Not hope. Not quite. But the sense that maybe I haven’t entirely slipped off the map.
And unfortunately, opening the door to that possibility also opens the door to the shame that’s lurked at the edges of my life for years.
I want to shut it all down, to lock it in the deepest recesses of my mind. But it’s harder now, with Lou unwittingly holding the key.
No.
I can’t think like that.
I won’t let myself entertain the idea that she has my number … or that she’s determined to figure it out.
This is my last shot, and nothing can get in my way.
Lou’s pretty blue eyes flash through my mind.
I ignore them.
Nothing.
The bar is quiet as I lock the door behind me.
One last look.
One last breath.
My fingers drift into my pocket, closing around the slick metal of the flash drive. I pull it out, rolling it between my fingers, the weight of it suddenly heavier than before.
I could watch it now. Just plug it in, let the past spill out onto the screen.
My thumb runs over the edge of the drive, then clenches.
I shove it back in my pocket, harder than necessary.
Not yet.
The next morning, I’m in my buddy Rusty’s truck as he drives me to Columbia, South Carolina, where Lou’s rehearsals are.
I talked to Lou’s manager, Manny, last night. After answering every question he threw at me, he gave me the info on where to meet today.
“Listen, Lucy Jane isn’t messing around with the tour stipulations,” Manny warned me. “You seem like you know your stuff. You sure you can commit to six months of this?”
“Six months?” The word jumps out before I can stop it. “I thought it was three.”
“The Southern states locations sold out so quickly, the label added a lot more stops.”
“No kidding,” I say, annoyed and impressed in equal measure.
But I can’t let myself be annoyed just because I think pop belongs in Rice Krispies and not country music.
“I can commit for as long as need be,” I told Manny, content to let him interpret that however he wanted.
I interpreted it to mean: as soon as I talk to Nash.
If he interprets it differently, that’s on him.
“So, how you feelin’?” Rusty asks. The truck rolls past foliage so dense, if you don’t know where the turns are, they’re almost impossible to find.
“I’m fine. Ready.”
