Smiling, I turned toward the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Hank Walker,” I shouted before continuing the next verse.
Hank stormed onto the stage with his hands in the air and Dylan on his heels. When the chorus came back around, I made it a point to sing with Hank. He put his arm around me like we were best friends. It appeared all good fun and the audience went wild when Hank blessed them with his appearance. The way he squeezed my neck was definitely not friendly.
Halfway through the chorus, I heard it. His voice cracked. It strained against the notes. If I hadn’t been singing along with him, it would have been obvious.
Hank bowed after the song ended. His Adam’s apple bobbed several times, like he was swallowing. His smile never left his face.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He shouted with a grimace. “Give it up for your own Cami Ann Harris!”
I took a bow, tossing a concerned gaze toward Dylan. His eyebrows furrowed. This was far bigger than Hank being a dick. I knew it then. I waved to the crowd and ran to my post beside Crystal. If she heard the cracks, her face didn’t show it.
We ran through the first five songs without too much trouble. Hank’s voice would crack subtly at times, more obvious at others. It sounded intentional. I willed Dylan to look at me, but he stayed on his side of the stage with his gaze firmly on the crowd. He never smiled.
Hank chugged a bottle of water as Dylan introduced the rest of the band. He did not introduce me, but Hank already had so I didn’t let it bother me. Much.
“You feel—” Hank grabbed his throat and rubbed it. “Sorry, that water—” He cracked and rubbed more. “I ca—”
Shaking his head and faking a laugh, he pointed to Heath to start the next song. Heath raised an eyebrow, but he lifted his sticks with a grin and began “Heart Thumping,” one of Hank’s more intense songs. It wasn’t the next one on the set list, either. Hank’s eyes narrowed toward Heath.
But the crowd knew the song, and they were already singing the “thump” with the bass drum. The guitars joined in. Crystal nodded toward me with a fake smile and panicked eyes. We began our part.
Then Hank turned toward the audience.
And cracked every word.
Thrown off by this development, Heath and Dylan stopped. Hank’s head dropped. The silence in the theater was deafening. My heart hammered in my chest as Hank dropped the mic and walked off stage.
Then the boos began.
It was heartbreaking.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The texts came in while I was sleeping. More like tossing and turning. The boos echoed in my head from the night before. They were wicked and nasty. I swore to myself then and there that I’d never boo anybody every again. Each one was like an arrow to my chest. If I felt this way, how had they made Hank feel? Dylan?
I rolled over and saw the green flash on my phone. When I checked it, there were five unread texts. It was just after seven. Before I could read them, my phone buzzed in my hand with an incoming call from Mountain View Resort.
“Hello?” I answered, still groggy from a lack of sleep.
“Hi, Cami, it’s Amilia. Is there any way you can come in today? We have a wedding tomorrow and I could use some extra help setting up the banquet hall.” Amilia’s high-pitched voice shot an octave higher toward the end.
I really didn’t want to go in, but I agreed. “As long as I’ll be out before the show tonight,” I added.
“Oh,” her voice hitched. “You haven’t heard? The concert has been canceled for tonight. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
My mind shot to the unread texts on my phone. I guess I knew what they said.
“Can you be here by nine?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, throwing my comforter off the bed and sitting up.
“Thanks, Cami.” Amilia hung up.
My feet hit the cold floor. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead into the palms. Things went from bad to worse. Now I didn’t even have the show. That wasn’t necessarily true. The show was just canceled for tonight. Amilia hadn’t said anything about the rest of the weekend or the rest of the summer. I needed coffee, a shower, and to clear my mind. Tossing my phone to the side, I headed toward the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, I felt awake at least. I dressed in my uniform and picked up my phone.
Mom sat at the small dining room table with a magazine and coffee. I smiled. For once she looked relaxed. I couldn’t remember the last time she looked so content.
“Hey, Pumpkin,” Dad said behind me.
I turned around, shocked that he wasn’t in his chair. Then I felt horrible for not even realizing he wasn’t there. He’d become a fixture in the living room, but he stood in front of me with a cane and a grin.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Therapy,” Dad said. His grin widened into a full-on smile. “I’m moving a bit better.”
“So I see,” I said.
His left hand still curled, and the left side of his face sagged, but there was a glint in his eye that had been dimmed. He pressed his hand on the cane and moved forward. He pulled his weak left leg behind him.
“This new doctor has been a miracle worker,” Mom said. She smiled. A real, genuine smile. I almost lost my balance. “There’s a long way to go though.”
“Yeah, I may not getting my dancing feet anytime soon, but I’ll be able to shuffle better.” Dad laughed.
I ran up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m so glad to see you moving around.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Me too.” He leaned back. “You want some coffee?”
“Yeah,” I said as I let go.
“Good, get me one too.” He laughed and shuffled toward the table.
I couldn’t stop smiling as
