Page 31 of Playing With My Heart Strings

The bar patrons cheer, encouraging him to move toward the stage. I follow, taking a seat at one of the tables as he hops up on stage.

“You haven’t changed one bit, Brooke.” He chuckles as she hands him a microphone.

I recognize her then, when he says her name. Brooklyn James was at one point an up-and-coming artist just like Dusty, but she fell out of the spotlight a couple years ago. No one really knew if it was on her own terms or not, but she clearly never gave up music since she’s still playing small venues. I can’t help but wonder why she didn’t try to come on the show when they start performing together. They have a connection, that’s for sure, but part of me thinks it’s purely platonic when she invites me up on the stage after their song is over.

“Why don’t you play a song with your lady now, Dusty?” She elbows him in the ribs.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I protest. The last time I performed in a bar it went viral.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Mischief shines in Dusty’s eyes as he extends a hand to pull me up on stage. “Come on, Baylor, darlin’. Y’all, she’s America’s Sweetheart, and you’re about to find out why.”

I roll my eyes as I take his hand, climbing up next to him.

“This one’s a classic.” He turns around and whispers something to the band. The guitarist nods, and the familiar intro starts, just like it did all those years ago.

Dusty starts singing the first verse of “Jackson,” and a few whistles ring through the crowd that’s now gathered. The cameras are still rolling, and it takes everything in me not to shrink back. This is what I’m here for. I have to perform. Play the part and pretend I want this as much as the other girls.

And I play the part well.

When June Carter’s verse of the song begins, I sing like I did back in that small kitchen with my parents. Dusty doesn’t take his eyes off me the entire time, and a rush flows through my veins. It’s natural, like I was meant to be on this stage singing this song. Our harmonies blend seamlessly, and before I know it, the dance floor is hopping with people.

When the song ends, he leans over and whispers in my ear, “Just like Johnny and June, eh?”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I find myself thinking that if this is how performing with Dusty could always be, I’ll gladly get burned.

“So, how long have you and Dusty known each other?” I ask Brooke. After her performance ended, we stuck around so we could hang out longer with her and get some drinks.

“Oh, gosh, how long has it been?” She looks at Dusty, and he shakes his head, a twinge of amusement in his expression. Brooke taps her fingers against her lips a couple times as she thinks. “It’s been at least ten years, hasn’t it?”

“Sounds about right.” His voice is gruff, similar to how it was when I first met him.

“It has to be. I met you when you were just starting as one of Craig’s artists. I was eighteen at the time, I’m pretty sure.” She says it so matter-of-factly, and even if she’s wrong, Dusty doesn’t correct her.

“I feel like ‘met’ is an overstatement.” He chuckles. “I would call it more ‘Brooke followed me around like a lost puppy until I finally acknowledged her.’”

Brooke elbows him in the ribs, a small, “Ouch!” escaping from Dusty’s lips at the contact. She rolls her eyes before she retorts, “I wasnota lost puppy.”

The question clawing in my chest finally pries its way out, something that takes me by surprise. “Why didn’t you audition forHeart Strings?”

She looks at me for a second, then at Dusty, then back to me, before letting out a snort of laughter.

“What?” I’m not in on the joke.

“No offense, but I wouldn’t date Dusty Wilder if he was the last person on Earth.”

Dusty grumbles, “Ouch.”

“It’d be like dating my brother,” Brooke clarifies before teasingly looking at Dusty in mock shock. “You wouldn’t date your sister if you had one, would you?”

Dusty mutters something under his breath, but whatever it was is inaudible to me. He surveys our drinks and slides his stool back from the table. “I’ll get us some more drinks?” He says it like a question before giving a slight nod and heading over to the bar.

Brooke sets her elbows on the table and leans forward. “So…what do you think of him?”

I pause, not wanting to say anything without thinking about it first, especially with the cameras still around.

She must sense my hesitation, because she interjects before I can say a word. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to lie and say he’s amazing. He was a jackass when I first met him.” She laughs. “I’ve seen the best and worst of Dusty Wilder. Nothing you could say would shock me.”

I huff out a half-breath, half-laugh as my shoulders relax. “Honestly, I thought he was an asshole when I first met him. I don’t know, I think I had this preconceived notion about him.”

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