CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dylan kept it professional over the next few days. We worked on scales, pronunciation, harmonizing, chords, and enunciation for hours. Then we worked on a song. My throat burned by the end of the sessions. Dylan set up his GoPro and recorded us. As much as I hated denying the chemistry we had, it was so clear on the recordings. We sang together like we were about to make love in front of the world. During the last one we recorded, Dylan and I stared at each other the entire time. My body shivered when we sang it, but watching the video back, it burned white hot.
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
