And it hits me.
Whether I like it or not, that smile hits me. And no amount of reminding myself why I’m really here can stop it.
After a few more songs and a double encore, the house lights go up, and Lou stands at the edge of the stage.
She thanks the band. The crew. The fans.
And all the while, there’s an endearing look on her face that makes me want to shield her from the inevitable firestorms ahead.
Her parents left this industry. She should know better than anyone how dark it is. How it will chew her up and spit her out without a second thought.
Yet she stands there—bright, determined—and if the set of her jaw is any indication?
Defiant.
I’m an idiot for wanting to protect her from this world.
If anything …
I need someone to protect me from her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LOU
No one ever told me how exhilarating sitting in a green room after a concert with my closest friends and band would be.
No one told me Patty would be here, either.
My friends and their significant others are scattered around the room—eating (the guys), talking to my band (the Janes), and downing Diet Coke at a superhuman rate (Millie).
And somehow, there’s Patty.
Looking all brooding and mysterious as he talks to Rusty and the other guys—Tripp, Duke, and Sonny. I fight to keep the frown off my face. I know he and Rusty are tight, but I didn’t realize he knew all of them well enough for Tripp to be slapping him on the back and Sonny to be making him smirk.
No—is that a smile?
Get him out of your head, I tell myself as an interviewer approaches.
I had a press-junket-style interview with the major outlets right after the show, but Manny and my label agreed to let Cassie Jo, a huge country music journalist, stick around tonight for a major feature.
Unfortunately for me, rather than sitting down to ask all her questions at once, Cassie Jo has taken a different approach—asking one question, wandering off to talk to someone else, then swooping back in with another.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
I’ve been waiting all night to finally hang out with my friends—or even just check my phone, which has been blowing up with texts since I stepped off stage—but Cassie Jo is still here, so I have to be on. Fortunately, she’s only permitted another five minutes.
I can grin and bear it until then.
“Lucy Jane!” Cassie Jo says as her cameraman records, and I wonder if I can request the angle that makes me look the least like my mom. “What a show. Take me back to that moment on stage where it was just you and the piano. You had a moment where I was sure you were faltering. What happened?”
The memory of the stage lights burns in my eyes, along with the adrenaline spike when my IEM failed. The idea of not being able to hear—not being able to sing accurately—was intense. But I thought I’d kept it off my face.
“It was really nothing,” I say. “My in-ear died, but my monitor engineer replaced it quickly.”
“I wondered when I saw someone run across the stage to you. Masterfully done. I bet you’re congratulating yourself on not just a good show, but a good crew.”
I want to snort, thinking of how Patty would react to that description. “I’m very lucky, yes.”
