by Avon Gale
Sawyer shuddered. “Never. And I want you to know that . . . I want you to support me—not monetarily, I know that isn’t going to happen and honestly, I don’t want you to. I hate the fact that you might be disappointed in me, I really do. But I’m doing this anyway.”
“Well, then I suppose there’s nothing we can say.” Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “How about this. You look into some online classes at the very least for getting a business degree, or something that will help you manage your own career. I don’t want you to end up like those girls who have a manager that runs off with all their money.”
“I’m not a teenage pop star,” Sawyer said.
Her father’s stubborn expression didn’t ease. “Suggesting you get a college education in which you learn something practical to help your career doesn’t sound like I’m being a monster who’s trying to crush your dreams, does it?”
Sawyer had to admit that, no, it didn’t. She gave a brief nod. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. “I think I can do that. Based on my performance schedule, of course, and if I’ll be on tour and when.”
“Your band doesn’t have this tour stuff all settled in advance?” her father asked, frowning. “Do they have a manager? Because maybe they need one.”
“I’m not . . . um. Staying with this band.”
Her parents stared at her. “Wait,” her mother said, slowly. “You’re not staying with the band you’ve been playing with all summer?”
“Not after this show, no.”
“Sawyer, if you’re so determined to play music because of this experience with this particular band, then why would you want to join another one?” He sounded dubious, and Sawyer knew why. He was thinking about how she was unhappy at Juilliard, and how this was one more instance of her not being happy playing music.
“Because they—they didn’t want me.” She tried to say it calmly, professionally, as if it were only a job and she would be able to find another. She should tell them about the contacts she’d made, the in she now had to the industry.
Instead, she burst into tears so hard her shoulders started shaking.
“Sawyer!” Her mother hurried over and put an arm around her. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“There’s— I sort of . . . fell in love and got my heart broken,” Sawyer said. It came out garbled but she didn’t care. “And so I have to—I have to . . . find a different band.”
“Who broke your heart, sweetie?” her mother asked, rubbing at her back with a gentle hand.
“Vix,” she said, and then went still. Sawyer wiped at her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “Um. So, something else I should probably tell you. I’m a lesbian.”
Her mom patted her back, and Sawyer peeked over her shoulder at her mom. Then at her father. They were silent, but they didn’t look upset, or . . . all that surprised. “You knew?”
“Well, we did watch those YouTube videos of your performances,” her mother said. “And I might have suspected, before.”
Sawyer glanced at her dad. “You’re not mad, or disappointed, or . . .?”
“I’m upset someone hurt you,” her dad said, gruffly. “But never about that, Sawyer. No.”
Sawyer leaned into her mother’s gentle touch on her back. “I’m sorry if I’m not . . . you know. Doing what you want.”
“What we want is for you to be happy.” Her mother smoothed Sawyer’s hair back from her face. “I think we still have some valid concerns about how you’re going to make this work, but one thing I know for sure is the girl I saw playing the violin on those videos was happier than I’ve ever seen her. And that’s what we want for you.”
“I’d prefer it if you weren’t living in a van, though,” her father said, and Sawyer gave a little hiccup of a laugh.
Drained, Sawyer knew she had to have some time to recharge before playing tomorrow night. The thought that it was the last show she’d ever play with Victoria Vincent—not only Vix, but Connor, Kit, and Jeff too—made her stomach hurt. She excused herself so they could worry over her future in private, then went upstairs to her room. Sawyer remembered standing in this spot earlier in the summer, suffused with excitement and nerves over the upcoming tour.
Now she was standing here, heartsick and dreading the end of it.
After spending two months on tour—which was basically picking up and moving every single day—it always took Vix a few days to re-accustom herself to the concept of staying in one place. They’d had the night off before the show that marked the end of the tour, and Vix had wished with all her sore, sad heart that they were somewhere, anywhere, else.
On the road, at night, with Sawyer beside her and writing half-formed lyrics in Vix’s notebook. Hanging out in the greenroom before a show, watching Sawyer tune her fiddle and be effortlessly sexy. Basically anywhere that meant she was with Sawyer, and not moping in Jeff’s basement. She’d hardly slept the night before—on the couch, because the bed reminded her too much of Sawyer—and now she was lazing around, both wishing it was time for sound check and dreading having to do their final show of the tour. Her final show with Sawyer beside her.
“What is wrong with you?” Jeff asked, finally, when Vix’s shrugging and noncommittal answers to every question finally annoyed him. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
Vix glared up at him from her spot on the couch. She had a thing of purple Manic Panic but the idea of spending the energy to dye her hair was impossible. She’d rather sit here, watch YouTube videos, and be sad. “Of course it isn’t.”
YouTube suggested she might like to watch Victoria Vincent in concert at the Wilbur Fox Club in Little Rock. No, no, she did not want to watch that, thank you very much. She clicked over to a cat video instead. Vix didn’t like cats all that much, but anything was better than watching videos of her band with Sawyer.
“I don’t get you,” Jeff said. “You guys were happy, right? I mean, I know you had that fight, but then things were fine.”
Vix’s careless shrug was intended to relay the response of Things were great, they were perfect, and I hate you so shut up.
Jeff made an exasperated noise. “Vix, come on. Why did you kick Sawyer out if you guys were so happy?”
“We were happy,” Vix said, concentrating on the gray kitten who was guiltily closing a drawer. “You and me.”
“What? That was years ago, and yeah, we were happy sometimes. We fought a lot. Do you not remember that?” Jeff came and sat down on the couch next to her. “Hey, seriously. Do you?”
Vix looked over at him and tried to remember those days when she was young, he was younger, and they were living on the high of making music and fucking like bunnies. She’d loved him, and she still did, even if the intensity had long since faded. They were great friends, which was why she felt so shitty about how she’d tried to sneakily blame vetoing Sawyer on him. “I remember we fought before we broke up, sure.” It’d been dumb stuff, mostly. Jeff being jealous, Vix running hot and cold, both of them speaking more with the words they didn’t say than the ones they did.
“Is that some gift lyricists have?” Jeff asked. He gave her a smile that was affectionate and a little exasperated. “Turning things around so they sound better when you sing them?”
“Uh, yeah.” Vix closed the laptop when it was evident Jeff wasn’t done with her yet. “Basically that’s all we do, make our pain palatable for an audience.”
“And gloss over the fact we fought from the time you were a senior in high school until we broke up.”
She frowned, thinking. “Did we?” So much of her early relationship with Jeff was tied to the formation of Victoria Vincent—though a few of the members had changed. But now that she really made herself look back, she couldn’t say he was wrong. They’d had a few passionate arguments that Vix had conveniently written off because they were genuinely over things that weren’t important.
“Yeah. We did. We’ve always been great friends, remember? It was the romance shit that
got in our way. From the beginning.” He shook his head. “You liked me because you thought it was rebelling to hook up with this older guy who was a musician. You stuck around because we were good in bed and you liked playing music with me.”
“Exactly, and look how that turned out. We broke up, almost ended our friendship, lost a band member, and nearly ruined everything.” Dramatic, but whatever. “That’s what I’m trying to stop from happening again, don’t you see? Hindsight and all that.”
“Vix? Don’t think I didn’t cherish the time we spent together or anything, but let’s be honest. We should have broken up the second we finished that first album.”
“I know that,” Vix snapped. All the songs on their second album were basically about how hard it was to learn to let someone go. Didn’t he understand she was trying to keep this from happening again?
“I’m not Sawyer,” he said gently. “And she’s not me. We’re not interchangeable, and I’m not referencing gender or sexuality or any of that. You and I, yeah, maybe we needed to let go long before we did. But that doesn’t mean the same thing’s true for you and Sawyer.”
Vix clenched her jaw and felt her eyes sting. She’d cried more in the last few hours than she ever had in her life. She kept picturing Sawyer’s stricken face, thinking about never again falling asleep tangled with Sawyer’s limbs and breathing in her hair—literally, it got everywhere—and that was it. The pain was still too fresh to find the words underneath, which made it somehow worse.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whispered. “I can’t lose this band. We’re getting noticed, we’re—we’re doing what we’d always dreamed. I can’t fuck that up because I’m in love.”
“Why are you so sure you’re going to?” Jeff put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. At first she resisted, but then he said, “We’re friends. Best friends, Vix. We didn’t work so hard to stay friends so I couldn’t hug you when you’re sad.”
Sighing, Vix let herself lean against him and thought about what he’d said. For a long time, until Jeff was half-asleep next to her. Men. Geez. She poked him. “Hey.”
He opened his eyes, smiled sheepishly and shifted so she could sit facing him, cross-legged on the couch. “Sorry. What is it?”
“Do you think . . . Sawyer said something to me before she left. About how she’s taking a risk, leaving Juilliard and playing music. And how I wasn’t . . . how I wasn’t willing to take it for her.”
Jeff nodded but stayed quiet.
Vix thought about it. “I want to,” she admitted. “I do. But I’m afraid. I guess I thought maybe if it was the right thing to do, it wouldn’t be scary. But maybe it can be both. The right thing to do, and scary.”
“I would think someone who was bisexual would have an easier time grasping the concept of both instead of either-or.”
She hit him on the arm, oddly reassured that he was making dumb jokes. Her heart started to pound as she thought about it. “So maybe I should see what happens.”
“Maybe you should. But Vix? Don’t do it if all you feel is maybe.”
Vix smiled and hopped up off the couch. She needed to take a shower—no time to color her hair, but that was all right—and get dressed. And then? She needed to go get her girl.
Because if Vix knew one thing about being in love with Sawyer Bell—there was no maybe about it.
That night as she got ready to go to the show, Sawyer kept thinking about canceling, or not showing up. But she knew she wouldn’t do that. Sawyer took a look at herself in her dresser mirror—hair clean and shining, beaded necklace around her throat, a white eyelet lace dress and a pair of brown-and-turquoise cowboy boots—and took a deep breath. “You can do this. You can. Show your parents you’re serious about being a musician. This is your job, so treat it like one.”
It sounded weak to her ears, but she was determined. Grabbing her violin, she headed downstairs. “Is it all right if I take the Camry to Minglewood? I have to go for sound check—” She stopped.
Vix was standing in her living room, messy hair and all. Her eyes were red, and she looked as miserable as Sawyer felt. “Hey.”
Her mother came in from the kitchen with a glass of iced tea. Of course her mother would offer to get Vix a drink. Southern manners and all that. “I’ll let you girls talk,” she said, after handing the glass to Vix. “Because most things can be fixed with a good conversation. Especially matters of the heart.”
“Mom,” Sawyer said, her face on fire. “Really?”
Her mom held her hands up and backed out of the room, leaving Sawyer and Vix alone.
“Hey,” said Vix.
“How did you know where I live?” Sawyer asked, which came out a little more confrontational than maybe she meant it to.
“Jeff,” Vix answered. “He reamed me a new one.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say.
“Which I deserved.” Vix took a sip of her iced tea, then closed her eyes. “Does iced tea taste this good anywhere but the South?”
“Why are you here, Vix?”
Vix opened her eyes, sighed, and sat on the couch. “To tell you that I’m sorry, and that I’m an idiot.”
Sawyer crossed her arms over her chest, but the knot of unhappy tension in her chest started to loosen. “Okay.”
“Look, I know what I did was shitty. I should have told you that I was worried you being in the band would fuck things up.” She glanced around, as if looking for Sawyer’s parents and expecting to get in trouble for cursing.
Sawyer would have smiled if she weren’t so nervous and still hurt.
“But I thought you’d . . . well, look at me like you’re looking at me right now.” Vix glanced up at her. “But I didn’t . . . It wasn’t because I wanted us to—” She made a hand gesture that Sawyer could not decipher. “It wasn’t so you’d keep sleeping with me until the end of the tour. It was so we could put this part off for as long as possible.”
“That’s still the same thing,” Sawyer said. “And I get it, okay? I talked to Jeff, and he told me things were really rough when it was you and him. And I know how important this band is to you. If you’d have told me when I asked, it would have hurt. I might have been mad or upset, but at least it would have been honest. Especially since I told you like four times not to ask about my joining the band unless you were sure.” She paused. “Also, it’s not very nice to know my girlfriend thinks our relationship has an end date.”
“I know.” Vix stared down at her hands. “Believe me. I know. But you know what, here’s the thing.” She set the iced tea gently on the floor and got up, walking over to Sawyer. “I realized something, earlier. You said that thing about how you were taking a risk, and I . . .” Vix bit her bottom lip. “I don’t do that, Sawyer. I’ve been playing music with Jeff since I was sixteen. This band is all I’ve ever known, and hell, I’m still singing some of the same songs. That song you and I worked on, our duet? I wrote those lyrics in high school. And I guess for some reason, I always think I’m so edgy by being a musician but really . . . I’m playing it safe. I don’t take risks, and you do.”
Sawyer let her arms uncross, but she was still wary. “Trying to make it in this business is a risk.”
“Yeah. But it’s the only thing I’ve ever done, you know?” Vix was dressed in torn jeans despite the heat, her motorcycle boots, and a thin black tank top that showed off her fair skin and multitude of tattoos. She was so beautiful, even with red-rimmed eyes and perpetually messy hair. “You were willing to take the risk on us, and I wasn’t.”
Great, that didn’t really do anything but make Sawyer want to start crying again. “Basically, yeah.”
“Well, I was wrong.” Vix’s chin went up. “We took a revote. You’re in, if you want. And I’m yours too, if you want. And if—if you don’t want to stay in the band, which I can’t blame you for because of what a fucking mess I am, then I’ll help you as much as I can. I’ll introduce you around, I’ll—”
“Oh my God, shut up
.” Sawyer reached out and tugged her close, then kissed her.
Vix kissed her back, making a sound against Sawyer’s mouth. She was still trying to talk. Of course she was.
“I can’t promise things won’t go to shit,” Vix said, when they pulled away. “I can’t promise we won’t fight or break up or whatever, because I can’t see the future. But I can see the future without you in it, and it sucks. I’m miserable, sad, and the music I’m playing doesn’t sound right.”
Sawyer’s eyes filled again, damn it, but this time she didn’t care. “Victoria, stop.”
Vix smiled and ran her hands up and down Sawyer’s arms. “Nope. Let’s do this thing.”
“No way.” Sawyer held up her hand as Vix’s smile started to fade. “I mean, yeah, but look. We can’t do that again. We need to promise to talk about stuff when it comes up, okay? I think that’s the only way this is gonna work.”
Vix nodded. “Yeah. I’ll probably do something dumb again, just warning you.”
“I can probably deal with that.” Sawyer pulled her close again and kissed her. “I know it’s been, like, a day . . . but I missed you. I was so sad. I thought I’d lost you and the band. And I guess it made a little more sense to me, too, why you were so worried about what might happen.”
Vix took her hands and squeezed. “If things don’t work between us, we’ll figure out a way to make it work with the band. But I don’t want to be miserable assuming something isn’t going to work without trying it. I kept hearing that song we wrote in my head, and the rise and fall and how you said it ends with contentment.”
“If you don’t stop making me cry, I’m going to hit you with my bow.” Sawyer sniffled. She hugged Vix, feeling the familiar curves of her body, the scent of her hair. “So, um, do you want to meet my parents?”
Vix blinked. “I mean, are they gonna be mad that I’m stealing you away from Juilliard to the life of a touring musician?”
Sawyer grinned. “A lot less now that they know you didn’t actually break my heart.”
