With a steadying breath, I slide out from behind the bar, and the crowd parts to make a path to the stage. My nerves are stretched to the limit as people start to clap and cheer and yell my name.
Oh God. What if I suck? I've never done a duet. This is the worst idea ever.
The voice in my head that loves to play devil's advocate pipes up. Or it could be the first step in a completely new direction. Take a chance. What do you have to lose?
With conflict raging inside me, I climb onto the stage. Frisco winks at me and wraps an arm around my shoulders, turning me so I face the crowd.
"Give it up for Ripley Fischer, y'all!"
I plaster a smile on my face and hope they can't tell I'm terrified. When I meet Frisco's eyes, he lowers the mic and puts his mouth to my ear.
"I know you want to kill me right now, but sometimes it takes a push in the right direction to realize your dreams are worth chasing."
12
Ripley
The lyrics from the duet Frisco and I sang at the White Horse are still streaming through my mind the next afternoon.
A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera's "Say Something." It wasn't exactly country, but I followed Frisco's lead after he dragged a keyboard onstage, and it was insane.
Every time one of us would say "I'm giving up on you," a shaft of pain would stab through me. Even though I know it's the right thing to do with Boone, the ache hasn't subsided.
Maybe if I were one of those people who were all about the power of positive thinking, I would believe Boone's vow that he's going to change my mind. But we all know positive thinking isn't exactly my forte, and at this point, I'm not sure if I can handle more disappointment.
I'm giving up on you.
It's the safest thing I could do and the only way I can protect myself. But am I ready to say good-bye?
I don't know what possesses me to go surfing the gossip sites, but I do it anyway. Maybe just to drive home the fact that anything else isn't an option at this point.
The headlines assail me as I click on the first link.
* * *
Amber Fleet and Boone Thrasher Repairing What's Broken?
* * *
There's a picture of Boone and Amber at Home Depot standing in front of a tool aisle, and it's dated today. I scan the article, and although it doesn't say they were spotted together and this is a new picture, the writer implies that's the case.
No way. He wouldn't.
I don't know why I'm so sure he wouldn't, but I have to know I'm right.
On my laptop, I can do a reverse Google image search, but I don't know how on my phone. Instead, I pull up Google and search Boone Thrasher Amber Fleet Home Depot.
The same picture pops up in an article dated over a year ago, and a rush of relief washes over me-at least until I slam headfirst into a mental wall.
Why am I doing this to myself?
I don't know, but I can't help it. I keep scanning until I see an article with a picture of Amber holding up lingerie in some fancy-looking boutique that I couldn't afford to step foot inside, let alone buy a pair of panties. I guess it's a good thing I don't wear them. Still, the headline makes me throw up a little in my mouth.
* * *
Country Starlet Plans to Take Back Her Man
* * *
I snort and think, He doesn't want you back, bitch. He wants me. Whatcha gonna do about it?
Then I catch myself. What am I doing? I need to be searching for apartments and doing something useful, like finding a second job I can work during the day so I can get on my feet faster.
Then my cell phone rings, obscuring the picture of perfect Amber and her perfect freaking lingerie.
Hope.
"Hey, what's going on?" I ask. "Everything okay?"
She had a doctor's appointment this morning for her annual, which reminds me I really need to get on it and do the same.
"Yeah, fine. I just stopped into work to pick up something, and there are a ton of voice mails from people asking about you."
"What?" I shriek the word and it echoes through the empty apartment.
"Yeah, agents, some label scouts. They all want the name of the girl who either sang that Carrie song or rocked the duet with Zane Frisco."
"No way."
"Have you been online today at all?"
I lie. "Um, no. Why?"
"Your video with Frisco is everywhere. I mean, we're talking almost a quarter of a million hits, and it's not stopping there."
I know you can't technically tell when all the blood drains from your face, but the tingling sensation in my cheeks leads me to believe that's exactly what's happening. Or maybe it's the way my stomach is flopping like a fish.
I drop onto the futon, a second from putting my head between my legs. "No way."
"Yes, way. Girl, your whole life might've just changed. I know you said you didn't know what you wanted to do, but this might have decided that for you."