A rush of heat burns my cheeks as I realize I just bared my soul onstage in front of a room of strangers.I flip off the mic and shove it back in the stand before giving them a nod and stepping off the platform.
People are smiling and clapping as I walk by.
“Holy shit, girl.You gotpipes.”
“Damn, I didnotsee that coming!”
“Why are you serving drinks instead of playing shows?”
I smile at them as the comments come, but hurry back behind the bar where I feel safer.When I get there, Hope says nothing, choosing to watch me with a smug smile as I grab a towel and unnecessarily wipe down the bar.
“Sound system works fine,” I mumble.
When I came in today, I told her everything that happened with Boone.She listened until I finished, then wrapped me in a tight hug and whispered, “It sucks now, but I promise it’s going to get better.”She knew I needed this outlet to pour out my frustrations and disappointments, and set them free.
“I’d say it’s never worked better,” she deadpans.
“Stop it.”I’m fighting a smile.I don’t want to admit just how good that felt, because I can still feel eyes on me.After my little performance, I don’t need to draw any more attention to myself.
Apparently, that ship has sailed.
“Well, shit.You could’ve been filling that bar of yours every night of the week if you’d just stepped on your own damn stage, Rip.”
I jerk my head around to see Zane Frisco staring at me, his hand wrapped around a beer and a broad smile on his face.
Oh crap.Where did he come from?
“I don’t perform,” I tell him.
He lifts the beer to his lips and tips back a swig.He doesn’t speak again until he lowers it to the bar.“So, what the hell would you call that?Oh, wait, we could call it God-given talent going to waste.”
I grab a towel and wipe down the perfectly clean section in front of me, needing to be doing something with my hands.Hope heads to the end of the bar where a customer waits, which officially steals my best excuse for escaping.
I finally look up at Frisco.“Please don’t say anything.No one needs to know.It’s not a big deal.”
His thumb skims along the lip of his pint glass, wiping away the condensation as I wait impatiently for him to say something, preferably that he’ll keep his trap shut.What he says instead sends ice through my veins.
“If you think that someone in here didn’t record at least part of that and post it on YouTube already, then you’re more naive than I realized.”
My gaze cuts away from Frisco and darts from person to person in the bar, as if a sign might pop up above someone’s head sayingI did it.My ass is the one you need to kick.Obviously, that doesn’t happen.
As an alternative, I decide to go with denial.“No one would do that.It was ...nothing.”
Frisco huffs out a mocking laugh.“Sure thing, Rip.We’ll just call it nothing.”His eyes lift to meet mine.“It’s better than calling it bullshit.”
“Wait, what?”The accusation has me jerking back.
Frisco’s easy demeanor dissipates.“Bullshit,” he repeats.“Because you’ve been hiding the fact that you could be opening concerts and working your way up to stadium shows right alongside me and the other assholes in this town trying to make it, and you’re over here pretending it’s nothing.You know how many people would kill to have that talent?Hundreds.Fuck, thousands.”His hands curl into fists on the bar on either side of his drink.“Instead, you’re spending your best years buried behind a bar.What a fucking waste.”
The anger in his voice hits me hard in the chest, and I shoot back in kind.
“You don’t get to decide what’s a waste and what’s not.There are probably thousands of people out there with more natural talent than me who aren’t using it, so why don’t you go feed them this line of crap?You’ve got no say on how I live my life, Frisco, so don’t even start.”
His voice drops, going low and rough.“You know why I’m here, Ripley?You think this was my dream?Hustling my way through Nashville, trying to make it?No.It was my sister’s dream, and she wanted it more than anything.More ambition than talent and common sense combined.She bought into some asshole’s line about how they could make her famous, and the next thing I know, she’s not singing for her supper, she’s fucking for it.”His furious gaze tears into me.“I came here to find her.Ready to tear this city apart, if that’s what it took to bring her home.But it was too fucking late.She was gone.My twin.Twenty-two and dead.”
The ferocity in his voice is only outweighed by the pain.
“I stayed because music was the only outlet I had.I threw myself into it, and somehow I got the lucky break she didn’t.Now I live with the guilt every damn day.”