There is no back. My ass is the only thing covered by the expensive-feeling fabric. My ink is on display and I feel proud of it for once, instead of the need to hide it. Taking a deep breath, I commit to this dress. I can do this. I can play and perform and . . . and who the hell am I kidding? I dig in my bag and find a black leather blazer-style jacket. Pulling it on, I feel a lot better. Hot and a little sweaty, but less exposed.
My hair is a lost cause as usual so I stick a few bobby pins in to pull the sides and front out of my face. Putting on some mascara and a shiny lip gloss, I decide this is the best it’s going to get.
My favorite black boots with the skull zippers await me and I slide them on and repeat the method that I still believe brought us here to begin with.
I send up a silent prayer that this is it, for the band, for Dallas and Gavin and myself—the chance to stop living behind the shadows of a painful past and start living our dream.
Chapter 25
AFTER I’VE GOTTEN COMPLETELY READY, I CALL PAPA TO TELL him about the showcase. Once again I get his voice mail and contemplate sending Mrs. Larson over. But it’s nearing his bedtime so I picture him dozing in his favorite chair listening to his talk radio station while I give his voice mail a brief rundown that includes Mandy and the interview with the Indie Music Review and the showcase.
When I step off the elevator, I see that the lobby is crowded with people congregating in small groups. I make my way down wishing that I’d gotten Oz out of the van instead of letting a stranger drive him to the showcase. Too late to worry about that now, though.
“There she is,” Mandy calls out from across the room where she stands with Dallas and Gavin. Dallas is wearing jeans I don’t recognize but suspect she bought him and a sleek black sport jacket. My brother is much more of a T-shirt and flannel with cowboy hat kind of guy so I’m almost as taken back by him as Gavin seems to be by me. “Gang’s all here.”
Gavin’s doing his glarey, broody stare, which I now know is his I-hate-that-I-want-to-fuck-you face. He looks almost as uncomfortable in his all-black attire as I feel.
“Is that a tie you’re wearing, Mr. Garrison?” I say, giving the skinny black tie a tug as we fall in behind Mandy and Dallas and head to the car.
“I don’t know,” he bites out at me. “Is that underwear you’re wearing, Miss Lark?”
“Actually I’m not wearing any,” I whisper conspiratorially to him. “There wasn’t any room for them under this dress.”
His eyes darken and the world around us falls away. He stalks past me without another word.
Well now he’s just hurting my feelings.
I don’t speak to anyone on the drive to the venue. I just watch out the window as the busy streets of Nashville blur by. Mandy makes a comment about my jacket but I don’t bother engaging. Whatever her game is, I’m not playing.
This is a big night and it’s not about me, or her, or even Gavin. It’s bigger than each of us as individuals, more powerful than we could ever be on our own. This is about the band, about everything we’ve put in to the success of Leaving Amarillo. The sacrifices and the time and the dedication. Blood and sweat and tears and nights and days in vans and rehearsing for hours on end. Not just us, but Nana and Papa gave everything they had to support our dream, too. Playing helped heal us when we were three broken kids and I’m not letting anyone get into my head and get in the way of what we’ve worked so hard for.
I glance over at Gavin and watch him drum his thumbs hard against his knees. My gaze lingers on his hands and for a brief second I remember how they felt on me. But when he feels my stare and turns my way, I resume staring out the window.
No, nothing is going to get in the way tonight. Not even my stupid heart.