You'd Be Mine(69)

The stadium erupts, and we share a laugh. Either kids have been shoring up their Johnny Cash knowledge or our reputation has preceded us. Either way, this song is really more for Jefferson than them anyhow.

He starts to pick out the opening chords, and I pick up my heels and twist on bare toes, kicking out my feet and waving my hands around my hips in an old-fashioned twist. He takes a long look at me before stepping up to his mic and belting out the first lyrics in his gravelly tenor. I bite my lip. Lord, he’s all charm.

I raise my own mic to respond in like, not stopping my dancing. Kacey and Fitz are plucking away on their fiddles, and Jason is back on the shaker, probably paying more attention to the ladies in the front row than his performance.

But for me, it’s all about the clear-eyed, handsome man in front of me.

There’s an interlude, and as he artfully plucks at his strings, I twirl and clap with the beat. His eyes are crinkled at the edges, and I can tell I’ve made the right choice with this song. It’s like watching someone in the comfort of their own home. He’s genuinely at ease here. This style suits him, and my only regret is that the song is so short. We battle good-naturedly for another refrain before the song wraps.

But before I can manage to step off the stage, Jefferson is transitioning into another familiar melody. Not a duet. Chills roll up and down my bare limbs as he positions himself in front of the mic again. The stadium is absent of sound as though everyone is holding their breath. He sings “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.”

Hot tears spring to my eyes, blurring everything around the edges. I’m frozen in place. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking I should move to a mic. I should harmonize. I should sway. I should grab that stupid egg shaker from Jason, but I can’t.

I can’t move. I can’t think straight. I can’t look away from his beautiful face. He closes his eyes as though he can’t stand to look at me, and the pain of it threatens to overwhelm me in front of all these people.

It was pretend. It was supposed to be this act professionals do for laughs. For profit. For whatever it was until it no longer was any of those things for the two people that mattered: me and him.

It became so much more, and yet it doesn’t matter because he’s going home and I’m going up the charts. There is no what-if in this scenario. A gorgeous public offering is all we have. I said my piece, and now he’s said his. When the song closes, Jefferson drops to his knees in front of me and takes my hands, kissing them. Tears pour down my cheeks, and I know my makeup must be running like crazy on the big screens, but I don’t care. I laugh through my tears and tug him up before wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him on the mouth. Only once. Quick and soft and lonely.

The tour has come to an end.





28



Clay


six months later

indianapolis, indiana

It’s a packed house again tonight. Third Thirsty Thursday in a row that I’ve managed to fill every seat, and Petey looks about ready to kiss my boots. I don’t mention in another life I filled stadiums twenty times this size. He might start charging me for my root beers, then.

It’s not Wrigley Field, under the lights in August, but I get to wear my ball cap, sleep in my own bed, and sing whatever the hell I feel like. Tonight, I feel like a little Garth Brooks. I also tossed in a few newly written originals in between and no one’s booed me out, so that’s a good sign. There have even been a few women at the bar giving me eyes. They’re not my type, but I bet Jason’d make a killing.

I ignore the pang in my chest at the thought of my friends. I’m able to compartmentalize Before and Now pretty well, even when performing, but occasionally the memories worm their way in. Like that one time last week when someone shouted out a request for Cash.

I won’t play Cash. Not without her.

A rush of fresh air wafts its way up to the small stage. I squint through the cheap, bright lights as a familiar form saunters up toward the stage and takes a seat at a table in the front, never mind that there’s been a party there all night. I smile to myself as he makes himself at home. Fitz is back in town.

Good. It’s been too quiet around here. Of course, that’ll last a week or so and I’ll be texting his girlfriend to come get him again.

I lead the bar in the chorus of “The Thunder Rolls.” I’ve considered playing one of my own hits, for old times’ sake, but I worry I’d be pushing it. I’ve changed my name, going by Jefferson Daniels now, but everyone has camera phones these days and I don’t need Trina to find me. I realize I can’t hold her off forever, but I can for a little longer at least. Singing music is different from, say, being in a movie or on a Netflix series. Off the main stage, few people recognize me as Clay. They might think we sound similar, but I basically look like every other nineteen-year-old guy on the planet.

“Y’all have been incredibly gracious this evening. I hope you’ll oblige me a little more before I take a break.” A couple of boos ring out, and I don’t bother to hide my grin. “Easy, there. A man’s got to eat. But before I do, this next one is brand new. Let me know what you think.”

I close my eyes, strumming gently on my granddad’s old guitar. The frayed strap is like an embrace.

Take me away to where the sawdust spirals

Where it smells like fresh-cut pine and white oak