I was nervous about round two. I’d heard Ferris’s song, but not Wynne’s. Please be good, I thought as she stepped onto the stage. My eyes immediately zeroed in on the guitar in her hands. Shit, she was playing the guitar I gave her for Christmas. It was my signature guitar that had been a huge part of my career with Indigo Road. The media would have a field day when they saw her playing it. I should have said something when I gave it to her. Now, it was too late. The entire world was watching, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Steffi’s head turned, and her brow arched in question. “Isn’t that your guitar?”
Playing it off as no big deal, I answered, “Hers is a piece of shit. It’s the least I could do.”
“Look at you with a heart,” she teased. She had no idea.
The theater went silent as the stage faded to black. It was just Wynne and the guitar. My chest constricted as she began to play. Fuck, but she was good. Like everyone else in the room, I was swept up in her voice as she began to sing.
I’d given up. Oh, it was easy to do.
I was tired, so tired of my dead-end life.
Tired, so tired of all the strife.
But then suddenly there was you.
I was hypnotized, held in thrall by her raspy tone and mesmerized by her heartbreakingly vulnerable lyrics.
You lifted me from the dirt and dusted off my pain.
Showed me what I’m worth and that there’s peace beneath the shame.
I found peace beneath my shame.
The knot in my chest jumped into my throat at the realization that she was singing to me. She didn’t want me to hear the song before tonight, because she was saving it for me. My eyes stung and I had to blink a few times to clear them.
My eyes are wide open, my story still left to tell.
I’ve grown, I’ve seen, I believe in me. I now believe in me.
We both have a story. Together we are true.
Oh, we both have a story.
And mine begins with you.
Jesus, she was killing me. Clearing my throat, I took a sip of water.
“She’s amazing,” Steffi whispered. Yes, she is.
The song ended with the entire theater on their feet, and there was no doubt in my mind that Wynne Benfield had just won the entire fucking competition.
As predicted, Ferris’s song fell flat. The crowd cheered, but no one stood. Poor Ferris.
When it came my turn to sing with Wynne, I made her switch guitars with me.
“Trust me,” I told her, when she started to question it. Instead of arguing, she simply handed over the guitar. Of everything that had gone down between us, her unquestioning trust meant the most. Wynne trusted me and damn if I didn’t feel the same for her. I didn’t trust anyone, but I trusted her.
The moment we hit the stage, it was just the two of us and our guitars. We were so into each other and the song, that we missed all of our marks. I only had eyes for the woman sitting on the stool next to me. As we sang about staying up all night while getting high and setting the world on fire, I had an epiphany. This moment with Wynne surpassed any high or drunken bender I’d ever been on. I wasn’t sure if it was love or not, but I knew that it was profoundly different than anything I’d ever felt before. I also knew that I wanted to take the time to find out what it was, or even better yet, what it could be.
The song ended with everyone on their feet, a deafening roar of voices cheering for the two of us. I took her hand in mine and she gave me a blinding smile. Then we took a bow.
As Wynne exited stage left and Ferris took her place, that feeling of unease returned. The song went well, and we sounded great, but both of us knew that nothing could top my duet with Wynne.
“You had your chance,” Ferris mouthed as Wynne was ushered back on stage. Wait, what? Fuck! Anger like I’d never felt roared through me as my heart thrummed painfully in my chest.
“You need to get back to your seat,” I heard someone say, but I couldn’t make my feet move. I could see it, the gleam of victory in his beady little eyes. I’d fucked up. I’d called his bluff. Only, he wasn’t bluffing. I fucked up, and now Wynne was going to pay for it.