Oh, a Fender joke. I’d never heard those before.
I raked my teeth over my bottom lip and tinkered on the guitar as I leaned into the mic. “I was told very recently by a bossy little boy to promote the fact that I’m playing at the music festival outside of Murfreesboro next weekend, so I think we can cross that off the list now.” I got some chuckles from that, at least, and I heard Camden’s laughter.
With that out of the way, I glanced over my shoulder and gave the guys a nod before I started the first song.
I wouldn’t impress anyone with the guitar, not with these songs. It was an easy rhythm that stayed out of the limelight, giving more focus to my voice. And as I sang the first couple lines, I knew the lukewarm welcome I’d just received would change. It always did. Nobody expected real talent at these events.
I’d give Nonna one thing. My voice was a gift. Unlike with all the instruments I played, I hadn’t busted my ass to become good at singing. I treated it as a gift too; I was grateful, because I didn’t know if I was gonna lose it one day. I’d tried vocal coaches and herbal teas, I’d smoked and I’d given up smoking over the years, and my voice stayed the same. No better, no worse, regardless of my lifestyle.
I had the ability to shift between high and low notes, and my voice was as clear and strong as it was gravelly and strained. Nicky claimed I sang with my morning voice.
Either way…I had their attention now.
The tempo increased before we slowed it down. Then, just as some in the crowd began cheering, I played the beginning of Rising Sun, causing everyone to go silent again.
“There is a house in New Orleans—” I stayed close to the mic and peered down at the strings. “—they call the Rising Sun.”
Someone whistled sharply, and it was followed by some hollering.
“It’s been the ruin of many a boy.” I plucked quietly at the strings. “And me, oh Lord, I’m one.” Closing my eyes, I sang the rest of the verse. “My mama was a tailor… She sewed my new blue jeans. My daddy was…a drinkin’ man… Oh we lived, down in New Orleans.”
We stopped playing altogether, and I sang everything one more time without any music comping me.
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
It’s been the ruin of many a boy
And me, oh Lord, I’m one
My mama was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My daddy was a drinkin’ man
Oh we lived down in New Orleans…
I backed away from the mic and turned around, exchanging a look with the drummer before we raised the tempo and let the music take over for the duration of the song. I chuckled to myself as I improvised around Mac’s own improvisation. I couldn’t imagine being an accompanying musician and never being allowed to be creative—God knew the men deserved it and were talented enough.
By the end of the song, we were met by cheers and applause, and I nodded at the crowd. What mattered the most was Camden and August being visibly excited to see me, something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. My ex had never been interested in coming to gigs.
I returned the guitar to its stand next to an amp, then retrieved the fifty I’d put in my back pocket earlier, and I shook hands with Mac.
“Have a beer on me, guys,” I said. “If you play anywhere else, I’d like to come see you.”
He grinned and was quick to hand me a business card with the information about their band.
“We comp at smaller gigs around town a few nights a month, that’s all.”
“I’ll look you up,” I replied. “Thanks, fellas.”
“Right back at you. You were right, you know. Your version stands out.”
I smirked and offered a two-finger wave, then stepped off the platform to rejoin August and Camden.
“Have I told you how amazin’ you are on stage? Christ—your voice, sweetheart.”
I grinned through a yawn and squeezed August’s hand.
“I liked his voice too, Daddy,” Camden mumbled sleepily from the back seat. “So much.”
I glanced at him in the sideview mirror and estimated he’d be dead to the world within five minutes.
The festival area disappeared behind us, and soon, everything went pitch black.
The silence was comfortable and much needed, but it was deafening too. Only the low rumble from August’s truck could be heard. After a day of so many impressions, it was unfamiliar. So were the country roads for this New Yorker. Life down here was different.
It’d grown on me a lot, though. I loved the peacefulness of it all.
The clock on the dash struck midnight, and it was officially Monday.
In one week exactly, I was going home.
“Penny for your thoughts?” August threaded our fingers together.
I cleared my throat and ran a hand through my hair. “Just thinkin’ I have exactly one week left.”
“Mm.” He nodded slowly and kept his eyes on the road. “A lot has happened already.”
Yeah. I hadn’t even begun to process most of it.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I’d have plenty of time to think back on this experience soon enough. For now, I wanted to live in the moment and soak up every minute I had left with August and Camden.
Chapter 12
The Heart
Was that them? I coulda sworn I saw…
I refocused on the music when Nicky raised his arms in the air and started clapping, encouraging the audience to join in as I pushed us into the last chorus.
My heart pounded, my lungs burned, sweat trickled down my neck.
The heart…
Always risky business to get that involved.
“Ragazzo, why don’t you come swim with us?” I asked. “The water’s nice.”
I’d fully expected to freeze my balls off when we’d gotten into the water earlier, until I learned that August and Camden had the pool heated between March and May,
