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I’m fishing, and Harper’s smirk calls me out on it.
“More like what shehasn’tsaid. She’s been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about her trip to Texas.”
Someone off to the side calls her name.
Harper glances that way, then back at me. “See you later.”
“See you,” I say, then look back at the stage.
I’m nervous about this performance for a whole host of reasons.
I lay awake last night long after Piper fell asleep on my chest, contemplating what I was going to say onstage today.
I’m determined not to take the coward’s way out this time. She’s no longer living on my ranch, trying to convince me to return to music. We’re not stuck in the same place if this all goes to shit. She has a choice in the matter, and while it makes doing this no less terrifying, I know I’ll regretnotdoing it just as much.
Just like I’ve summoned her with my thoughts, Piper appears. She’s talking with two other women, one who’s blonde and looks vaguely familiar.
She spots me and offers me a small wave.
A few minutes later, she wanders over, smiling shyly as she tucks a curl behind one ear. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
I haven’t seen Piper since I snuck out of her apartment early this morning, but I woke her up before I left so that she knew I’d actually spent the whole night.
“You okay?”
“I’m good. Just…I’m planning to play a song I haven’t performed live before, and it’s”—about you—“nerve-racking.”
Piper nods, her expression serious. Then, she leans forward and says, “You’ll be fine. Just remember, it’s just like having sex.”
The smile spreads, slow and sure, so I only register I’m grinning when she winks at me. I’ve never experienced this feeling before—this warmth that’s spreading everywhere. I want to grab her hand and pull her back close to me when she steps away to answer someone else’s call.
I take a deep breath and then weave my way through backstage, nodding at everyone who greets me, until I reach the VIP section along the right edge of the stage.
Sutton Everett is onstage, performing right now. I shake hands with her husband, Teddy, who has a cute baby strapped to his chest. He has tiny headphones on and everything.
It’s a little weird, seeing her family.
Sutton and I never crossed the line between friends and more, but I thought about it.
It seemed to make sense, being with someone who understood the industry and was part of it. Someone who could commiserate over paparazzi and appreciate the songwriting process. The duet we cowrote was one of the few collaborations I’d ever participated in, but it was by far the most enjoyable. But that’s the confusing thing about chemistry. It’s illogical. Difficult to explain or escape.
Sutton wraps up her set, and then it’s my turn.
I give her a hug as she steps offstage, briefly catching up before I’m announced.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boy, do we have a special treat for you. A surprise guest even though you all know who it is. Make some noise for the king of country music, KYLE SPENCER!”
I walk out and wave.
It’s been a while since I was in front of a crowd this big. The last crowd I played for—at the fair in Oak Grove—wasn’t a tenth of this size.
The cheers climb to a fever pitch when I reach the microphone at the center of the stage, the excited faces a jarring contrast to the somber reason we’re here.
I wait for the applause to die, then speak into the microphone.
“Thank you, guys. I’m so happy to be here with you all tonight. But I’m so devastated by the reason—that Jason left this world long before it should have been his time. We’re celebrating his life tonight, and we’re also fundraising to prevent another tragedy like this from happening to anyone else. And I—”
