I don’t have to wait long to find out how Mandy plans to use her leverage. We have twenty-five minutes from the time Dallas says, “Welcome, y’all. We’re Leaving Amarillo, managed by Mandy Lantram. Thank you for having us,” into the microphone until we sing “When You Leave Amarillo,” an obscure song from long before our time that Dallas found on YouTube and had us put our unique twist on.
The butterflies come to life in my belly in perfect time with the tingling that begins in my toes and ends at my head. I tame the fluttering creatures with my notes, finding my peace on stage when they begin to dance to the music I’m creating instead of slamming around wildly.
The audience seems divided, more of them perking up and paying attention when we play “Whiskey Redemption” while several of them return to texting or chatting with the person next to them during our covers. I stop noticing them and focus on playing, on putting the passion Gavin poured into me into Oz. I live between the strings, playing as though my soul is trapped there and the only way to set it free is to play every note perfectly.
I almost miss a cue because Dallas notices that the standard country covers aren’t holding anyone’s attention and throws in a few more originals and a reworked R&B hit we’ve only rehearsed a few times. By the time it ends, I can’t breathe. I’ve been so caught up, I don’t know if we blew the room away or fucked it up completely.
Dallas thanks the audience and carries his guitar offstage. Gavin is behind me when we exit stage left, drumsticks tapping out my anxiety on one another. I want to grab them and throw them. I’m placing Oz in his case when Mandy meets us backstage.
“That was a decent show, guys,” she says, giving my brother a pointed look. “It could’ve been better. I think I saw better than that in Austin, which is unfortunate since this is the show that actually matters.”
“All of our shows matter,” Gavin says evenly.
“Right, of course.” Mandy stops in front of Dallas. “Thankfully each band gets to play an encore. So hopefully that will go a little smoother. I’d like to chat briefly about song choice for that one. But first, Dixie, can we talk?” She steps around my brother, gently placing a hand on his forearm. “Private girl chat, you understand,” she says to Dallas and Gavin, dismissing them. I don’t bother giving either one of them pathetic please-don’t-leave-me eyes because there’s no point. Gavin catches my gaze and I nod that I can handle her.
Once they’re gone, I fold my arms over my chest and level her with an even stare. “What can I do for you, Ms. Lantram?”
“I don’t think I need to point out that you were a little off out there.” She smirks at me, making it clear that this goes without saying. “What I do want to say is that Dallas is an amazing talent, and it’s about time you stepped aside and let him shine, don’t you think?” She admires her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror I didn’t even realize was next to me, as if I’m no longer standing there.
“Or what?” I already know the answer, but for some sick reason I need to hear it out loud. From someone else.
“You know, it’s funny. I asked your brother about you and Gavin when I first reached out to him in Austin.”
I do my best to keep my expression placid, but I hate the sound of Gavin’s name in her mouth. She runs her perfectly manicured fingers over Oz’s case and I have the sudden urge to smack her hand the way Nana used to do mine when I reached for a cookie on the stovetop before they’d cooled.
“Want to know what he said?” She turns her full attention to me, and I shrug.
“Pretty sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”
Her plump red lips curve. “He said, and I quote, ‘We’re like family, the three of us. Gavin is like a brother to me and Dixie both. Always has been.’”
I arch a brow because in some ways, this is true. Gavin looks out for me, does his best to keep me safe, even from myself. “Your point?”
“My point is I’m pretty sure there’s nothing incestuous happening between you and Dallas.”
My face contorts in disgust. “Seriously?”
“But I see it, the way you and he look at each other. The drummer, I mean.”