In the Lyrics (32 page)

I DON’T KNOW what came over me that night, but I wish I could go back and change it. Change things I said, how I acted. Things could have been different. I should have listened to him and cooled down before making such an important decision. It was the last time that I talked to Colby, the last time that I felt alive from someone’s touch. Since that night things haven’t been the same for me. I get up and do my daily routines, but I’m not really here. A small part of me died the day he walked out the door. The door I opened.

Dusty has been my only real outlet, but even he seems distant. Colby had to have filled him in on our little situation, but it’s weird to see him pick sides. Especially when it isn’t my side he chooses. It’s strange because there was no actual break-up conversation, no more conversation at all. We both just kind of went our separate ways. The stupid part is I have a thousand unanswered questions roaming my mind. If I would have just calmed down, I could have asked them then. Instead I acted like a complete bitch and lost my boyfriend in the process. I was just so ashamed of myself, and pissed off for making such a rash decision and not even caring about his feelings, that I pushed him away.

The weeks since he left have been awful and the label has been on my ass to pull myself together. So tonight I’m here, pulling myself back together and doing what I love, what I chose over the real thing.

“I’d like to thank y’all for coming out tonight and allowing me to perform for you! It’s been a roller-coaster of fun since I was asked to open for Broken Roads, but like all good things, tonight must come to an end. So I’ve got one more song for ya and then I’d like to welcome my friends from BR!”

The sound of hundreds of screaming fans in the crowd never gets old. So they paid to see someone else perform, it’s still a sweet sound. Closing my eyes, the music starts. The tempo is slow and then picks up after the first verse.

The beauty of being signed with someone is that I never have to make any decisions. That’s also the downfall. The songs I sing aren’t songs I’ve written. Hell, most of the time, I don’t even know the person behind the lyrics. Some stranger from Ohio wrote them for all I know. It’s annoying, and frankly, I’ve grown to have a love-hate relationship with Smashtown Records.

I’m still me – the girl from a small town in Tennessee, the girl who loves to sit and write songs for hours on end. I told Robert that when it’s my turn to be in the limelight, there’s no freaking way I’m going to be singing songs someone else wrote. His response was, “Yeah, okay. We’ll see what we can work out.” That’s always what people from the label are saying.

As the song comes to an end, the crowd cheers, and I am ushered off stage. Will, Broken Roads’ lead singer, tells the crowd what a pleasure it has been working with me, and then introduces his band members. Most of the time I don’t stick around and listen, but tonight I have nothing else to do. So instead of sitting on the stinky bus waiting to head back to California, I watch Will entertain his crowd. I had never heard of a gay, male country singer, other than Dusty. It was refreshing to meet Will and his band. He’s been very welcoming, and has taught me a lot of valuable lessons.

A burly arm comes up from behind me and wraps around my waist. Startled, I turn. “Just like the first night we met, you were about to shank me,” Robert jokes reminding me of that night.

“I would have, you know?”

“I have no doubt, crazy girl. Listen, I was trying to find you, but you weren’t on the bus. Do you have some time to come meet with me? There are some important decisions that need to be made.”

Important decisions?

“Yeah, of course I have time. Do you mind if I go change and then I’ll meet you?”

“Oh, yeah. Will and I will come find you after he’s done.” A security officer ushers him backstage.

Heading back to the bus, I change out of my imitation faded denim jeans and into my jeans from home. Throwing on a tank top and my boots, I feel more comfortable as I walk down the steps. Dialing my parents’ number, I press call. My mom answers and I’m excited to talk to her. I tell her about tonight’s show, and how there were actual fans that wanted my autograph.

“That’s wonderful, baby,” she says, and I can almost picture her face as she beams from my words.

“How’s Dad doing?” I wait nervously for her response.

“Hanging in there, Hens,” she admits, and it makes me wary.

“Can I talk to him?”

A few seconds later, I hear some shuffling on the other end of the receiver and then my dad’s voice. “How’s my girl?” he asks, his voice hoarse and so low, it’s almost hard to hear him.

“I’m great, Daddy,” I respond. It’s been a long time since I called him Daddy. I guess since before he cheated, but I know he needs to hear it now. We don’t know how much time he has left. I might as well make the conversations we do have worth it.

I tell him everything I just told my mom until he starts to cough and Mom grabs the phone back.

“Hey, honey. We gotta run, but call us soon, okay? Love you.” And then she hangs up.

It’s hard being away from home. It’s like you start to forget what the people who used to be in your daily life looked like. It’s especially hard when your father is dying of cancer, but Mom’s reassured me a million times that I don’t need to come home. That my dad would rather me be out here, living my dream, than at home watching him suffer.

Checking the time on the phone, I realize how long we’ve been talking, and when I look back up, my eyes spot Robert and Will walking towards me.

“What a show you put on!” Will grins as he and Robert near. I can tell he is excited and means it. That alone, the realness of his compliments, makes me happy.

“Thanks, you weren’t so bad yourself,” I tease. We’ve grown to have a brother-sister relationship over the short time we’ve spent traveling the country together. He reminds me a lot of Dusty, which is one of the main reasons I feel at ease when I’m around him.

“I wanted to talk to you both about something. Would you rather go to the hotel room or somewhere a little less private?” Robert asks, and Will and I both shrug in unison with curious expressions on our faces.

“Here is fine,” I say as I open the door to the bus and we walk inside.

Pulling a stack of papers out of his jacket pocket, Robert frowns, and my stomach hits the floor.

If I would have known today would be the day my life changed drastically for the second time, I would have been able to prepare myself. Instead, as I sit and listen to Robert talk, my palms begin to sweat. Not from nervousness, but from pure excitement.

WHO WOULD HAVE guessed that six months later, Will and I would be in Paris and part of a different label? Thinking back, our decision to branch off with Robert was the best one we both could have made. Smashtown was going bankrupt, and Robert was recruiting people to join his new solo label. It’s like a guardian angel was sitting on my shoulder that night he pulled Will and I aside.

His words replay in my head, “I’m just going to be frank. This is what’s going on – either you can sink with the company and Michael, or you can come with me. I know this is a tough decision, so I’ll let you both have some time to think about it. But when we get back to Cali, if you could just keep this conversation between the three of us, I would appreciate it.”

The drive back to LA was a long one and it gave me some much-needed time to think about my future. As much as I loved Smashtown, I hated Michael. I hated him for what he did to my relationship, and I hated him for being an asshole and acting like his shit didn’t stink. The decision was easy for Will. Yes, he had his band, but they were all starting families and planning to take time off. He said to me, “If you go. I’ll go. We started this tour together, and the way I see it you’re like my little sister now. If they’re really going under, there’s no way I want to be there to see what happens. Plus Michael’s a creep; we both know that.” It was then we agreed to ditch Smashtown, ditch Broken Roads’ band, and form our own duo.

Dusty and my mom both agreed I should leave Smashtown in hopes that Robert had my best interests in mind. So I made the best choice I knew how to at the time. Will and I left Smashtown two weeks before they closed the doors. Looking back, we know we made the right decision. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be on a stage in Paris playing in October? It’s absolutely beautiful here.

Things weren’t easy at first and we had to make a lot of decisions. It was sort of like we were starting from the bottom. What really helped us was the fact that Will already had a huge following from being with Broken Roads. Their fans became our fans. I think that people just assume that once a big label signs you, your rise to stardom is effortless. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Looking back several months, I was a nobody opening up for somebody. Nothing comes easy in the entertainment business and I’ve had to work my way to the top, with blood, sweat, and tears. But I’m here now, and I have my new label, Robert, and Will to thank for making my dreams come true.

“Are you done in there?” Will pounds on the bathroom door.

Huffing, my hairdresser rolls her eyes. “A few more minutes!”

Laughing, I pick my phone up and scroll through the contacts. Hovering over Colby’s name, my heart skips a beat. I haven’t done that in so long. I was doing so well trying to forget him and what we once had and now I’m randomly stalking his contact in my phone. It must be pre-show jitters.

Robert’s been great to work with and things have really taken off. Today is the first day of our overseas tour. It’s only a mini tour; I think we have a handful of shows lined up, but still it’s in Paris, of all places. It’s been a journey getting here. Basically, Robert had to start from scratch with his new label. Until now, we’ve mostly been in Will’s recording studio laying down our own tracks. Robert said that people eat up the glammed up country star, so in return for complete control over my music, Robert gained complete control of my image.

It didn’t take long for Will and I to lay down the tracks for our first CD. After all, since I had the freedom to write my own music, I used it to help heal. Instead of harboring my feelings, I wrote them down, and they turned into lyrics. Before I knew it, Colby and my pain from losing him became my reason to sing.

I remember the day we heard our first song on the radio. Will wasn’t nearly as thrilled as I was. Having already been in a band and having a number one hit before, he was used to it. I, on the other hand, was like a girl who just won tickets to her favorite concert. I was jumping up and down and screaming like a juvenile. It was truly a bittersweet moment knowing a song about my love for Colby was what got me on the radio, and things only escalated from there. The song hit the top and was played on every country station in the nation. And now here we are, getting ready to sing during our very own tour.

My heart aches as I sit getting my hair and make-up done, knowing how my dad’s doing, how his condition has been diminishing at an alarming rate. It makes me feel guilty about being here, living my dream. My mom called two weeks ago and said that they had to hire a Hospice nurse. The doctors say he’s lucky to still be alive, and Mom says he’s tenacious as all get out. I know I need to get home and visit – it’s been a while – but we just started this tour. My very first with me as the headlining gig. If he can just hold on, the holidays are right around the corner. Robert said we will have some time off to go home and visit with our families before our schedules get chaotic and we’re on the road again.

“You look like a Southern Belle,” Jewel, my hair dresser/make-up artist/only female friend, says with a grin. She knows how much I hate being this picture-perfect country star. It’s all a front – one she saw through the moment Robert introduced us. Jewel’s head is shaved, and her arms are covered in tattoos. I’m only envious of her because she can be herself one hundred percent of the time. Meanwhile I’ve morphed into whatever Robert and the label want me to be. That’s what sells CDs. That’s what puts money in the bank – money that covers my dad’s full-time nurse and doctor bills.

“
Bonjour!” Will says to the crowd as he climbs onto a wooden stool.

We’re playing in a smaller venue located in the heart of Paris tonight. It’s a little more intimate than our usual crowd, but I like it. It reminds me of home.

Grabbing my pink crystal microphone, I plaster on a smile as I shout, “Hi, y’all. How you doin’ tonight?”

After our introductions we start to play. I’m lost in the music and the places it brings me to. It’s like my mind turns off. Long gone are thoughts of my dad’s illness, Colby, and home. All that
fills my mind is the music.

“Just like a star, you captured my gaze

Just like a bottle, you left me in a daze

Like the melody of my favorite song, you amazed me,”
I belt out, as Will finds his spot and chimes in. We sway to the beat of his guitar. The crowd grows silent, and I know they’ve been moved by the song.