The Road to You

by Alecia Whitaker

  Digital Galley Edition

  This is uncorrected advance content collected for your reviewing convenience. Please check with publisher or refer to the finished product whenever you are excerpting or quoting in a review.

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Alecia Whitaker

  “Shine Your Light” music and lyrics © Alissa Moreno

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Hachette Book Group

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  Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company.

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  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  First Edition: July 2015

  Wildflower was conceived by Kathryn Williams and developed by Aerial Publishing LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Whitaker, Alecia.

  The road to you : a Wildflower novel / by Alecia Whitaker.—First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: “Rising country music star Bird Barrett is on a national tour where she meets a cute roadie, and the two start to date, but when Bird moves to LA, she is swept up in the Hollywood lifestyle and the mounting pressures of her professional music career begin to affect her personal life”—Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-316-25140-2 (hc)—ISBN 978-0-316-25141-9 (ebook)

  [1. Musicians—Fiction. 2. Country music—Fiction. 3. Dating

  (Social customs)—Fiction. 4. Fame—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.W57684Ro 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014032150

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  RRD-C

  Printed in the United States of America

  E3

  Contents

  COVER

  DISCLAIMER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A PREVIEW OF SHINE YOUR LIGHT

  SHINE YOUR LIGHT

  This one’s for Jerrod—glad the road led me to you

  1

  “BIRD!” A GROUP of fans shout as my dad holds open the back door of a radio station in Baltimore, Maryland. Maybe two dozen people wait with Sharpies and posters, CDs, magazines, T-shirts, their own forearms, anything that I might be willing to autograph. Not too long ago, I would have been surprised at the crowd, might even have turned my head to see what the fuss was about, but in the past two months, since my album, Wildflower, has been out, I’ve come to expect this craziness as part of my new life. “Bird!” they cry, bodies pressed close as they angle for position behind a barricade and a bored police officer. “Bird, over here!”

  “Go get ’em,” my dad says with a grin as we step out into the sunny parking lot. This is my favorite part—interacting with my fans. My fans!

  The whirlwind publicity tour Anita Handler put together has had a sink-or-swim feel as she’s whisked me from TV interviews to public events, from benefits to radio stations like this one. It’s been exhausting but exhilarating—especially since the album is performing beyond anyone’s expectations. When Dan Silver, the president of my label, Open Highway Records, called to tell me that Wildflower had sold over thirty thousand copies on iTunes in the first week, I was so shocked that I dropped my phone and cracked the screen. He made sure to break the news about my second single, “Sing Anyway,” in person: It topped both the Hot Country and Hot 100 charts. Seeing my name on top of the Billboard for “Notice Me” was amazing, but seeing it a second time was the most incredible feeling I’ve ever had. Like it wasn’t a fluke. Like I was meant to do this.

  “Hi!” I call to the crowd, reaching out for a CD and a marker.

  “Oh my God, it’s like you wrote ‘Yellow Lines’ just for me,” a young girl gushes as other people squish in close to her. “My dad’s in the military, and I’ve already been in, like, seven schools.”

  “Yeah, moving around can be hard,” I reply.

  “I am obsessed with ‘Sing Anyway,’ ” a girl next to her says.

  “Oh, thanks so much,” I say. I move on, working my way down the line. I know that Anita will try to drag me off soon, saying that we are on a tight schedule and that I should “always leave them wanting more,” but it’s hard to pull away. I’m so motivated hearing that people connect with my music.

  Speaking of my publicist, I kick it into high gear when I catch a glimpse of her approaching out of the corner of my eye. I grab for CDs and posters, smile in the direction of camera phones, and sign Bird Barrett as fast as I can, my signature a B with a loop to another B followed by a squiggly line as I scribble quickly, trying to get to everyone. I want to reach them all, and I hate that inevitable moment when Anita click-clacks over to me in her heels to lead me off.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she says now, her harsh New York accent always a little jarring. She puts her arm around my waist, expertly positioning herself between my fans and me, beaming at them as we pass. “Be sure to follow Bird on Twitter while she opens for Jolene Taylor’s Sweet Home Tour this summer,” she calls. “Tickets are on sale now at Bird Barrett dot com.”

  I’m being wrangled toward a black Lincoln town car waiting for me at the corner, but a girl in a wheelchair desperately reaching over the barricade stops me in my tracks.

  “Hi there,” I say.

  “Bird, I love you! I’m your biggest fan, I swear!” she says in a raspy voice.

  Anita tugs on my arm, but I don’t budge. I very rarely give her any pushback—after all she’s the pro, and to put it frankly, Anita’s pretty intimidating—but there’s something about the girl who’s calling out to me now. Her friends look to be about my age, so I’m guessing she is, too, but her eyes are too big for her sallow face and her cheeks are sunken. She fiddles self-consciously with her oxygen tubes as she speaks.

  “I’m your biggest fan, Bird. Biggest. By, like, a million percent,” she declares. “I know every word to every song, and ‘Sing Anyway’ is my absolute all-time favorite. I bought the download and the CD, which—could you please sign?”

  “Sure,” I say as she ha
nds it to me.

  “B-E-X,” she dictates as I scribble a note on the case. “When I started chemo, I made my dad find me this wig,” she says proudly. “I call it my Bird Barrett look.”

  “Oh, wow,” I say, noticing her long, golden-red tresses. “That’s a wig? Dang. My hair looks better on you than me.”

  She beams. “My dad’s driving me and all my friends up to Philadelphia when you come through on Jolene Taylor’s tour. It’s pretty much the greatest present I’ve ever gotten.”

  I frown. “Hmmm. Better than backstage passes?”

  Bex blinks. One of her friends grips her forearm, and their smiles vanish in shock. “Backstage? Are you serious?”

  I grin. “By about a million percent.”

  Anita links her arm through mine again, and I know it’s time. I can read her mind: Plane to catch. But for once, I stop still and stare a hole through her, giving her the opportunity to read mine: Do something.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Anita finally says in a huff. She shakes her head as she pulls a business card from her purse, then she turns toward the girls with an obviously forced smile that nearly makes me laugh out loud. “How about this?” she asks Bex. “You e-mail me at this address, and I’ll send you all-access backstage passes for Philly. You can even tour Bird’s bus. She helps out her biggest fan, and you become the talk of your high school for something other than your cancer.”

  I cringe at her bluntness, but Bex doesn’t even blink.

  “That’s amazing,” she says, clutching Anita’s business card to her chest. She falls back in her chair as if she’s just fought twenty rounds of boxing and won. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “See you later this summer,” I say as we end our exchange. I wave at the crowd as we walk toward the car, hating the disappointment I see on the faces of the people whose stuff I didn’t get to sign. My dad holds open the door, and I duck inside, Anita right behind me.

  I buckle up and look out the tinted window at the fans, my focus falling on Bex and her friends. I can’t believe my publicist actually said for something other than your cancer. I shake my head.

  “What’s wrong, Bird?” Anita asks as if she can read my mind.

  “Nothing really,” I say. I turn toward her and try to choose my words carefully. “It’s just that—Anita, you know I love you. But you’re so… direct. Like, I know you meant well with that girl, but—”

  “But I made her dream come true?” Anita interrupts. She wears a look of satisfaction as the car starts moving. Then she holds up her phone. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

  On her screen is a text from Dan:

  Billboard in. “Sing Anyway” holds #1 for 4th week!

  And although I may question Anita’s methods, she doesn’t leave room for anybody to question her results.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get over the unlimited cookie selection,” I say as I grab a snickerdoodle from the flight attendant’s tray. The label has rented a private plane for us a couple of times to get me between appearances, and I still can’t get used to it. “To think some people would kill for a bag of peanuts on a flight.”

  “Oh, Bird, not again with the guilt,” Anita says, sliding her window shade closed and squeezing a lime into her gin and tonic. I’ve finally discovered the kryptonite of my tough-as-nails publicist: flying. “I’ve told you over and over that we are developing your image. Your aura. Regular people fly coach, and you are no longer a regular person. You’d be mobbed if you flew commercial.”

  “Did you text your mother?” my dad asks, settling into the seat across from me.

  “Yep. They should be here any minute.”

  “There’s your silver lining, Bird,” Anita comments. “Think of the gas we’re conserving by letting your mother and brothers hitch a ride today.”

  I roll my eyes, and she smirks.

  “Back on the Internet again, huh?” my dad comments, indicating the iPad Anita got me. He grabs his book of Sudoku puzzles from his bag. “I swear, if you’re not writing or performing, you spend every other waking moment online. Do they have a sleep app?” he teases.

  “Oh, that’s genius,” Anita pipes up. “I’d pay big bucks for an app like that.” I look up at her and laugh even though she’s not joking. Anita’s entire life consists of work and running my life, and I’ll tell you one thing: I’m glad she’s in my corner.

  I pull up Twitter and scroll through the mentions, retweeting and favoriting some as I go. “I know you guys think I’m crazy, but this is the best part.”

  Anita leans across the tiny aisle and reads over my shoulder. “ ‘Hashtag whythehype for at BirdBarrett? She should lead summer camp sing-alongs, not open for legend Jolene Taylor. Hashtag overrated.’ ” Anita smirks. “That’s the best part?”

  My chest burns from the insult. Those comments hurt—they really do—but they’re the minority. For every negative comment, there are fifty positive ones. “Well, not that exact tweet,” I say, “but interacting with my fans.” Then I reply to the mean tweet aloud as I type. “ ‘I love summer camp!’ ”

  Anita rolls her eyes. “Waste of time,” she mutters, taking a sip.

  “Maybe I want my aura to be friendly,” I say.

  Anita harrumphs just as the rest of my family walks onto the plane.

  “Let’s get this party started!” my oldest brother, Dylan, yells by way of greeting. He, my mom, and my other brother, Jacob, are boarding the private jet for the first time, and their faces say it all: This is the way to fly.

  I stretch and have to admit that while I sometimes feel guilty flying private, it has been nice to be on a plane that can actually accommodate long legs like mine. And the comfort of the small cabin takes me back to the days when my family and I traveled the country in an RV playing bluegrass music at honky-tonks and festivals. Plus, it’s pretty sweet getting both a window and an aisle, the leather seats and the little TV are awesome, and I can’t complain about skipping all the lines at the airport.

  But as much as I have come to enjoy these flights, tonight it all feels different. That last tweet reminded me of our destination: the CenturyLink Center in Omaha, where I will be the new opening act for country music goddess Jolene Taylor and her Sweet Home Tour. Ever since Dan called me with the news that I’d be joining the last leg of her tour, my emotions have gone back and forth from excited to anxious, pumped to be onstage again and terrified that I won’t be good enough. Jolene is a Nashville fixture and a member of the Grand Ole Opry. To open for her is a life-changing opportunity, and I’m worried I won’t live up to the high expectations. What if I screw it all up? What if the fans don’t like me live? I mean, they’re mostly going to be Jolene’s fans: middle-aged women with car pools and careers. What if they hate my stuff?

  I pull up the Billboard website. It’s both mind-blowing and comforting to see my name at the top, to see “Sing Anyway” right there above Justin Timberlake, to realize, as my best friend, Stella, pointed out, that that means J.T. knows who I am. That guy brought sexy back, and he knows who I am.

  And although this Thursday is a good one with my single still on top of the charts, I can’t help but feel my stomach flip when I see a Billboard story about new country artist Kayelee Ford. I click on the article and read about her album; her label, Great American Music, and its president, Randall Strong, who originally tried to sign me; and how her first single, “Be Like Me,” is already climbing the Hot 100, inching its way closer to mine. I know I shouldn’t, but I do a Web search of my competition and gasp audibly when it takes me to a tabloid’s side-by-side comparison of the two of us. There is a picture of me singing in the studio in my Open Highway sweatshirt right beside a picture of her singing to a crowd of spring breakers in a bikini, with the headline FORD FLIES AFTER BIRD, BUT WILL SHE CATCH HER?

  I gulp hard and scan the article as the plane taxis to the runway. Then I close the browser window and immediately go to my fan forum. As we prepare for takeoff, I upload a selfie from my radio interv
iew today and promise my fans a major autographed-swag giveaway if I get one hundred thousand “likes” by the time I land in Omaha. It doesn’t take long for the post to gain momentum, and when the comments start to pile up, I take a deep breath and feel better. I look out the window as we race down the runway, gaining speed until the landscape is a blur. Once we’re in the air, once the plane has taken a couple of dips as we gain altitude, once we’re steady and above the clouds, I allow myself to refresh the page. I smile when I see that I’m already halfway there.

  Catch me if you can.

  2

  “RIGHT THIS WAY, Miss Barrett,” Jordan, the stage manager, says as she directs me through the back halls of the CenturyLink Center Omaha. Our footsteps echo on the polished concrete floors as I follow her past huge speakers and instrument cases, past roadies in black jeans and black T-shirts, and into the bright, cold stadium. My heart is racing. My pulse is pounding. My grip is tight on my fiddle and bow. I step over taped-down wires and think how different everything feels in the arena, how massive it all is, how many greats have come before me, how important it is that I live up to this gig.

  The band waits for me onstage, and I follow Jordan up a set of narrow steps, eager to join them. It feels slightly reckless that we’re meeting for the first time this morning and performing together for the first time tonight, but when Dan Silver wants something, he makes it happen.

  When Jolene’s tour started at the end of May, the opening act was another band on her label. According to Anita, though, Jolene was pressured into replacing those guys because her people felt she needed “a young artist to attract a younger fan base.” Dan worked his magic, booked me for the remainder of her tour, and lined up these backing musicians. In an ideal world, I’d get a few days to rehearse and get to know the band, but with the timing of my publicity tour, we don’t have that luxury. It’s go time.

  Jordan walks to the middle of the stage, motioning my band leader over as she announces, “Hey, everybody, this is our new opener, your lead singer, Bird Barrett.”