You'd Be Mine(78)

By the time he finishes the verse, he’s in front of me, and the crowd is cheering his arrival. My eyes blur, but no tears fall. Instead, I smile, grabbing for his hand as we sing the last chorus together.

My glittering dawn

My twilight con

My overflowing cup

Of whiskey and wrong

My sweet release

My most, my least

My aching everything

My forbidden retreat

But if I close my eyes

And wish it all away

Pretend I’m someone else,

Pretend I’m here to stay

Gave us half a chance,

Let my stupid heart decide

There’s no doubt in my mind,

You’d be mine



Before we can catch our breaths, we’re moving forward into his hit single “Some Guys Do,” and I’m relieved to lighten the atmosphere. This is what the crowd wants. Not moony eyes and declarations of longing. They want the sass we’re known for, and we give it to them. He struts, and I swoon. I shake out of my floor-length gown to reveal a white pair of high-waisted shorts and a crop top, which he appreciatively flaunts by spinning me around the stage to grand applause.

We close with a duet, at the request of the CMAs. This year, they are honoring decades of music icons, and they asked if we could do our sort-of-famous rendition of “It Ain’t Me, Babe.”

“I want everyone on their feet for this one tonight. This little number’s been on loan to us, and while we couldn’t possibly top the original, I like to think there’s a little of Johnny and June in all of us. Let’s give them our best effort, y’all!”

Jefferson grabs a guitar from a stagehand, and I lead the auditorium in a clap to feed the beat. I’ve kicked off my shoes and twist on my toes as Jefferson hunches over the mic and laughs at my dancing as if it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

And I realize right then and there that I never want to be looked at as anything less for the rest of my life.



* * *



I don’t have time to say anything to Jefferson. I’m behind the wardrobe screen, getting back into my original gown before I can spare him a glance. They’re announcing Country Song of the Year soon, and I must be in my seat before that blasted camera whirls in my direction. Funny, I remember watching awards shows as a kid and thinking they were so tediously long when I was waiting for my parents to be on-screen.

Ten minutes later, I’m back in my spot between Kacey and Jason. I sneak a peek behind me but don’t see Jefferson and vow to try to find him after. Kacey and Fitz probably have plans. I’ll just follow them.

Focus, Annie.

I’m able to (mostly) attend to the following awards. I even hop up on my feet with Kacey to dance to a country/hip-hop mash-up. I try to be as natural as possible and forget my uncoordinated square dance moves are being broadcast around the globe, live, and simply have a good time.

Before long, the final awards are being announced, starting with Country Song of the Year. This time, there’s no hiding in the wings when they announce my name and play the sound bite of “You’d Be Mine.” The crowd claps and cheers and I bite my lip, squeezing the life out of Kacey’s and Jason’s hands, all pretense at being cool gone out the window.

When they call my name, I promptly burst into tears.

Just make it up the steps, Annie. Eff it all. I didn’t plan a speech for this one either. Did I already thank everyone?

I get up to the mic and swipe at my tears. “Y’all, my face is melting off,” I say, and everyone laughs.

I inhale through my nose, trying to quickly regain my composure. “My parents never won this award. Maybe they didn’t write enough, or maybe they just didn’t live long enough, I don’t know. But to me, this is an incredible feeling because this,” I say, holding up the statue, “feels a lot like survival.”

I release my breath and look out in the audience, catching Jefferson’s eyes, shining with pride.

“I wrote this song for a boy. A boy I fell in love with against impossible odds. So this award is for you, Jefferson. If I had to choose my favorite, you’d be mine.”





epilogue


Annie


It’s hard to believe it’s only been a year since Jefferson showed up on my front porch, hungover and put out that he’d been dragged to rural Michigan on a fool’s errand from the label.

It feels like a lifetime ago. As if we’ve lived a lifetime in those months of push and pull and heartache and discovery. I expect if you’d tallied up our experiences in those months, they’d rival any college student’s freshman year and then some. Maybe one day I’ll know for sure, but for now, I’m head over heels for this life I’ve chosen, regardless of the fame merry-go-round.

Of course, that’s easy to say right now. We leave on tour in a week, but for the moment, sitting under the willows, with Jefferson’s head cradled in my lap and the laughter of our friends and family in muffled echoes around us, it feels like we can do anything. Even survive another summer on the road.

My fingers smooth over and over in the sandy hair falling across his forehead, and my bones seem to sink into the cool, dry grass beneath us. I think if we stayed here, I’d melt into the earth, I’m so content. Everything outside of this moment feels a million years away.