by Lynn Stevens
“What?” I screeched.
“Now hold on. I know you took the test, but it’s not registering in the computer.” He clicked and typed again. “Nope. Did you save it?”
“Of course, I...” Didn’t I? I was sure I did, but I couldn’t remember. “I had to have.”
He nodded. “It’s okay, Cameron. We can retake it right now.” He handed over a Chrome book and motioned to the seats. “Go ahead. I can wait.”
I swallowed hard as I took the computer and sat in the front seat. Taking it once sucked. Taking it a second time, that sucked on a whole new level.
Shit. Dylan.
“Iris,” I said before I logged on. “Can you find Dylan in the parking lot? He’s picking me up.”
She nodded, but I could read her expression and it said, “Really? Dylan Walker is picking you up from school and you didn’t think to tell me? You’re gonna pay for this one, Harris.” She hurried out the door and I opened the lid.
“Cameron?” Mr. Warner said.
I glanced up at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. “Yes, sir.”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friend, but I found your test. It wasn’t... good.” His eyes bore into mine suddenly. “I accidentally deleted it.”
I swallowed hard. This wasn’t good. What the hell did he want from me?
“Do better.”
That was it? Nothing else? I waited for a split second, but he didn’t say anything more. Shaking my head, I logged in and started the test again.
The sun never felt better against my skin. I stepped out of the school, feeling the euphoria of being almost done. Mr. Warner pulled up my test after I finished it an hour later. The computer graded it as a D. He double checked it, asked me a couple of questions verbally. It brought my grade up to a C-. I was going to graduate on time.
Dylan leaned against his car, talking to Miranda. They stopped as I approached.
“Well?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Sorry, I—”
“Iris told us,” Miranda said. She widened her eyes. “What happened?”
“I passed.” I sighed and the relief really poured out of me. “I’d failed it and he erased the test so I took it again. And I passed. I’m going to graduate.”
Miranda squealed and pulled me into a hug. “That’s great.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. He offered me a fist bump, which I obliged. At least he didn’t explode the stupid thing. “That’s great. Let’s go celebrate then we have rehearsal.” He opened his door and smiled at Miranda. “See you later, Rand.”
Miranda giggled and batted her eyelashes. “Definitely.”
It shouldn’t have pissed me off, but it did. I rolled my eyes and walked around the other side of the car, climbing in. Dylan typed something into Miranda’s phone before joining me inside.
“Where to?” he asked with a goofy grin on his face.
“You know she’s only seventeen, right? Aren’t you twenty-one?” I snapped. A groan rumbled in my chest. I really needed a filter. Especially at times like this.
“Yes, I know. And harmless flirting isn’t against the law.” He pulled onto the street and headed toward my house. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why give her your number?” I wasn’t about to let it go even though my subconscious kept screaming at me to drop it.
Dylan laughed. “Is that what you thought we were doing?” He shook his head, his hair flopping over his forehead. “I gave her Pamela’s number to get your teacher comped seats for this weekend’s show. She was going to have her dad do it, but I thought Pamela could get a couple of Hank’s instead. He’s got six front row seats, plus he has control over the backstage passes.”
“Oh, that was... nice.” I guess. Mr. Warner hadn’t asked for anything, which had surprised me at the time.
“I’m not an asshole, you know. Despite what you might’ve overheard from dear old Dad.” Dylan’s eyes narrowed. He drove with his wrist over the steering wheel as he leaned against the driver’s door. “Anyway, you never told me where to go.”
“Home,” I said, my heart sinking again. He’d seen the outside, now he’d have to see the inside. If he was going to be my mentor, maybe even my friend, he’d have to get used to the life I lived. I didn’t relish the idea, but there was no reason to hide who I was. “I have to get dinner in the oven and laundry going.”
“Can I ask a question without offending you?”
“I guess.”
“What about your mom? Doesn’t she do that? Or your dad?” He asked it gently, knowing he was walking a fine line.
“Dad ... can’t.” I didn’t want his pity. Every time I told someone outside of my world about Dad’s stroke, they always gave me the poor-little-girl look. “Mom’s the assistant manager at a local restaurant. She works most nights, sometimes ten to twelve hour shifts. My younger brother’s a wannabe thug and pretty useless. So, no, there isn’t anyone else who can do it.”
“What about when you leave?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. It was something that weighed heavily on my mind. In all honesty, I didn’t want to think about it. “Mom said she’d figure it out.”
Dylan nodded, but he didn’t ask any more questions as he sped toward my house. He parked in the driveway, leaving room on one side for anyone else to pull in. The carport was filled like a garage with Dad’s old Buick that hadn’t run in over a year and bicycles without tires. And trash that hadn’t made it to the curb. Jake had neglected his chores for the last few weeks, and it showed.
“My brother doesn’t want to pitch in,” I mumbled. The shame settled in my bones, but I shook it off the best I could. There wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
“Can I help?” Dylan asked, his eyes focused on the carport.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I headed toward the front door.
The lawnmower fired up as I put my key in the lock. I spun around on my heels, almost falling off the narrow steps. Dylan drove it into the front yard and grinned at me. My mouth dropped open. What in the world was he thinking? His grin widened as he passed by the front door. He waved me to go inside. I just stood there, watching as he took a lap around the yard with that goofy grin still on his face. Shaking my head, I turned and went inside.
“Hey, Cam, sounds like Jake is finally mowing the yard,” Dad said as he tried to peer outside. We could only see the top of Dylan’s head through the window. “That’s not Jake.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Then who is that?” He struggled to push himself higher to see outside.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad.” I sat on the coffee table as I had every day after school for years. “How was your day?”
“Usual.” He pushed up on the arms of the recliner with his good arm. “He looks familiar. He your boyfriend?”
“No, not even close.” I tapped his knee to get his attention. “He’s just... someone I know.”
“Well, who is he, Pumpkin?” Dad stared at me. His blue eyes iced over, protective and worried. “Why such the secret?”
I sighed and put my elbows on my knees. “He’s going to help me be a better singer. That’s all.”
“Who. Is. He?” Dad stressed each word as if I was still five and had no clue what he said. It was annoying, but he didn’t care. He wanted information, and he wasn’t about to stop until I gave him what he wanted. And it would go faster if I caved. I just didn’t want to.
“Dad—”
“Tell me.” He leaned closer to me. “I need to know it’s not some boy talking crap, feeding you lies for ... you know.”
I did know. My freshman year a guy came to our church and promised me a record deal as long as I did what he said. He had wanted to take photos of me in his hotel room. Reverend Matthews found me before anything happened. I was lucky.
“Dylan Walker,” I whispered.
Dad stared at me, then he glanced out the window again. Dylan was far enough away that we could see his expressio
n. His goofy grin still covered his face under his black sunglasses. He was actually enjoying himself.
“Seriously?” Dad asked, turning his gaze back to me.
I nodded.
“That’s... great?” His voice cracked it into a question. “Right?” He glanced out the window again then back to me. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.” I pushed to my feet. “I’m going to check the slow cooker.”
“Smells delicious,” he mumbled. He’d gone back to staring at Dylan, or what he could see of him.
Shaking my head, I walkeded to the kitchen to check on the roast I’d put on before school. It would be done in another hour, just in time for dinner. I preheated the oven and turned my attention to the laundry. After folding the clothes in the dryer and starting a load of towels, I pulled the trash bag just as the lawn mower shut off. Voices sounded outside.
The door opened before I could get there to stop Jake from letting Dylan inside. I’d been nervous about him seeing the inside but more nervous about my father’s reaction to Dylan Walker, his idol’s son, in our house. The oven beeped that it had preheated, but I didn’t move. Jake laughed as he led Dylan into the living room.
“Hey, Dad,” Jake said, smiling for the first time in months. “I found this strange guy mowing the yard. Says he knows Cami.”
Dad offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dylan.”
“You too, sir,” Dylan said giving my father a firm handshake. “Thanks for letting me mow your yard. It was fun.”
Jake snorted as he plopped onto the couch.
“I should be thanking you for taking Cam under your wing.” Dad smiled. Dylan flinched, but I hoped Dad didn’t see it. His smiles used to light up a room. Now it’s only half a smile with the left side of his face paralyzed.
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Dylan said, all manners and nothing like the bad boy his dad made him out to be. “She’s got a great voice. It just needs some refinement.”
“Um, yeah, so we should go.” I didn’t like how they both talked about me as if I wasn’t standing two feet away. “I... shit, the biscuits.”
“Language, young lady,” Dad chided.
“Yeah, Cami, don’t be such a cretin,” Jake added.
I shook my head and bit back a retort. It took all of two minutes to pop the biscuits in the oven and set the timer. “You know the drill, Jake.” I kissed Dad on the cheek. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, Pumpkin. Have fun.” Dad patted my hand. I didn’t care that half his face didn’t smile anymore. His eyes still lit up. He was still the best damn father a girl could ever have.
CHAPTER NINE
Dylan didn’t say anything until we pulled into the theater two hours early for rehearsal. Then he turned in his seat and narrowed his eyes at me.
“What happened to your dad?”
“Stroke,” I said with a shrug. Please don’t say ‘I’m sorry’. “It was a long time ago.”
“Your brother’s a tool,” he added.
I laughed at that. He didn’t know the half of it.
“He thought you paid me to mow the lawn.” Dylan shook his head and opened his door.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” I said before he climbed out. “But thank you.”
Dylan stopped and stared back at me. “You’re welcome. And I meant what I said. It was fun, as weird as that sounds.” He settled back into his seat. “I ... I never had a chance to do it. Dad yelled at me one time a couple years ago when I was with the gardener helping him trim some bushes. He said, ‘You’re a musician, son, not a fucking nobody.’”
“Oh,” I whispered. “That’s harsh.”
“That’s my life. A privileged harshness. Nothing compared to what other people go through.” He nodded toward the theater. “Let’s go.”
We walked inside in silence. Dylan led me onto the stage and sat at the piano. He started playing a classical piece I didn’t know.
“That’s beautiful.” I ran my hand down the length of the piano. “What is it?”
“Just something I wrote.” He closed his eyes, losing himself in the song. His voice softened to above a whisper. “Sing, Cameron.”
“Sing what?” I asked matching his voice.
“Whatever you want,” he said, opening his eyes and meeting my gaze. “Whatever comes to you. Close your eyes. Just sing and don’t hold back.”
I followed his instructions, losing myself into the ebb and flow of the notes. Then I sang.
He’s been my rock, he’s been my heart
He’s been my everything
Nothing can change that
Nothing can sway that
He’s my hero.
The next verse was the same, a heartfelt thank you to my father. I let my feelings flow through the words. It was cheesy and silly, but I didn’t care. There was a reason Dylan asked me to do this. I didn’t know what it was, but I did it anyway. A slow clap interrupted the end of my terrible lyrics. I opened my eyes and met the gaze of Hank Walker.
“Nice feeling, but shitty lyrics.” He grinned and there was a sinister undertone to it. “You teaching her my tricks, boy.”
Dylan laughed harshly. “You didn’t make this up, Pops. Mom said she taught you this move.”
Hank’s gaze zeroed on Dylan. “Leave your mother out of this theater.”
“No problem.” Dylan stood and slammed the lid over the keys. “Just like you left her in New York. Then L.A. Then New Orleans. Oh, and don’t forget the time you left her in London.”
I wanted to step away from the family fight, but my feet stuck to the stage.
Hank only shook his head and refocused his attention on me. “He’s just trying to get in your pants. Fuck him so he’ll get over it and worry about the show.”
“Jesus, Dad,” Dylan said, clearly shocked by this retort. He sniffed the air. “Whiskey? Before rehearsal? What’s going on?”
Hank snorted and walked away, disappearing behind the stage. Dylan watched for two heartbeats, then he followed his dad. Their voices were pretty loud, but I couldn’t understand a word.
I sat at the piano and played the only song I knew to drown out their argument.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound indeed.
Rehearsal went by fast. Hank didn’t say a word to me. Neither did Dylan. And they definitely didn’t talk to each other. Crystal and I were harmonizing well together, and the rest of the band sounded great. The only tell-tale sign of a problem was Hank. He didn’t sing a note. Instead, he sat and listened, making corrections when necessary.
Dylan left the stage the minute Hank called it a night. He wasn’t in the dressing room either. I checked my phone. It was almost two in the morning. Too late to call Mom for a ride. I headed toward the parking lot and glanced around, hoping to catch a ride with someone.
Headlights flashed at me. When my vision cleared, I saw the Camry. He hadn’t left.
I ran across the lot and jumped in the passenger seat. Dylan put the car into drive, but he didn’t take his foot off the brake.
“You wanna go somewhere?” he asked, staring out the windshield.
“Sure, I guess.” There wasn’t any where to go. That was the problem. Branson wasn’t like Vegas or L.A. or New York. We shut down at night.
Dylan nodded and peeled out of the parking lot, turning toward the lake. He drove at breakneck speed. My heart tried to jump out of my chest. I didn’t tell him to slow down. It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t know why I knew that, but I did. We drove out of town, past the dam and resorts. Heading south on 265 around the lake, Dylan kept going by RV parks and campgrounds. He turned onto a private road, snaking closer to the lake, by pricey residential homes. At the end of the peninsula, he pulled into the driveway of a small house. Dylan cut the engine and climbed out.
When I didn’t follow, he leaned back into the car. “Come on. I promise to be a complete gentleman.”
I harrumphed at that, but it didn’t stop me from getting out of the car and f
ollowing him inside.
The front hallway was short with nothing but a small side table and a vase of fake flowers. Above the table hung an oval shaped mirror. A light flickered on to my right. I stepped toward it and into a small living room with a sectional couch around a large coffee table. A fireplace stood opposite of the couch with a flatscreen TV hanging above it. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.
Another light flicked on, illuminating a small modern dining room. I walked through it toward another light in the kitchen. Dylan stood at the open fridge, staring at something inside. He didn’t move when I stepped closer. He didn’t even flinch. I glanced around, taking in the kitchen. It was pale yellow with sunflower accents. The appliances were all chrome, and shined as if they were new. The white counters were spotless. Nobody ever cooked here.
Dylan slammed the fridge and turned around with a bottle of beer in each hand. He twisted the tops off, setting one on the counter as he took a swig from the other.
I reached for it with shaky fingers. Drinking wasn’t really my thing. I took a sip, surprised at the smooth apple taste.
“Apple Ale,” he said before tipping back his bottle. “Never had it?”
“No.” I shrugged, embarrassed for no reason. It shouldn’t bother me that I hadn’t tasted it before. I hadn’t tasted a lot of things. Or done a lot of things for that matter.
He stared at me for three beats, then he nodded toward the patio doors. “Come on.”
I followed him onto a large deck that overlooked the lake. It was beautiful in the moonlight. I could only imagine what it looked like during the day with the sun bouncing off the water and boats speeding from one cove to the next. Dylan sat on the wicker couch and put his feet on the glass top coffee table. He’d left plenty of room for me to join him, but I opted to sit on the edge of a nearby chair instead.
“Relax, Cam,” he said.
My back was ramrod straight and I felt more exposed than if I’d been naked. “Sorry, but... this is awkward.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He slouched until he was practically lying down. Only his shoulders and head were upright. The coffee table acted as a footstool. “But that’s fucking stupid.”
