing up there gives you a completely different perspective. The crowd was so into the music, and when I let myself get sucked into the lyrics, it went so fast. Only a few minutes, but for each second, I was transported somewhere else. Away from the constant grind that has become my life.