“I doubt my attention will be on him all that much,” I whisper, trying to save myself.
Her mouth forms an “O” shape, and then she punches me playfully on the shoulder before leading the way out.
Chapter 12
Mae
THE MOON IS HIGH as we approach Dillon’s Dance Hall. The soft lighting of the honky tonk leads me like a moth to a flame. This hole in the wall was a place for me to be completely myself early on in my journey. There are no rules here, except for the fact that you have to play country music. It was an easy enough demand for me to follow, especially early on when the only thing in my heart was three chords and a hard truth to share.
Tonight, I’ve got a whole lot more than the pain of the past in me. To my right, holding my hand I might add, is a man who has shown me nothing but his good heart since we first spoke. He squeezes me close, even now. As we enter through the back doors, I can’t help but fall into him.
Lying in wait are Chris and his wife, Linda. She wraps me in a hug, separating me from Wyatt. It’s a welcome embrace; this woman might as well be my mother. Pulling away, she brushes her hands through my hair. “We’re so glad you’re here, darlin’.”Only after she’s hugged me again does she acknowledge either of the men in the circle. “You’ve brought your man?” she asks, swatting my shoulder playfully.
Linda’s question is left behind as Chris steps up and sets his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Happy to see you back at Dillon’s.” He directs this toward me.
“I’m happy to be back,” I say, rolling back onto my heels. The door behind me opens again, and Raleigh and Dalton enter. “Of course, I had to bring the whole crew.”
Pleasantries are exchanged, and then the stage calls are made. Chris, even in his old age, still has a smile that could reel a woman in from miles away. Even so, there’s only ever been one woman for him. Linda. She gives him a kiss and sends him away. Through all the drama, rumors, and pressures of the road, the two had been able to survive. I can’t help but hope that’s potentially in the cards for me as well.
As the opener exits stage left and Chris grabs his guitar, the crew hustles to transfer the stage over. Standing there in his old pearl snap shirt and wrangler jeans, I see myself years from now. Even if the floodlights of the Opry dim for me, I hope to always have a place on the stage, no matter where that is.
“Seems like a cool guy,” Wyatt says, stepping up beside me.
“The coolest!” I sigh, watching as he prays with his crew.
Right before his set, Chris freezes and turns as if he’s forgotten something. “You’re coming on with me, right?” he hollers over the increasing frenzy of the audience.
I shake my head at him, but he and Linda don’t take no for an answer. “Same old, same old?” he asks, dangerously close to missing his queue.
“Fine! Two songs!” I call back.
“Good to have you back, Sunshine!”
I don’t get to answer; he’s already gone off to light up the room.
“Sunshine?” Wyatt asks beside me.
“I used to tour with them, and that was my nickname.” I don’t tell him that I haven’t been able to relate to the name since I was playing the smoky bars. I don’t tell him that I think I resemble more of an unexpected midnight rain than a ray of sun these days. I guess the fluttering I get inside when I’m with Wyatt is beginning to shine on the outside.
“So you’re gonna play a few with his band?”
“Yeah.” My attention is taken from the stage to the wonderful man beside me. “Sorry, I should have asked if that was okay with you first.”
“No need to apologize. I’m excited to hear what you play.” I nod.
“Me too,” I say with a laugh. “Whatever he throws at me will be fun. We should have gone through a speed round of country duets in the car.” I turn fully toward the stage and ease back into Wyatt. He welcomes me with open arms. Cradling me close, we watch as Chris finishes his opening medley and addresses the crowd.
“You do not want to hear me sing,” Wyatt breathes in my ear.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get there. I’ll break you down.” I say with an ornery laugh.
Linda interrupts our moment, approaching me with a mic. “Tell him I want to hear ‘Golden Ring.’” My stomach drops. I know it’s one of her favorites, but it’s an old Tammy Wynette and George Jones duet that I haven’t sung since a show with Trenton near the end of our relationship.
Sensing my trepidation, she holds up a hand and says, “I know, Sunshine, but I want this song to bring you joy again.” As if a song about love lost could ever bring anyone joy. “I still think you and Chris need to cut a version of it and put it on an album. Throw it in Trenton’s face for even ever attempting such a song.”
Wyatt eases off of me, and I suddenly wish there was time to explain everything to him. Unfortunately, Chris has called me from the stage.
“Good luck,” Wyatt says, hovering for a moment before letting me go completely.
