Page 51 of Song Bird Hearts

She doesn’t answer, but she nods once before pressing the “go live” button on her new phone where it’s set up on a tripod before her. The screen blinks as it loads, and then she waits a few beats after the video starts to allow everyone to load in. The numbers skyrocket immediately, Wolf’s idea of a countdown having everyone at the ready. It was a damn good idea. Fuck, I wish I’d have thought of it.

I watch as she looks full on into the camera and then with a smile that makes my knees weak as a bayou bank, Valerie Decatur lights the match.

“Hey y’all,” she says, calm and strong, like she’s back on a stage, just her and the mic and the entire world holding its breath. “If you’re seein’ this, then yeah. . . it’s really me. I know there’s been a lot of talk and rumors flyin’ around, and I’m tired of other people speakin’ for me, and every one of you deserves the truth.” She takes a deep breath. “So, I’ve got something to say, and I ain’t hidin’ anymore.”

I stand off camera, my arms crossed, my heart pounding as she burns. Knox, our residentcouillon, stands pinning like thecouillonhe is just outside of the room, his eyes flicking between Val and the road just in case of an attack in the middle of the livestream. Wolf is leanin’ against the wall near me, obviously pleased with this outcome. If anyone enjoys Val taking on the world, it’s him. I can’t blame him for it though, not when she’s more beautiful as the days go on. Any man willin’ to die formon rossignolis a man I want on our side. Knox hasn’t figured that out yet.

“A lot of y’all have been diggin’ and you’ve been findin’ things. Dangerous things,” she says pointedly. “And you were right, there is a group out there pulling string in the Hollywood industry and throughout the world. They’re hurting people, silencing them, and they’re trying to do the same to me. They’ve no doubt been trying to bury my name since my last livestream.” She tips up her chin. “But they made one mistake.” Her eyes flash brilliantly. “They didn’t bury me deep enough.”

“Fuck, that’s a good line,” I whisper to myself, and Wolf nods beside me.

“So I have something to say to the 27 Foundation. If you want me. . .” She leans in just slightly, a smirk curling the edge of her mouth. It’s the prettiest damn smile I think I’ve ever seen. “Come and get me. I’ll be at the Boot Skoot tonight. 8 p.m. sharp. Steele, Wyoming.”

That part hits like thunder. I feel her words in my bones like a threat; one I plan to back up at her side.

“To my fans,” she continues. “You’re the bravest people I know. You found the truth. Now I need you to release it, but be safe. Don’t risk yourself. Don’t get reckless.” A beat as she looks over at me. “That’s my job.”

My toes curl at the challenge in her eyes. Fuck, I’m gon’ taste that challenge on her lips later and I can’t wait for it.

Her next words are said right into the lens, her voice sharp as a blade. “I may have been born Valerie Decatur, but y’all made me something else, something stronger.” She winks. “I’m Stagborn, as are all of you. And I’m not afraid anymore.” She blows the camera a kiss. “See you tonight.”

And then she ends the livestream.

The room is quiet for a total of five seconds before her phone lights up and starts firing off like a war zone. Thousands of alerts, millions of views, threads being posted over and over again, shared until each one goes viral. Documents are being dropped quickly, names are being named so fast, it’s hard to follow. Coordinates, video clips, secret recordings, things we had no way of knowing could come out, but Val had faith in her fans from the beginning. They’ve been waiting for this moment. They’ve been waiting for her. The notifications don’t trickle in. They flood. Her fans aren’t hiding. They’re rising.

And within two hours, Steele, Wyoming is full to burstin’.

Fans roll in with sleeping bags and guitars. They carry cardboard signs and hand-painted jackets that read “Stagborn or Die” on them and post up along the streets of Steele. Every business is jam-packed with people and volunteers show up to help as much as they’re able. The thirteen local ranches have offered them all a place to crash, as many as they can fit. White Stag’s barn becomes a makeshift base camp. Food trucks are set up at the train station, most of them from out of town who drove in to help. The Sheriff’s Office is handing out water.

And still they come.

By sunset, the whole damn town is electric, braced for something between a concert and a revolution.

I stand with Val at the edge of the porch, watching more and more headlights stream in down the main road like fireflies in reverse. The lines have been insane, and the traffic has been slow, but no one turns around. No one gives up. They’re all here for my girl.

“Now what?” I ask, breathless at the greatness of it all. I’m standin’ next to a goddamn hurricane in lipstick, and if I’m not careful, I might let her drown me in her storm surge.

Val grins, slow and wicked, and I know she’s who she’s meant to be, the woman I first saw play guitar for a small crowd of fifty online. This is who I’ve always been a fan of. This is who belongs on that stage.

“Now,” she says, threading her fingers with mine, “we throw a party.”

Chapter26

Valerie

The Boot Skoot has never seen anything like this.

I stand at the entrance with a cold beer in my hand, stunned by the sheer volume of the crowd. They stand inside the bar, filling up as much space as possible until the fire marshal showed up and actually did their job. They spill into the street beyond out of sheer necessity, not because they want to. Still, we’ve prepared for all of that. For those unable to fit inside, there are screens set up outside, speakers there so they can hear the music and anyone singing for karaoke night. Hank had thought of everything and if anyone was prepared for the sheer amount of people crushing around the building, it’s him and the Boot Skoot. Hell, the streets look like there’s a parade rather than just everyone here to enjoy karaoke night.

Steele has always been scrappy and knows how to throw a hell of a Friday night party, but this? This is something else entirely.

Fairy lights glow along the edges of the weathered front of the Boot Skoot, a last-minute addition that tells me someone thought it needed a little jazzing up for the camera. The large neon sign with the boot clicking back and forth is bright and beautiful as always, one of Hank’s best investments. Someone had a banner made and hung it up across the other side of the building, the words “Stagborn Strong” emblazoned on the front of it. Amplifiers buzz on makeshift stages around the streets and then inside. Hell, food trucks from five different counties are all parked along the street, offering food for the vast number of people Steele wasn’t truly prepared for. People are dancing barefoot on the concrete or dressed in their best western outfits. Strangers are swapping names and stories like they’ve known each other forever, bonded by their love for me or their love for drama.

I’m not just back home.

I’m free, and everyone knows it.

Inside, the Boot Skoot is a sweaty, glittering mess of cowboy hats, denim jackets, rhinestones, and cell phones capturing every minute for the fans who can’t make it. I’ve been told we’re livestreaming from five different angles from our equipment alone, one for each social media platform and another for some dark web forum Gilden says “isn’t worth asking about.” I don’t really care where we’re streaming as long as they see.

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