“You okay?” Crystal asked. I’d hung back after the sound check to avoid Hank, and she stayed with me.
“No,” I said.
“You will be.” She put her hand on my shoulder then followed everyone else off the stage.
I stood there, staring out into the seats. The dream seemed so impossible now. So useless. I was destined to sing karaoke at random bars, not headline my own tour. Loser. Wannabe. Dreamer without a dream. More like dream without a dreamer. This entire thing was over before it even started. I took my mic off the stand.
Just one song.
I wanted to sing just one song for me. Not a Hank Walker song. Not a cover. Something I wrote. Unfortunately, I’d only really written one song and that was with Dylan.
A cold June day
A storm rolling outside.
The world stirs of life.
Lightning cuts the night sky
Thunder echoes inside
As he dies.
As he cries.
Daddy always said
Life isn’t meant to be
A permanent thing.
Daddy always said
Life isn’t meant to be
An easy thing.
Daddy always said
Don’t forget to fly,
Don’t forget to love.
But most of all,
Don’t forget to live.
A guitar joined me at the end of the chorus. I turned toward Dylan. He strummed the chords we’d written together. I held the mic up and sang the second verse.
July brought ice
And the funeral fire.
August turned to September
Then October came along.
Daddy was long gone,
But his words were strong.
Daddy always said
Life isn’t meant to be
A permanent thing.
Daddy always said
Life isn’t meant to be
An easy thing.
Daddy always said
Don’t forget to fly,
Don’t forget to love.
But most of all,
Don’t forget to live.
I repeated the chorus, meaning every word. Dad had told me those things before. Dylan helped me learn to live. He strummed the final chord, inches from me. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around him, pull him close. He let the guitar fall, pushing it behind him.
“Cameron,” he whispered. He touched my cheek with his fingertip.
“Please don’t make this harder.” I fought the urge to lean against his touch.
His hand fell and he backed away. I closed my eyes, wanting so desperately for him to leave and to stay. When I opened them, he was gone.
Crystal knew something was wrong when I got back to the dressing room. She tried to hug me, but I shoved her off. I needed to change and get ready for the show. By the end of the evening, nobody would even notice I smelled like ass. I didn’t care. The total devastation on Dylan’s face cracked every last string of strength holding me together.
I knew I was doing the right thing. He couldn’t stay here for me. It was not even an option. His life was in L.A. His real life. This thing in Branson was temporary. He knew it. I knew it. But I had planned on leaving. And until I realized how bad my family was off financially, I had settled on going to L.A. With him.
Dylan didn’t know that. I’d never told him. But I thought we had months left. No weeks. Not days. He never knew I was going to follow him west. Now it was irrelevant.
Crystal cocked her head to the side, and I smiled. My costume was on. I was back in the zone. It was time to fake being happy. I might as well get used to it. She put on my game face and then offered me a bottle of her favorite perfume. Clearly a sign that I reeked. I laughed at our silent exchange. We didn’t need to talk anymore. We just knew. We headed toward the stage, a cluster of excitement for the performance. No matter how pissed everyone was at Hank, this was what each of us lived for. I just enjoyed the moment. Dylan stopped us backstage.
“I need you to stall,” he said to Heath. “Just play a song, any song, and keep the crowd entertained.”
“What the fuck?” Mike snapped. “He’s not drunk again, is he?”
Dylan shook his head.
“You want Cami to sing something?” Heath asked, pointing at me over his shoulder.
Dylan didn’t even glance my way, but he shook his head again. “That would only make this worse. Just... Please? One song.”
I couldn’t see Heath’s expression, but it was enough to satisfy Dylan. And put a damper on the rest of the mood.
“This is bullshit,” Mike declared.
Heath turned around, calmer than I’d ever seen him. “Yep. But we’re going to play something. How about a little ‘Highway to Hell’?”
“Why not? We’re already on it,” Crystal said, shrugging for good measure. “Cami, you know the words?”
“Well, yeah, but Dylan said—”
“I give zero shits what Dylan said,” Heath said cutting me off. “You’re singing. Let’s go. I’ll introduce you.”
I didn’t like it. Dylan said it wasn’t a good idea. There was a reason behind that. But I also didn’t think failing the crowd, failing Mr. Reynolds was a good idea. Hank had blown two shows. What if he blew another one? Would Mr. Reynolds cut his losses. The crowds had gotten smaller in the last few weeks.
Inhaling a long, calming breath, I decided to do what was right for me. Just like staying in Branson was right for my family, singing now was right for me. I couldn’t worry about Dylan. He would be gone. But Crystal, Heath, Mike, and everyone else would still be here. We had to take control of our destiny and that meant taking control of how the show opened tonight.
I stepped onto the stage as the first chords of the classic AC/DC song echoed through the theater. Then I ran, sliding across the floor on my knees as Heath shouted my name. There weren’t any cheers or applause, but I didn’t care. I launched into the song. Halfway through the guitar solo, I saw Hank standing on the
