You'd Be Mine(54)

That’s the feeling I have now. Things are ending. Not only the tour but everything.



* * *



“What was that?”

I look up from my guitar and paper. Lora stands shadowed in the doorway. She’d gone down to the bar with Fitz and Trina earlier, and I hadn’t realized she was back already.

“Just something I’m working on.”

Something like forced patience flickers across Lora’s face. I put down my guitar.

“It sounds pretty … rustic?”

“It’s a first draft.”

“I meant the tune of it. It’s not your usual flash.” I wonder how long Lora had stood there before she’d bothered announcing herself. How much she’d heard.

“I thought I’d try something different.”

She comes over to me, sitting on the couch, putting the guitar gently on the ground and straddling my hips. I can smell the alcohol on her breath. She leans forward, pressing herself against me and kissing me deeply. My mind is still in my lyrics, though, and I can’t flip that switch off, so I don’t kiss her back. She leans back, her expression annoyed.

“I’m tired of catering to the label and singing whatever radio-friendly song comes along.”

“But you’re good at it.”

“You used to think I was good at songwriting, too.”

She moves off my lap to stand, putting blessed space between us. “You used to be a barely out-of-high-school kid with a dream. We both were. Face it, Clay, some people are songwriters and some are singers. You have the face of a singer. There’s nothing wrong with that. People would kill for the measure of success you’ve landed.”

I bite back an irritated growl. “I’m more than just some singing face, Lora.”

“Sure you are, baby. I know that, but no one wants to listen to a sad sap song from the hills.”

“Lots of people—”

She cuts me off. “Sung by you, I mean.”

I close my mouth, and Lora softens her expression slightly as if to cushion a blow.

“I don’t get you, Clay. Why the change of heart? You were fine being the record label’s lackey last summer. Had the time of your life, touring on their dime. What changed?”

I know what’s changed, but I don’t feel like telling Lora about it. My brother died. I mean, he died before any of this, but it’s only hitting me just now. Booze doesn’t fix things anymore. I don’t like singing about hookups anymore. I don’t like me anymore. Maybe I never really did. Or maybe I was okay with the old me because I didn’t know any better. I’ve had a glimpse of better, and now I can’t go back.

And then there’s Annie. Annie who won’t even look at me unless we’re onstage together.

“What’s wrong with wanting more, Lora?”

“Why change what’s not broken, Clay?”

“Christ,” I mutter, standing. “It’s just a song.”

Lora levels me with a look. “It’s not just a song. It’s consuming you. You’ve been fiddling with it all weekend. Hours that could have been spent with me. Or at the very least, spent focusing on your performance. Annie Mathers is breathing down your neck, Clay. Word is she’s about to drop her album, and you’re going to be a has-been by this time next month if you don’t salvage the rest of your tour.”

I drop my hands. “What are you talking about? This is my tour.”

“Clay. Be serious. It hasn’t been your tour since Daytona.”

I’m irritated at her tone. Everyone, lately, is either talking to me like I’m an idiot or a head case, and I’m about done. “Get the hell out of here, Lora. I was here before Annie came around, and I’ll be here after she’s gone.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

“What do you know?”

“I know you haven’t signed your contract yet.”

I shrug and pick up my guitar, strumming it loudly, avoiding her gaze. “That’s not a secret. It’s tied up in legal.”

“And I know that a certain Miss Tragic Miracle is being heavily courted by Southern Belle.”

I huff. “That’s old news. Annie told us Roy had tried to talk to her, but she wasn’t interested. Something about some dark family history with Cora and Roy.”

Lora moves to the couch and scoots closer to me. My grip tightens on my guitar pick.

“Well, that’s not what I heard. I heard he’s being very persistent and backing it up with some major coin.”

“Annie doesn’t care about money.”

Lora lifts her tanned shoulder and leans back, crossing her long legs slowly. “Maybe not, but Roy’s a hard man to resist, and I’m sure she’d love to get out of Nashville and away from her past.”

That part does sound like Annie. Still, though. “So what if she does? Tour wraps in a few weeks. It’s nothing to do with me.”

“So, while Annie’s been cutting albums and courting label execs and growing a fan base, you’ve been drinking beer, getting arrested, acting sullen, and writing sappy songs. That’s what.”

I blink.

Lora’s smile is far too understanding. “You got a shit deal, Clay. We were all crazy jealous when we heard you scored Mathers this summer, but I’ve got to tell you I feel like I dodged a bullet. I doubt even her legendary mama could have survived sharing her stage.”