Back Beat

by Sloan, Ryleigh

  She smiles and I swear my heart is going to crash right through my rib cage. I’m so proud of her, and she deserves this moment so much. She looks at me, and I beam at her. “You’re famous.”

  She blushes and shakes her head. “Shut up.” She smiles at Glenn. “Of course I’ll do a selfie.”

  Glenn heads off to give the fans the good news, and she starts fussing with her hair that’s piled on top her head in a messy bun. “Shit, I’m a mess. I don’t even have makeup on.”

  I won’t tell her she’s as beautiful fresh-faced like she is now—even with her puffy eyes—as she is with makeup. I won’t tell her she’s beautiful ’cause I can’t.

  She chews frantically on the skin next to her thumbnail, and I reach for her hand, smoothing my thumb over the torn skin.

  “You have to stop doing that or you won’t have a thumb left.”

  Glenn arrives with the couple, and Blair smiles shyly at them. She stands and smooths her hands over her cargo pants. She’s captivating and entrancing on stage when she’s all dressed up, but when Blair is in casual clothes, she’s an absolute knockout. I think it has something to do with her being unequivocally authentic. She’s a no-frills girl, and I doubt anything will change that.

  I can see she’s not sure how to handle the situation, so I stand and place a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you move to an aisle where there’s more room?” She smiles gratefully and moves over.

  “Hi, I’m Blair.” She holds out her hand, and the flush I’ve grown to look forward to seeing stains her cheeks.

  “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it’s you!” The woman looks to be in her early thirties, and her husband stands with a protective arm around her shoulders. None of them are giving me more than a cursory glance, and I’m about to beam my face off. “I’m Lexi and this is Luke.” She thumbs to her husband. “We’ve been watching you every week. You’re actually the only reason I can get Luke to watch the show.” He reddens and shuffles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “I think you’re too good for that show. Everyone else on there are amateurs.” Luke looks uncomfortable but not as uncomfortable as Blair.

  “Thank you so much. I’m flattered, but I’m up against some incredibly talented people and learning a lot by being there.” Blair smiles, and it’s sweet and shy.

  Luke’s not wrong. In fact, there isn’t a whole lot I’ve been teaching Blair. Sure, I tweak things here and there, but the fact is she really doesn’t belong on the show. I’m not knocking it, because it gets people visibility where they would otherwise spend their lives struggling to be seen, but Blair has something that outshines the show. Breakout is formulaic and Blair isn’t, and what I’ve been doing is teaching her to follow a formula she is too good for. I only hope that when she gets a record deal, the part of her that shines the most hasn’t been dulled by that.

  The woman waves her hands. “Honey, you’re amazing. I’m so sorry to disturb you on your trip, but we just want you to know how incredible you are. You’re an inspiration. This is silly, and I know it doesn’t have anything to do with singing, but you’ve inspired me to start my own jewelry business. I’m heading back home after attending a course in LA.”

  Blair clasps her hands together and brings them to her lips. “Thank you for telling me that! You don’t know what it means.” I doubt they know that for Blair to hear those words, it means everything to her and probably more than them wanting a photo with her.

  “Is it okay to take a pic with you?”

  “Absolutely.” Blair agrees and looks around uncomfortably. We’re starting to garner attention. “Where would you like it?”

  “Oh, here’s fine.” They look at me and ask, “Would you like to join us?” It’s an afterthought and makes me so damn happy.

  Blair looks hopeful, but this is her moment—her first fans and she should be in the spotlight, not me. And if this hits social media, which I’d bet my voice it does, I don’t want people tagging me. I want this to be about her. I raise my hands. “Thank you, but no. How about I take the photo for you?”

  The look Blair shoots me lets me know that she knows what I’m doing. But there’s something else there, and that something else is likely to get me in hot water—or hot lava—but either way, I’m dead.

  They all huddle together, including Glenn, who made a huge show of saying he didn’t want in the picture but is beaming his face off now.

  “Say Blair for the win!” They all do except Blair, who smiles so sweetly it nails me in the gut and dread hits me right alongside it. I’m crossing a line. I know it, but I know it’s nothing compared to what is likely to happen in future if I can’t get my shit together.

  14

  Blair

  “Should we go to the lodge first so you can get checked in and I’ll head to the hospital after?”

  Dean looks at me. “Aren’t you eager to see your grandfather?”

  “I am, but it’s been a long flight, and I’m sure you’d like to get settled in.”

  We depart the flight that I have to say felt more like a stay in a hotel than a transatlantic trip and head over to wait for our bags. I’m surprised when Dean takes my hand in his, but at the same time it comforts me.

  “I’m fine. I can wait however long it takes. Let’s go to the hospital first.”

  I’m touched and grateful because I really need to see Papaw. The car Dean ordered is waiting and takes us straight to the hospital where we are directed to the Pulmonary ICU. My parents, Maddie, and grandmother are all seated in the waiting area just outside the ward.

  My mom stands the moment she sees us and tugs me into her arms when I get close enough. We both start crying, and my dad clears his throat, and I move back, still holding on to my mom’s hand.

  “Everyone, this is Dean Carter, my coach from Breakout.”

  “Very kind of you to put yourself out this way.” My dad shakes Dean’s hand and sounds sincere, but I can hear the question in his voice.

  “Not at all, sir. I’ve heard so much about your beautiful country, I just needed to check it out myself.”

  My dad looks like he has a mouthful to say, but Grams interrupts to give me a hug, and Dean too, which surprises Dean.

  Doors open with a whoosh, and we all turn to see a nurse come out of Papaw’s room. “Two of you can go in now.”

  My mom links an arm with mine. “Let’s go see your papaw. He’s been asking for you ever since we said you were on your way back.”

  We walk in the room, and I’m unprepared for what I see. Papaw is lying on a bed with an IV in his hand and drainage tubes sticking out of his ribs. It’s not like a scene from a movie where the person is full of scary tubes and hooked up to a million different machines, but it’s terrifying all the same. He looks so small. Too small. My whole life Papaw always seemed larger than life. I used to ride his shoulders as a child, or he’d swing me up in the air and catch me like I weighed nothing. Now he looks half the size he was six weeks ago, and suddenly his mortality comes screaming into reality.

  My papaw isn’t old; at seventy-nine he can do everything my father does on the reserve. But seeing him in a hospital bed in obvious pain is bringing home that I won’t have him with me forever, and that is a life I don’t want to imagine.

  A sob tears free, and I go to his bed, holding his hand in mine. I look down at his fingers. When had the skin on his hands gone from calloused and worn to papery and translucent? When had his strong arms that would lift troughs and bales of hay for horses become so weak?

  “Bub…bles. Now, you…stop that!”

  My eyes shoot to his, and seeing his adamant stare makes relief and fresh tears track down my face. “How could you be so stupid? Climbing a ladder at your age?”

  “Watch your…self. I’ll still give you a hiding young…lady.”

  I laugh through my tears, but the sinking feeling in my gut when I hear him struggling to breathe through the words makes my heart stop. I just c
an’t stand to see him in pain. He’s trying to say something to me, but his breaths are sounding shallower and shallower the more he tries.

  “Don’t speak, Papaw.”

  “Sh…Show. Show.”

  “Show? Don’t worry about the show.”

  Papaw shakes his head, his agitation growing. “Show. Sh…Show.”

  “You are more important than the show.” I reach for his hand, and my mom speaks up.

  “She’s still on the show, Dad. Her coach came with her so she could carry on while you get better.”

  Relief sweeps across Papaw’s face, and his eyelids start drooping. Mom motions to the door. I bend down and kiss him on his forehead. “You sleep sweet, Papaw. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You…catch good…dreams, my Bubbles.”

  I tear up and turn to my mother, who hugs me. We leave, and it’s like a funeral outside my papaw’s room. But there’s something more, a tension you can cut with a band saw, and my dad is glaring at Dean. Dad turns to me. “Blair, can I have a word?”

  “Sure.” I frown as I follow my dad around the corner.

  “What the hell is going on, Blair? Your papaw is in a bad way, and all you can think about is that show. How could you bring your coach with you? Is singing so much more important to you than family?”

  My father’s words are like a slap to the face, and I take a step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Of course family comes first. I came back.”

  “But you didn’t just come back. You brought him.”

  My grandma comes up behind us. “Errol, you leave Blair alone this instant. Your father would never have rested if he knew Blair gave up on her dreams. This way, she gets to be here and she doesn’t lose out. Her whole life has been about putting her dreams on the back burner to try to please you. No matter what she does though, it’s never enough. You should be ashamed of yourself. I know, I am.”

  My grandma takes my hand and drags me down the corridor. When we reach the elevator, she punches the button with her finger, and as soon as the doors open, she drags me inside. The moment the doors close, she turns to me and places her hands on my shoulders. “Blair McKenzie, you listen to me. You pursuing your dream is what gives your papaw the most joy in life. Don’t you dare let your father get into your head. Don’t you dare!”

  I collapse against her, the emotions of the last few days overwhelming me. The strongest one of all being guilt.

  15

  Dean

  Blair is quieter than she was when we were on the way to the hospital, and I don’t blame her. I didn’t need to hear what her father was saying to her to know his words were cutting her up and burdening her with guilt. Thank goodness her grandmother came to her rescue, because if it had taken a minute more, I would’ve got up in her father’s face, and the man doesn’t need another reason to hate me. It’s clear he doesn’t approve of his daughter’s choice to pursue her singing career, and he needs someone to tack that blame onto. If it needs to be me, I’m fine with it.

  I watch her from my peripheral vision as she stares out the window. She’s so beautiful it’s a sin for her to look sad. As she worries her bottom lip and a frown creases her forehead, I wonder how I can turn her desolation around. And that scares the shit outta me.

  I wonder if I should try to lighten things up or crack a joke or even make small talk about the weather, but she looks absolutely wiped. I get it—it’s been a harrowing couple of days, and even though we flew here in luxury, jet lag is a beast to deal with on top of emotional strain. Her eyes droop and take longer between each blink to open. I reach for her and pull her against me. She stiffens at first and looks confused, so I explain. “You look exhausted. Rest your head on my shoulder and get some sleep.”

  She opens her mouth, and I’d bet my left nut she’s going to decline, so I chime in before she can. “I have to be much more comfortable than that window. You said it’s forty-five minutes till we get to the lodge—rest up so you can give me the grand tour.”

  Regret sweeps over her face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible host and even worse company.”

  “Hey, none of that. I knew what I was signing up for. This isn’t about me.”

  She relents and lays her head on my shoulder, and I resist the urge to sweep her hair from her face, but I do take advantage and pull her a little closer. Surprisingly, she doesn’t resist.

  I shouldn’t love the way she feels in my arms like this, and I shouldn’t be taking advantage of her when she’s emotional, but I tell myself this is as close as I’m ever going to get to having Blair in my arms, so I might as well enjoy it. Except I can’t enjoy this moment when all I can think about are more.

  I inwardly berate myself. This isn’t the time to be focusing on moments or more time. I’m here to help Blair win the competition, and if I’m constantly distracted by the scent of her hair or how warm her body feels pressed against mine… See, there I go again.

  She’s out in minutes, and if the wet spot on my sweater is anything to go by, she’s out cold and drooling on me. This time I do wipe the stray hair from her face and slide my phone out of my pocket. This is fucking creepy, and even I know it’s a major no-no, but I do it anyway. I look into the camera as I take a pic of Blair fast asleep on my shoulder. I tell myself I’ll delete it later. That I just want to examine it and try to figure out why this girl has me thinking things no other girl has come close to. In fact, I would run screaming for the hills if another girl even tried to get this intimate with me.

  I look at the pic again and slide my phone back. I feel terrible about it but not enough to delete the photo. This is more intimate than fucking to me. Fucking is a physical act that doesn’t reflect how I’m feeling emotionally. This image though—this image has ignited more in me than I’ve felt in years.

  The driver asks me which street we need to turn down since the GPS seems to want him to turn left where there’s nothing but a brick wall. I rouse Blair and she blinks her eyes rapidly, wiping the drool from her mouth and then frantically wiping at my shirt. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind your body fluids on me.” I wink at her and she blushes, but it’s me that’s unsettled by all this.

  “Where do we go?”

  She looks outside the window for a while and yawns. “In about two kilometers, turn left. Head down the dirt road for another two kilometers and you’ll see the gate.”

  I don’t know how she can see where the hell we are. There aren’t any streetlights, and aside from the beams of our Uber, there is no other light. Not even the moon or stars are helpful, hidden by endless cloud. It’s eerie but at the same time, peaceful.

  We sit in silence for a while, punctuated by Blair’s yawns, and every time she does, she apologizes.

  “Don’t be sorry for being tired, Blair. It’s been a hell of a time.”

  She smiles gratefully, and we pull up to a large gate covered in thick thatch. Offices flank each side of the double-lane road. A mocha-skinned guy with the widest smile and whitest teeth pops his head out of one of the offices. He’s wearing a khaki-colored uniform with epaulettes and a black beret. Blair winds down her window as he comes to the driver’s side, and his smile gets even wider.

  “Miss Blair, you are back. They told me you were coming, and I was sad to hear you were leaving the show. We watch you every Sunday night. My daughter tells everyone I work for the famous Blair.”

  “I’ll be going back when things settle. The show is on a break right now, so it’s all good. How is Thando, Khumbalani? How are her ballet lessons going?”

  “She’s doing so well. Her exams are in a few weeks.”

  “You need to record it for me.”

  Khumbalani’s smile makes me damn near tear up, and I think the water here in South Africa is making me soft.

  “You take care, Miss Blair. Ah, Mr. Dean Carter. I apologize, I did not see you.”

  “No apologies needed, m
y man.”

  He tips his head, and Blair uses her remote to let us in. “You’ll let Trevor out when he comes back?”

  “I certainly will, Miss Blair.” He looks to the driver. “Please mind the speed limit. We have animals that come out at night here, and the tortoises don’t make good speed bumps.” He bursts out laughing at his own joke, and we slowly move through the gate.

  Inside the resort, we drive on a concrete road for about a kilometer, and then the road turns to asphalt. Another couple of kilometers down, we turn into a dirt road. A beautiful thatched house with glowing yellow porch lights comes into view. The driver pulls up and we hop out. I give the guy a hand with my bags, and we head up to the house.

  We walk the three stone steps up to the large front door. A giraffe is carved out of the deep mahogany that is twice the size of a normal door. Blair takes the key her grandmother gave her and unlocks it. Swinging it open, she flips the switch and steps inside. I follow after her and set the bags down.

  This house is gorgeous and rustic, but the crystal chandeliers and brass trim lends an elegant side.

  Sort of like Blair and me. Rough versus elegant. I walk into a room decorated in deep reds and rich browns. The floor-to-ceiling french doors open onto a deck with a pool just big enough for two. It’s intimate, and steam rises off the water, telling me it’s heated. I want to suggest to Blair that we unwind in the pool, but that would be equally unprofessional and idiotic since it’s clear the girl is dead on her feet.

  “You should probably go.”

  She turns to me and frowns. “Oh…yeah…sure…sorry.”

  Shit!

  “No. Shit. I’m not chasing you away—I figured you’re probably exhausted from everything and could use some shut-eye.”

  She looks relieved, and it confuses the hell out of me for a minute. Why is she looking relieved? “Yeah, I should go. Trevor is waiting.”

  I walk Blair to the car and retrieve my phone to tip Trevor as they drive off.