You'd Be Mine(77)

He winks at me, and I turn back around in my seat, feeling caught.

Kacey squeezes my hand again, and I remember to laugh along with the opening monologue just as a giant camera slides in front of my face, catching my reaction.

Whoa, is this stressful. Focus, Annie. It’s only a wink. Basically, an overexaggerated eye twitch. My lady parts disagree, however.

Another usher comes to my seat during a commercial break. “Time to head backstage for your performance, Willows.” I hop up, Jason and Kacey following behind. Dolly mouths, “Good luck, sweet girl,” and I swoon.

“Dolly Parton just wished me luck,” I say under my breath.

“I think Dolly Parton just pinched my butt,” Jason whispers back.

I snort. “You win.”

We’re behind the wings when I finally see him. I don’t think about my cousin or Jason or any of the stagehands or backstage reporters. All I see is him. I walk right up and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him tight and inhaling deeply, taking in his Jefferson smell. He holds me in return, not releasing me a full minute.

“I’ve missed your face,” I say simply.

He grins warmly. “Likewise, Mathers. You ready for this?”

“Born ready,” I say. My nerves are gone. Jefferson is magic.

“Good. I have to get out there, but I’ll see you soon.” He starts to go but then rushes back. “No matter what this says,” he says, waving the Best New Artist card, addressing all of us at once, “you were my favorite new artists, hands down.”

He spins on his heel, gliding effortlessly onto the enormous stage from the wings. I creep closer to watch. He reads off the teleprompter, something anecdotal about winning last year and how much his life has changed, and then it’s time for him to announce the nominees. They play a tiny clip of all our biggest hits this year, and hearing them all together, I honestly feel like any of us could win. We’re so different.

But in the end, it’s not just anyone.

“And the winner for Best New Artist is not only Country Music’s favorite trio, but mine as well … Under the Willows!”

For a half second, I’m frozen in place, disbelief grounding my slippers to the floor, but then Kacey’s bouncing and Jason’s dragging me forward. Jefferson looks directly at me, and it’s like magic all over again, and my feet move and I’m drawn toward him and his stupid-happy grin. He pulls me into a hug, swinging me around once before releasing me and letting me have the mic.

“Whew,” I say, fanning my face. “Holy hell—oh! Sorry, Gram!—I just didn’t think we would win!”

“I did!” Jason shouts from behind me to laughter. Kacey’s got tears streaming. Useless girl. I squeeze her hand.

“I guess I’m talking, and I don’t have a speech prepared because I’m not very good at planning, and I really didn’t think we’d win, so I’ll just wing it real quick. Thank you to my bandmates and best friends, Kacey Rosewood and Jason Diaz, who are standing beside me. Always. I wouldn’t be here without them. Thank you to Clay Coolidge for letting us tag along on your tour and to all the fans that came out this summer to cheer us on. We fell in love with you all, and you’ve changed our lives. Oh! Thank you to our families back in Michigan, especially Gram and Pops for letting a bunch of kids out in the world to make a ruckus! Thank you, Jesus, for this gift. We promise we won’t take it for granted.”

We’re ushered offstage as the orchestra plays us out, and we’re rushed behind a screen to do a wardrobe change during the commercial break. It takes all of thirty seconds and more hands than I could possibly recognize to transform me into something totally different before I’m shoved back onstage to a little x marking my spot in the middle. I don’t see Jefferson, but I don’t have time to panic. I practiced my half of the mash-up, so I should trust he did his. We’ll follow the cues, and it will be fine. I release a cleansing breath.

The host introduces us, including the fact that—squee!—we’ve just won the New Artist of the Year and Clay and Willows toured together this summer. “The country got a glimpse of real sorcery this summer when these two young people toured the nation, charming the pants off country music fans, and tonight they’ve reunited to give the rest of the world a glimpse of their legendary chemistry. Welcome to the stage, Annie Mathers and Jefferson Clay Coolidge!”

Soft white lights glitter on every surface, and I stand in the middle, in a gauzy white, floor-length gown. Kacey opens with a sweetly mournful melody on the strings, and I whisper my heart into the mic, singing “You’d Be Mine.” Jason does a little march on the drums, and I wonder where Jefferson is. If he’s watching me. If he’s standing behind me. I’m afraid to look, so I close my eyes as I launch into the chorus, but I can hear them. The audience is singing along—some of the most famous vocalists in the world—and it’s so powerful.

And then the song slows, Jason’s percussion stutters to a pause, and Kacey’s fiddle quiets, and I raise my mic to pick up the last, tragic verse, but before I can, Jefferson sings it instead, his sweet tenor striking a fissure into my heart as he does.

And, God, I hate myself for

Wishing

And lyin’

And thinking that maybe

You’d want to be mine