You'd Be Mine(14)

I grunt. “So, she sings like an angel, plays like the devil, pitches championships, and slays amusement park games. Is there anything you can’t do?”

She passes the tiger to a squealing Kacey. “Yeah. I can’t hold my cotton candy.”

“We’re going to hit a few more rides before dark,” Fitz says.

Kacey’s looped her arm through his, and they look for all the world like they’ve been together for their entire lives.

“I’m good for a few more,” Jason says around a mouthful of hot dog.

“I think I’ll sit the next few out.” I look to Annie, who gives me a half smile.

“What about the Ferris wheel?”

I follow her line of sight to the biggest Ferris wheel I’ve ever seen. It’s one of those ginormous deals that only goes around once because it takes so long.

I shrug. “That sounds okay. Nice and slow.”

She grins full on now. “Exactly.” We agree to meet back in an hour or so and weave through the vendors and crowds to the Ferris wheel. When we finally make it to the entrance, we both stare straight up.

“No fear of heights?” I check.

“Well … I don’t actually know. I didn’t think so … but now…”

I grab her hand. “Come on. Don’t overthink it.”

Annie gives me a wry look.

“What?”

“Nothing. Going to be an interesting summer, is all.”



* * *



Moments later, an attendant slams the door to our carriage with a loud click, and my gut swoops as we lift in the air. Annie watches out the side, and I take in the sight of her frizzed curls whipping in the warm breeze.

“I saw you perform once, a few years back,” she says suddenly. She doesn’t look at me, still staring determinedly at the scenery.

“Where?”

“Chicago? Young Stars.”

That was the last place I’d expected. My face scrunches, and I shift on my bench. The carriage rocks in response, and Annie grips her side tighter, tensing.

“I’m surprised you remember that. I try to forget it myself.”

She lets out a soft laugh, still holding on. “I doubt anyone who saw you that day would’ve forgotten. You left your audience in a puddle of hormones.”

I groan, rubbing at my face. “Don’t remind me.”

She’s merciless. “If memory serves, you wore highlights in your hair back then. Sort of Bieber-esque. In fact,” she continues, moving closer to the middle of her seat. “Didn’t you sing Bieber?”

“Please stop,” I beg, but I can’t help the grin twitching at my lips at her snark. “For your information, it was Hunter Hayes.”

Her blue eyes dance. “My bad. You’re right. Hunter Hayes is much better. The twelve-year-olds went wild.”

I let her have her laugh before raising a brow. “And yet you seem to remember it quite well.”

“Naturally.” She shrugs. “I was barely older than twelve myself.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, laugh all you want. That’s the show that got me the attention of the label.”

“Okay, fine. Full disclosure. I was fifteen. And I didn’t even see you or the atrocious highlights at first. I remember because I was in the middle of prep on a smaller stage when I heard your singing over the loudspeakers. I missed a step and fell down the stairs. Had this totally embarrassing purple bruise from here to here.” She gestures from her knee to her upper thigh. “A medic rushed over, and there was this small crowd of onlookers, but I just plowed through them, bleeding and deranged, trying to get my eyes on the owner of that voice. It was no shock to me when I heard you on the radio last year.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

She tilts her head to the side, squinting. “Maybe not. We’re our biggest critics, aren’t we?” She tugs her shorts up on one side and points to a thin scar about three inches long. “Believe it, man.”

I clear my throat. “I heard you before, too. In Michigan, last summer. We were local for our tour, and I like to hit the county fairs on my nights off to scope out new talent … or competition, as it were.” I nod in her direction, and her mouth drops open comically.

“I didn’t think anyone knew we did those. We certainly didn’t have scouts turning up and offering us contracts at that point.”

“Would you have signed if they had?”

She shakes her head, easing back into her bench. We’re nearing the top now, but neither of us are taking in the view. “No.”

“Why? You obviously love it. I saw you—not only at the fair but at Lula May’s. You’re a performer; it’s in your blood.”

She speaks quietly—so quietly I can barely make it out. “I do love it, more than anything. That’s what scares me. I know it’s hard to understand, and I don’t think I really get it myself, but it’s like music is tied to everything happy and awful in my life. All my highs and my lows. I mean, look at all of them down there.” She peeks over the side and gestures at the throngs of people milling around like tiny, faceless insects. “Can you imagine? They don’t have to sing and parade around onstage to be happy—to feel whole.” She looks back at me, her eyes wide and piercing. “But I do. My parents did, too. To the point that they died for it.” She shakes her head. “I tried to do something else—be something else—but I couldn’t. I can’t shake it.”