You'd Be Mine(53)

HEY ANNA BANANA! CONNIE TOLD ME THE BIG NEWS! SB IS A GREAT LABEL. DON’T LET HISTORY DEFINE YOUR CHOICES. WE’RE ALL HERE FOR YOU WHATEVER YOU DECIDE!

I tap my phone off and toss it on the bench across from me. The thing is, I know I shouldn’t let history dictate my life like Patrick says. I know. I’m a grown woman with my own career, and I need to make my own way. I cut my album with SunCoast because that’s who I’m contractually obligated to right now, and you don’t turn down a record deal when you’re making the numbers I am. That’s just smart business. Southern Belle swooping in after the tour and the money and the album are all complete just to cash in on the profits? That seems shady to me.

It just does. Yeah, I know the music business isn’t clean, but …

So it’s not just about Roy and my mom. That’s a factor, though. A real one. I mean, it’s gross. Super icky. And the fact that my parents killed themselves …

That makes this a gray area. In fact, my entire life is a gray area right now.

There’s a tap on the door, and I stand up with a groan. “Come in!” I say, even though I’m already on my feet. I pull open the door with a snap and see Lora Bradley standing at the bottom of my steps. Her eyes widen as she jumps back.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I thought this was Clay’s trailer.”

“Nope, mine. Clay’s probably about to get onstage.”

“Oh. Right. I’m early.”

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a throb building in the back of my skull. “You can probably get backstage and watch from the wings.”

“Of course. Maybe I’ll just surprise him.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?” I ask, hating myself for the slight note of hope in my voice. I don’t get to care about this.

“Oh, he does. I didn’t think I’d make it early enough to see him sing. Caught an earlier flight.”

“Sure. Well, his bus is the next one.” I start to close the door.

“Wait! Annie!”

I bite back a sigh, holding the door. “Yep.”

“I saw a bit of your show. You’re really great, you know? I’d love to sing together sometime. I was a huge fan of your mom’s. I looked up to her so much as a kid.”

She’s only being nice. I know this. She’s actually a sweet person. But she’s going to sleep with Clay tonight. He called her the second I made myself unavailable. And I’m just … done. Done with Connie. Done with Roy Stanton. Done with Lora. Done with Jefferson, Clay who-the-hell-ever.

“Well, you shouldn’t have. She was a terrible role model, shooting up with her daughter in the other room. I’m sorry. I have a headache and have to be back onstage in thirty minutes, and you’re making it worse.”

I slam the door in her face and promptly start crying.





20



Clay


saturday, july 27

pittsburgh, pennsylvania

Only a few weeks left of the tour, and I don’t know. It feels like the end. It’s like the last time I saw my brother alive. I woke up early to have coffee with him before he flew out. We sat in the dark kitchen, with only the stove light on, his giant green duffel at the door. He was antsy, like he always was before he had to fly. The guy faced down enemy fire for a living, but he always puked before, during, and after getting on a plane. It was the one thing I had on him. I’ve always been just as comfortable in the air as on the ground.

I can still see his long, camo-clad legs stretched out from my grandpa’s old wooden chair. I remember checking the clock, counting down the minutes until I could go back to sleep. He didn’t say anything wise or heavy. Just asked me to make sure I changed the oil in his truck and kept an eye on Lindy for him. A couple of the guys around Taps liked to close in whenever Danny was out of town. It was my job to be the Coolidge presence, even if I was only sixteen. I used to wash dishes for Maggie on the weekends to make extra money. I’d hang around the bar, hoping there would be a no-show and I’d get a chance to play. Danny knew, encouraged it. That morning, he asked me to send him any new songs. He liked to play them for his guys, he said. Lifted morale to hear songs that reminded them of being young and back at home.

I don’t know what it was about that morning. Of course, in his line of work, there was always the possibility he wouldn’t come back, but to be honest, Danny was different. He always seemed invincible to me, but I stayed with him until his ride came. When he stood to leave, I embraced him. We weren’t huggers, and he laughed in my ear.

“Whoa there, Jefferson. You going soft on me?”

I didn’t even defend myself, just shrugged. “It’s only the two of us now.”

Danny’s lips lifted in a sad smile. “I love you, little brother. Keep an eye on Fitz and Lindy for me, okay?”

I remember my throat closing. Like it wouldn’t work. As if the words had been strangled and I couldn’t say anything back.

He left, and I never went back to sleep. Instead, I wrote a song and sent it to him. They found it in his pack when he died and sent it back to me with his body. I’ve never sung it at any of my shows or on any of my records. It died with him.

That day, when my brother walked out, I felt like it was for forever. I knew it in my gut. He wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t ever know if I checked his oil. He wouldn’t see the guys come around to hit on his girl. He’d never meet his daughter.