by Lynn Stevens
If he noticed it too, he didn’t say a word.
The show resumed on Wednesday. I had spent the morning with Dad, catching up on chores. Crystal and Heath came by to pick me up. Dylan had texted that he was with his dad. I actually didn’t mind. The distance was welcome. Things seemed to go volcanic then artic between us. I needed the cool off period to remember that nothing was going to happen with Dylan. That was clearer than a blue sky in July.
The show went without a hitch. The crowd loved it and the band sounded great. Hank still wasn’t happy, but he refused to change anything. I was exhausted. Both emotionally and physically. His verbal abuse was worse than anything I’d ever heard.
“You all suck,” Hank bellowed from the door of the dressing room. He pointed to Heath, “Learn how to keep a steady beat.”
Heath nodded, then rolled his eyes when Hank searched for his next victim. Each one of us got our asses chewed out for something we didn’t do.
“And you, little girl, need to learn how to harmonize better. You’re trying to take over the show.” His finger was less than an inch from my chest. His eyes were red and his pupils dilated. The lines on his face deepened the angrier he got. “You think I don’t know a manipulative little bitch when I see one. I’ve watched your little video. Nobody gave you permission to sing that song.”
I couldn’t move. What was he talking about? Dylan and I had recorded one song. We hadn’t made a video out of it.
“Back off, Dad,” Dylan said.
Hank wheeled around to face his son. “You fucking her? Like you do every other star-struck girl you meet?”
“No, I’m not.” Dylan’s voice was calm, but an inferno of anger raged in his eyes. His fists rubbed against his thighs. “And she does have permission to sing that song. The songwriter who owns the rights granted the permission.”
Hank lifted his arm back as if to strike Dylan, but neither one of them moved. “You watch yourself, boy.”
“Right back at you, old man,” Dylan said with barely controlled rage of his own.
Hank stormed out of the dressing room and the tension deflated. I stared at Dylan who just turned and walked away. But that wasn’t going to fly. I chased after him, grabbing his arm.
“What video?” I asked as he spun around.
“Yeah, Dylan, what the hell’s Hank talking about?” Heath stood behind me. “I mean other than talking out his ass.”
Dylan’s chin dropped to his chest. “I was going to show you when it was done. He must have seen me working on it this morning.” Dylan turned to his table and powered up his laptop.
The video started. I sang “Walk Away”, one of Hank’s lesser known songs. It was the acoustic version he had recorded of us over the last two days. The video was clips of some couple on a beach cut with images of Dylan and I playing. It was beautiful, and I loved it. But I was a little pissed. He could’ve told me he was making it.
“That’s cool,” Heath said. He clapped my shoulder. “Great song, Cam. You sound like an angel.”
“You do sound great. I like the country feel,” Crystal said. The rest of the band murmured their agreement.
“Thanks,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the image of us on the screen.
“Anyway, I was going to show you once I was done with it.” Dylan shrugged, but I could sense the nervousness rolling of him. He smiled slowly. “I actually finished it right before the show.”
“Why? How?”
“Why?” Dylan scoffed and closed the lid of the computer. “Because you have an amazing voice and want a career. How? You were there. It didn’t take much for me to master the sound and make the video. I also created an email and YouTube channel for you.” He handed me a piece of paper with an email address that linked to a YouTube channel: Cami Harris Music.
“Open it,” I said quietly.
Dylan smirked then turned his computer back on, pulling up the YouTube channel. It was blank, except for a picture of me behind a microphone. He watched my face as I stared at the screen. I nodded, and he sat down, uploading the video.
Heath slapped me on the shoulder. “Good call, kid. That’s going to go viral.”
“He’s right,” Crystal said. “I’ll put it everywhere on Facebook. We’ll make you trend.”
I just watched the video play on repeat as everyone talked around me. It was surreal. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Excited? Yeah, I thought so. Nervous? Definitely.
The band slowly left, one at a time. Crystal and Heath stepped out together. They tried to keep it quiet, but they were seeing each other. They showed up together and left together. The universal signs of people coming and going to the same house.
It hit me like a piano. No wonder Hank thought Dylan and I were hooking up. We did the same. God, I was such a moron. Why hadn’t I ever considered that?
“Ready?” Dylan asked, tossing his bag over his shoulder.
I didn’t move. Everyone else had left. It was just us. I needed verbal confirmation of what Hank had said. “What did your dad mean? About the star-struck girls, I mean.”
He walked across the room and sat in Crystal’s chair. “I told you, I’m not a very nice person.”
“That’s not an answer.” My nails dug into my palms. He slept around. A lot apparently.
“Damn it,” he said, setting his bag on the floor. “Dad’s got a lot of groupies. Most of them older.” He shrugged. “They didn’t mind having fun with me when Dad shot them down. I spent... I don’t even want to tell you this...”
“Keep going,” I said with a cold voice. My nails dug deeper.
“When I was sixteen, I started touring with him. And partying like him. I had my share of indiscretions.” He shrugged again, but he wouldn’t look at me.
“Meaning you had sex with a lot of people,” I said. It wasn’t necessary to clarify, but he acted like I was some sweet, innocent country girl who had no clue what sex really was.
He nodded.
“So?”
“That doesn’t bother you?” His head shot up and his dark eyes met mine.
“Why would it? It’s not really my business, and people have sex.” I dug my nails deeper, but I still didn’t feel any pain.
Dylan laughed. “Well, it’s been a while now.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, not sure where this was going.
“Don’t laugh, okay?” After I nodded, he continued, “I took a vow of celibacy over a year ago. I promised myself I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else unless it meant something. My therapist thought it was a step forward in my evolution.”
I tried to wrap my head around that.
“Look, Cam, I’m not telling you this to embarrass you or to bear my soul. I like you. You’re the first real person I’ve met in a long time.” He covered my hands with his. “I want to be honest with you.”
I turned my hands over. “What about the drugs?”
“Partying like a rockstar isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He cocked his head to the right. “I experimented, but I didn’t like it. So I stopped. Don’t even smoke anymore.”
“But you drink?” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but not as much as I let people think I do. Every now and then, I need to blow off steam.” He lifted my hand and traced the crescent moon indentations in my palm. “Tense?”
I didn’t answer him. My gaze followed his finger around the half circles. They left a tingling sensation where I’d felt nothing.
“Cameron?” he whispered. “We’re friends, right?”
I lifted my free hand and touched his cheek. He raised his head, meeting my stare.
“Right?” he whispered.
I nodded.
He closed his eyes as my thumb drew circles on his stubbled cheek. I traced his jaw, his forehead, his nose, but I stayed away from his lips. As much as I wanted to know how soft they were, I knew that would only push me too far. Dylan didn’t want that.
“Who wrote the song?” I asked, letting my hand fall back into
my lap.
Dylan opened his eyes and the intensity behind them scared me. In a good way. I regretted dropping my hand, but it was the right thing to do. He made a vow, and I wasn’t going to tempt him to break it for me.
“My mom,” he said with a hoarse voice. He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered along my cheek. Then he snapped out of this trance we’d put each other in. He pulled back completely, his eyebrows slamming together in frustration or anger or something else entirely. “I’ll take you home. Tomorrow we’ll work on another song to record.”
“Why are you doing this for me?” I asked as he stood.
He stared down into my eyes, the intensity back tenfold. “I’ve told you before. You’re that good, Cam. You shouldn’t be singing backup to Hank Walker. You should be singing lead.”
I watched as he walked across the dressing room and picked up his keys. He believed in me. It was nice, odd, but nice. Other than my family and my two best friends, nobody thought I could make it. I grabbed my bag, letting the thoughts roll in my head. Sleep on it, that was what I needed.
Everything would make sense after a good long sleep.
I hoped.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sleep was elusive. I gave up around six and wandered into the living room. Dad snored in his chair. He spent most nights there. I tugged the afghan Grandma made off the back of the couch and covered him. Dad snorted and pulled it to his chin with his good hand. I smiled, but my heart broke at the same time. Every day I was grateful my father hadn’t been taken from me. Every day I wondered how he would be without me around. Mom worked too much, and Jake wasn’t about to become responsible for anything other than his own life.
I popped a coffee pod into the machine. The scent filled the small kitchen. I inhaled deeply, letting the smell fill my nose and wake me up. After loading it with caramel creamer and sugar, I slid open the back door and stepped outside. The early morning was cool enough to make me shiver. I sat in a worn lawn chair and watched the sky go from deep orange to princess pink to robin’s egg blue. The birds announced the day. Fresh pine mixed with the morning dew, smelling clean and new. I loved mornings.
The door opened behind me. I turned around to see Dad hobbling out with a cup of coffee.
“No, I got this,” he said when I started to get up to help. There were only two steps down and no railing. Coffee slopped over the mug onto his hand, but he didn’t even rect as he took each step carefully. Both of his feet hit the concrete patio. Dad grinned, setting his mug on the small table and shaking the coffee off his hand. “Told you so.”
I laughed. “You did.” I stood and offered him my chair while I opened the other lawn chair. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
He waved his hand. “I don’t sleep well these days.”
“You were snoring like a bear,” I pointed out.
“Doesn’t mean it was good sleep,” he said before sipping his coffee. Steam circled up from the mug, dancing around his nose. “What’s got you up so early?”
I shrugged and finished off my own coffee.
“Don’t shut down, Pumpkin.” Dad smiled. He’d called me Pumpkin since I could remember. I asked why once, he’d said I was his perfect creation, and he loved pumpkin everything. “You know the rules.”
“‘No judgment zones here’, I know.” I set my mug on the small plastic table between us. “Dylan recorded me singing ‘Walk Away’ and made a video out of it. He posted it online.”
“That’s great.” Dad drained his mug. “So why the long face?”
Good question. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew the answer. It nagged at me.
“Pumpkin?” Dad prodded after I didn’t answer for several seconds.
“It’s just...” I blew out my breath. The best place to start was the beginning. And it was easier if I didn’t look at him. The breeze swayed the top of the trees. I focused on that instead. “Did I tell you Hank Walker didn’t want me as a backup?”
Dad nodded. “Yeah, it was Dylan.”
“Exactly, so why? He’s said it’s my voice, but I wonder if it’s just to piss off his father.” I turned to face Dad. “And I didn’t agree to this video. I mean, I agreed to him recording us singing, but ... It’s okay and everything I guess. It’s really cool, actually. I don’t know. It’s ... I feel like he’s using me.”
“Maybe he is,” Dad said. He grinned. “Maybe he’s not. You need to figure that out for sure. Let’s just say he is using you to piss off Hank, would this video help your dreams?”
That was another great question. “I suppose it could. I always wanted to start a YouTube channel. A lot of people get discovered that way.”
“And Dylan’s already done the work.” Dad’s hand shook and the mug fell to the concrete, breaking the handle. “Damn it.”
“I got it, Dad.” I picked up the pieces. The handle broke off clean, but the lip of the cup was chipped. I could fix the handle.
“But you shouldn’t have to,” Dad muttered. His eyes darkened.
“It’s not a big deal.” I put my hand on his knee, hoping to draw him back out. That look on his face, it was scary. I’d seen it more and more lately. “You want another cup?”
Dad nodded, but his gaze clouded over as he stared off into the distance. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but I didn’t think there was anything I could say. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. If only I knew what to do to fix this for him.
I hurried inside. There wasn’t anything I could say at this point. He’d already gone inside himself. I left the sliding door cracked open. Mom stood at the kitchen sink in her old bathrobe.
“Hey, Mom,” I said as I walked toward her. “You’re up early.”
“I could say the same for you.” She half-smiled. Her hair was uncombed and her last night’s makeup smeared across her face. “Your dad okay?”
I popped a pod into the machine and put a fresh mug under it. “Not really. It was good at first—”
“Until he dropped the mug?” Mom reached in front of me and pressed the button to start the coffee. “He’s been doing that more. Getting the shakes.”
“Is he going to be okay?” I whispered.
Mom put her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “I don’t know, baby. He’s got an appointment this morning.”
“He didn’t say anything.” I pulled back to look her in the eye.
“He doesn’t know,” she said. “I called last week after his hand shook so hard he knocked the remotes off the arm of his chair. He’s been trying to hide it, but Jake’s noticed it too. It could be his medication. Could be something else. A stroke messes with you.”
“But that was a long time ago.” Tears filled my eyes. Nothing else could be wrong.
“Yes, it was.” Mom grabbed my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Cameron, you can’t worry about this. I know that’s asking a lot of you and your brother. You’ve both done so much for this family. I need you to worry about you right now. I’ll take care of your father.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’ve got this.” She smiled sadly. “For better or worse, I made that vow. This is just the worse.”
“I don’t want anything else to happen to him,” I whispered.
“Neither do I.” Mom hugged me tight. The last time she held me like this was when she told me about Dad’s stroke. She was scared.
So was I.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I texted Dylan to beg off for the day. Instead, I hid in my room to avoid everything. Dad wasn’t happy when Mom said they were going to the doctor’s office. I didn’t hear the conversation, but the tone of Dad’s voice made it clear he was pissed she hadn’t told him about it until it was time to leave.
My phone dinged a text message just after the door closed.
Tickets? Iris added a smiley face emoji. She followed it with another text. Got a hot date.
She had balls to ask me for tickets. Ask Miranda.
Miranda’s gone off the deep end. This thing with Eddie has pushed her. Iris sent another rapid fire text. She’s hooking up with any guy who even smiles at her.
I started to respond when another text came through.
She said she even hooked up with Dylan. ???
I closed my eyes. The image of Miranda kissing Dylan was seared into my brain. She kissed him. I don’t know about anything else. None of my business anyway.
Thought you liked him? Iris sent back. Then she added. Or does he not like you? I’m confused.
Something about this felt off suddenly. I stopped responding and read through the thread. It had started off innocent enough, but she never really said why she hadn’t asked Miranda for tickets. And they’d be better seats than the ones I was comped every night. And what about Dylan? Why would Iris bring that up? Why would she push it? The only answer I had was that Miranda was digging for information through Iris. I picked up my phone, done with the childish bullshit. I wanted this over.
So I lied.
Nah, we’re just friends now. I’m so over him.
Since when? Iris fired back. You were all about him just a few days ago.
Since we hooked up. We’re better off as friends. I shrugged as if she could see me. It was partially true. He’d made it clear so I might as well accept it. I called the box office. One of the perks of being with the bad was reserved tickets for every show. I texted Iris back that she was good.
Before Iris could respond, another message dinged.
We good? Speak of the devil. Dylan must have a sixth sense.
I didn’t respond right away, instead I messaged Iris. Gotta go. Working on a new song.
With Dylan? she asked.
I turned off my phone. This was all too high school and I was over it. I didn’t want to be in the middle of some imagined love triangle. I didn’t need any fake drama in my life. There was enough real drama going on. I picked up my guitar and just started playing.
A song emerged. I’d never written one before. I popped open my laptop and started making notes, recording the chords and melody. It took me most of the morning to finish a complete version, and I recorded it too. It felt so right, so true. The strangest thing was how much it felt like me. As if writing this song opened up me to me. I turned my phone back on and ignored the messages that begged to be read except one.
