by Layne, Sandi
She’d even done a bit of discreet peeking, only to be unreasonably disappointed not to see his deep red hair and warm smile out there in the crowd. Not among the line-dancers that were a characteristic of the venue and not at one of the tables on the perimeter.
“Sure, pics are good. Val liked ‘em last time.”
“I’ll toss her my phone straight off, if she wants. We could get her a catcher’s mitt!”
Their low laughter caught the attention of the others in the group, but no one got a chance to say anything before the host-slash-announcer called out, “And now, welcome some of the hottest ladies in country music, the Lipstick Outlaws!”
Mac swept the faces in the audience one more time before she banished the missing face from her concentration. She had a job to do, and it was a good job and she reminded herself that the music was bigger than any single person. Always had been.
“Mac! Lookin’ great, girl!” Surprised, Mac jerked involuntarily at the sound of her name only to see her twin right there in the front, grinning like a crazy man. He had a girl with him, which was great, and he was clearly having a good time, so far. How was he managing with all the people in the Saloon?
She nodded to him and his guest and got to her place, settling herself comfortably near C.C.’s claimed territory as they started right off with their opening number, Came to Nashville. It was an attention-getter, as it mentioned the hometown, to get the attention of all the cooling-down dancers and those who were in lines at the bars for the post-dance beverage. The Wild Horse was an immersive kind of experience, and that meant a lot of people interacting with the entertainers.
After their opening number, they went to When Karma Comes Calling, which was getting its own public all by itself, and that captured any faltering bits of attention.
“We had it good, boy, I thought you were the one,
Yeah boy, we were meant to be, we had fun.”
When the chorus of Like lightning striking hot and fast, was sung, some folks in the audience chimed in, too, which was a terrific jolt of adrenaline for Mac.
This was followed by the band intros and Mac, keeping her Ibanez around her body, slipped out her iPhone. When she aimed to get some pics, the guy on the spotlight saw her and she was instantly blinded.
“Hey!” she called, immediately embarrassed.
Katie Lyn laughed. “She’s just wanting a picture of all y’all. Smile for the camera!”
The spotlights and houselights immediately went a little crazy, but Mac shook her head, grinned, and went with it. After taking about a dozen—including one of Micah and his date—and missing Derek’s face yet again, which was bothering her more than she wished, she thanked them, smiled an apology to Katie Lyn for the interruption, and made a show of tossing her phone to Val, who stepped into tattooed visibility for a moment to catch it. Flawlessly. “Our band manager, that lady right there, is our hero,” Mac said into the nearest microphone. “Can we have a round of applause for Val McCann?”
Appreciation was duly expressed—she thought Jack might have whistled from wherever he was perched—and they were finally able to get back to their show. Mac cringed a bit when the order of performance was changed on the fly and she knew she’d hear about it after the show. Even C.C. was wincing a little for her as the silent but obvious cues were flittered about their group.
Still, the show did indeed go on. Katie Lyn, with Taylor and Rissa on harmony and back-up, kept the audience focused. C.C. had them dancing on a couple of numbers, and Cinnamon kept them fascinated with her banjo and fiddle. Mac felt she had already had enough attention, but she did her planned, breakout bass freestyle—she’d wanted to call it free-bass-ing but that hadn’t gone over well at all—in the new number. The music was well received, she thought.
With a general reminder to come out to the CMA Fest, Katie Lyn closed them out and they left the stage. They had a few minutes to get their breath, have some water, and then they had to clear away their gear for the night. The subdued chaos of the process always interested Mac; it was procedural. Careful but rushed. Line-dancing was resuming with a DJ and instructors—the Wild Horse always had someone on deck with that; it was one of their draws in Music City.
Val bustled about, making sure all was in order, before flagging Mac down. “Hey, here’s your phone, honey,” she said with a smile, handing over the small iPhone. “I gotta say I’d expected you to have that new one, you know? Latest and greatest model?”
Mac felt herself blush a little and hoped any noticeable fluctuation of color would be ascribed to the post-show adrenaline. “My brother is really into technology, you know?” Val nodded, her auburn curls bouncing a bit as she did so. They’d all been living in each other’s pockets for over a year, now, and everyone knew just about everything about families and so on. Mac’s personal wealth was not something she ever flaunted, but it had been apparent from the get-go when she hadn’t had a day job like the others had when the band coalesced. Her clothes were not ostentatious, but in the close confines of the tour bus, labels were not hidden, and she hadn’t ever felt the need to hide them. “Micah likes to always get the newest version of the iPhone. It’s a thing. But I like this one because it’s small and I’m used to it.”
“Lot to be said for comfort, for sure,” Val allowed.
“Stability in a changing world?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Rissa jogged up to them, her brown hair flying around her head as she sought to make sure everyone was wrapped up. Mac held up one hand, the one with the phone in it. “Sorry for the disruption.”
Her expression was tight, focused, but not unduly upset. “Hey, you didn’t expect to get hit with the spot for that. It hadn’t happened before.”
“The crew is really on the ball, here, for sure.”
“Yeah.” With a nod at the phone, Rissa continued. “I’m kind of wanting to see how that goes over, well, in the next day or two. If it’s positive, we might do it again. Are you going to post it on Instagram?”
“Right now, if you want. Immediate post-show interaction?” Social media was a real thing, and even the big players used it. Or maybe they had their people interact for them on their behalf. No one could really know, but no one really cared, did they? Storm Music had a social media manager, but each of the girls in the band had their own Instagram and Twitter feeds, and Mac liked to keep in touch with folks.
“I like it! Well, we’ll be heading out, soon.” Rissa smiled tiredly. Yes, it was a rush to perform, but the days were long, and the energy expended was immense. Add to that the sudden drop in adrenaline and it was enough to make all the girls want to crash. The days of piling into the local Waffle House were long over. “You’re going home, right?”
Mac blinked and rubbed at her eyes a little. “Yeah.” The others in the band gathered around them slowly and they confirmed plans for rehearsal the following afternoon.
“Off Sunday?” C.C. slipped her sunglasses off so that they dangled a bit from her fingers. Inwardly, Mac smiled. With the confirmation of their day off, the band turned, began the thank yous that came with every performance venue, and filed out the service entrance, carrying their gear.
Micah and his date were waiting for her, and after smilingly waving the others away, Mac fell in step with them, feeling the comforting weight of her Ibanez on her back in its gig bag.
“Where are you parked?” her twin asked.
“The usual lot.” She looked past her brother to the lady he had with him and, making a big show of peering around Micah’s chest, she smiled. “Hi, I’m Mac. If he used that stupid nickname when he talked about me, I will steal his car.”
Micah made a disbelieving sound. “As if you’d drive it. I drive a stick just to make sure she can’t take my car,” he informed his date. Whom he still had not introduced. He rectified that as they wove through a few late-night carousers on their way to the parking lot. It was an open-air lot near the Cumberland River, so the walk was quite short. As
it was a pleasant evening, there were plenty of pedestrians about in various states of inebriation. “So. Mac,” he said, adopting a formal tone and emphasizing her name loudly, “this is Bethany Dyer, originally from Cookeville, currently in Smyrna. Beth, this is my sister, Mac Cunningham, currently in the Other Bedroom.”
Beth, a pretty blonde with glasses and a dancer’s figure, laughed a little. The Other Bedroom was a bizarre thing to say, but Mac had noted over the years that laughing at a man’s attempts at humor was a standard relationship thing. This got her brain spinning. Had she laughed at Derek’s jokes? In text, on the phone, or in person? She thought she had. They had spent a lot of time laughing and smiling, and sure enough there was chemistry, there. Even if they hadn’t kissed after their first—and only!—date.
“Mac?”
Shaken from her reverie, Mac was startled to find they’d reached the parking lot. Her brother had already escorted her to her car, and she hadn’t noticed. Blushing under the bright security lights, she smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, Micah. And good to meet you, Beth. Bethany?”
“Either.” They shook hands and Beth nodded. “It was great to hear you gals tonight. I don’t usually listen to country music, but Micah said that I’d have a good time.”
“Well, thanks for coming out.” Mac slung her gear around to find her car keys. “Y’all coming back home?” she asked her brother.
He exchanged a look with Bethany. “I’m gonna take her home, then I’ll be back.”
“No meetings, tonight?”
“Nope! Lucky me.”
“Lucky you,” she told Bethany with a smile.
It was only a couple of miles to get home, but Mac had made the decision to drive anyway, because she didn’t choose to walk home alone after a late show. “If I’d had someone to walk with,” she muttered as she keyed on her engine to let it warm up a bit, “it’d be the perfect night to walk home.”
A heavy ache took a slow track across her chest and she frowned. Why hadn’t he come? He was home; he’d texted to let her know he was flying back the other night. I know what it is, she thought. It’s the whole paparazzi thing. Derek Blakemore was a private citizen. He had been in the papers, but only as it involved the charity he helped to run. He handled the press for that just fine, she’d seen in articles and such that she’d found during research.
She stared at her phone. For weeks, they’d spent a lot of time texting after a show. “It’s never too late,” he’d told her. How many hours of sleep had he lost, chatting with her in text messages, FaceTime, and just calling on the phone? But for the past few days, there’d been this huge silence. How many times was she supposed to be blown off before she let it go?
How could she miss someone so much? Someone she’d spent, in truth, so little time with, in person and all?
She tucked her phone into the cup holder in the front console of her Cadillac Coupe. The car had power and weight and made her feel safe. It took just a few minutes to drive it home and pull into a parking space. The loft she shared with her brother entitled them to two parking spaces, but they were hard to find at this time of night. Sometimes, she’d park and then move her car in the morning after folks had gone for the day. Once in her spot, though, she pursed her lips and stared at her phone, picking it up and thinking.
“I can try one more time.” As a bit of self-encouragement, it didn’t sound all that powerful, but Mac didn’t figure her steering wheel cared.
Her fingers already knew the pattern and she barely had to think, even as her heart raced way too fast to be believed as she hit Derek’s number and started typing a new text message.
Mac: Hey. You up?
INTERLUDE V
Mac & Derek
Derek: Mac! You all right?
Mac: . . . Yeah? You? Eyes all functional and everything? You can type, apparently.
Derek: . . . Sarcasm doesn’t always convey well in texts, Mac.
Mac: I could call, but it’s late
Derek: Yeah. But, I’m up. I’ll call. It’s not . . .
Mac: Not too late to call?
Derek: Is your twin asleep?
Mac: Dunno. I’m still in my car.
Derek: Mira!
Mac: What? I’m home. Just in my car. I didn’t know you’d answer so fast.
Derek: Oh. Get inside, woman. I’ll call you in five.
6
Derek had to catch his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest. Dressed in lounge pants, he started pacing his bedroom, from his bedside to the closet, to the en suite bath, completing the circuit at least three times while texting with Mac.
He’d missed her. Way more than he had thought he would. He’d thought, well, he thought he’d get distance from her, really. So he’d limited himself to long-distance communication, but that wasn’t enough for distance. Not from her. She’d slid under his skin, somehow. “Oh, if only I don’t have to see her and watch her be all—her!—in person and eating a sandwich, I’ll be fine. Right.” He glanced up to see his reflection in the bathroom mirror and rubbed his knuckles over his jaw.
“You look like last week’s leftovers, man. You really do.”
It wasn’t surprising. Mira Cunningham was not the most comfortable person to have under a man’s skin, but he also had felt the anxiety of trying to get her out and doing so was a non-starter. His mother had asked about her. Andrew, back from his honeymoon, had checked in. “Just thought I’d see how things were, because I heard you were dating Mira. I have to do the obligatory big brother threat and all that, even if you were the best man at my wedding.”
“There’s something cliché about that,” Derek had retorted. Andy only laughed. Derek had gone on to say that any woman who could wield a violin and bass guitar, survive an all-girls boarding school, and still manage to smile on tour was well able to fend for herself. “Besides, she’d sic Mike on me.”
“That’d do it, too,” Andy allowed.
How do I even talk to her about this? Derek wondered, blowing out a breath and wondering if he could find an answer in his own reflection. He didn’t have a clue. There were no words. And for a man who used words to persuade others to invest of themselves in a charitable organization, this was problematic.
She was on his starred list on his phone. He just had to push a button, tap the picture of her violin, and hope to heaven that she couldn’t hear his pulse or something over the phone.
“Hey.” Her voice was subdued and he briefly considered asking for a FaceTime conversation before he remembered he was shirtless and scruffy and . . . and he had some explaining to do. “I’m gonna have to keep it down, because Micah’s room is next to mine.”
“All right.”
It was quiet and he heard her moving about, occasionally huffing over something. “Trying to get my boots off.”
He had to smile despite his inner agitation. “Which ones are they?”
Her breath caught; he could hear it. “Your favorites. I told you I’d wear them for you at our next show. I could do that again, you know. I dare to live in hope.”
Something caught in his heart at her words. It felt . . . weird. Great. Frightening, really. “We’ve only had one date,” he muttered, collapsing on his back on his bed and dragging his free hand through the disaster that was his restless bedhead.
“I know,” she replied. “And I’m sorry. I’m . . . I didn’t mean to be pushy or needy or anything, Derek. I didn’t. I miss you, is all. But I get that it’s all bizarre, over here. I don’t exactly have an office job or anything. I’m not even with the Nashville Symphony. Did you know they’re doing a Harry Potter thing this month? The Order of the Phoenix. There’s this whole orchestration and—”
He had to laugh a little at the change in topic. “I do know about it, actually. And if you want to go, we’ll get tickets, okay?” He pushed out a startled breath. “I mean, if you want. I know you’re busy.”
“I’d like that. A lot. I’ll check our schedule.”
It was quiet again f
or a minute. A long minute. Derek cleared his throat. “So?”
“Hm?”
“You texted me, remember?”
“Right. I guess, I, um, wanted to try one last time.”
His heart lurched again at the word last, and he rubbed at his chest while she drew in a long breath on her end.
“It’s weird, you know. I mean, how fast talking to you after a show became . . . normal.”
“Yeah. And how fast being up half the night no matter where I was after one of your shows became normal.”
“You like normal.” Her tone was resigned, and he could picture her face, eyes lowered, lips in a flat line. “And I’m not normal. I mean, my life isn’t normal. You’ve got meetings and an office—”
“Two, if we’re counting.”
She chuckled a little, but it was not a sound filled with amusement. “Two, then. I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted that for myself.”
A quick retort leapt to his tongue, but he held it in, asking instead, “What do you want for yourself?”
“Huh. Well. Hmm.”
Suddenly, the urge to see her swept over him, almost like a physical thing. “Got any plans for the morning?”
He heard her make a surprised sound. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. Unless you’ve passed the phone to Mike in the last thirty seconds.”
“Um, nothing in the morning, actually. Why? You’re kind of confusing me, Derek, I gotta say.”
“I’ve been feeling a bit confused myself,” he confessed. “And, honestly, it’s intimidating.”
“Ahh.” The sound carried a feeling, to Derek, of I’ve heard that, before. “Yeah.”
“Had that happen? Any ex-boyfriends I should know about?” He was teasing, mostly, but he was also curious. The subject had never come up.
“Not recent ones, no. Been a while. You?”
“No, no recent ex-boyfriends.”
