Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Darcy was fuming as she paced in front of her sister.
They’d just won Best Country Album of the Year earlier this week; she should be thrilled. She should be on cloud nine right now. They were waiting in the green room, about to be guests on The Stanton Show (with Miles Stanton), the most-watched program on late night right now.
She was thrilled. Mostly.
Other than how the stress was really starting to eat at her.
How this feeling of pressure had started weighing on her shoulders, growing a little heavier every day.
She just… she couldn’t kick the need to keep proving herself, to show that she deserved this, especially now that she’d finally reached this level.
Other than that, Darcy really was on cloud nine.
This time last year, she’d had thirty-eight dollars to her name, scraping by while working at Stardust Lanes, the same place she’d been employed for the last ten years, since she’d been sixteen. She’d shared the two-bedroom apartment above it with her sister and her sister’s fiancé, Colton.
And the dream of making it that she’d had since childhood had been disappearing with every day that slipped by.
Who would she be, if music didn’t pan out?
What would she have done?
Realistically, she’d have done exactly what she’d been doing since she’d dropped out of high school: work two jobs for the rest of her life. Exactly like what her mom had done. When she’d still been around, anyway.
She’d be working at the bar/pub/front desk/backroom re-setter – everyone at Stardust wore many hats – of the bowling alley, while also bartending on the weekends at Jake’s because it was the best place in town to get tips. It was also the best place in town for open-mic nights.
Which Darcy had been obsessing over for years, honing her performance skills.
There was nothing wrong or shameful about hard work. Her mom had worked herself to the bone to provide a roof over their heads as a single mother with two kids of her own by the time she’d been twenty-one.
But, dear lord, Darcy didn’t want that for herself. She didn’t want to be anything like her mother, in any way. Other than her mother’s love of reading, she hoped she was nothing like her.
Granted, she was already twenty-six, so the having two kids at a young age part couldn’t apply. But everything else…?
The problem was that everyone wanted to believe they were special. Everyone who was trying to break into the industry believed they had what it took. So, yeah, Darcy believed that about herself – and her sister and best friend – but… what made them different from everyone else?
Well, they had done it. They were fucking here.
And now she had Juliet Jacobs trashing her for it?!
“Oh, I am sooo much better because I work all by myself. What I do is a million times harder,” she mimicked Juliet’s quote.
The sentiment of that quote – complete with images and video of Juliet’s fake smile along with it. Smiling with her mouth and her perfect, sparkling white teeth, while the look in her eyes read: I hate you – had made its rounds all over social media, and into digital tabloid headlines.
Blythe dropped her head back with a groan. “That, actually, isn’t what she said.”
Darcy paused a foot in front of her sister, shooting her an incredulous look.
One that matched the !!! she was feeling inside.
“I’m sorry; what she said – after we beat her for an award – is that our success isn’t worth as much as hers, because she does it ‘all alone.’” She used her fingers to make air quotes.
Like, fuck Juliet and the horse she rode in on. Which was, even in her mental idiom, some purebred stallion.
Blythe reached up and rubbed her temples.
Darcy continued to pace. Mostly because she’d been set off all over again when Sandra, their boss at the bowling alley, who could barely use social media at all, had sent her the video of Juliet and asked why is she being so mean to you?
It had reached Sandra!
“But the thing I really can’t get over, Blythe – thanks for asking – is that she didn’t say we can’t do it.
She didn’t say We, The Romantics can’t compare to her impeccable talent.
She said me.” Darcy jerked her hand holding her phone up, hitting herself with unintentional force in her chest. Grimacing with pain, she tossed it onto the couch next to her sister.
“She isn’t out here putting us down, collectively.
She specifically said my name. Just me.”
If Juliet had been talking about all three of them as a group, Darcy would have been annoyed. Absolutely.
But she could maybe chalk it up to a bad night after not winning at the NAMAs.
That wasn’t what Juliet had said, though.
Juliet very clearly stated her name. Her full name, just in case there could possibly be any confusion.
Darcy had watched that clip of Juliet over and over in the last few days. She’d seen it so much now that she could picture with crystal clarity the way Juliet’s lips – that perfectly plush bow – a glossy pink for the night, looked when saying, “Darcy Kincaid.”
It was the first time Juliet Jacobs had ever referenced her.
We, The Romantics had blown up seven months ago, and they’d had run-ins and intros to so many musicians by now that Darcy’s head was still spinning from it all. But never Juliet Jacobs.
Angelic Juliet, with her cupid’s bow lips and long, silky chestnut brown hair and demure outfits – country music’s sweetheart.
“Country music’s sweetheart.” The venom in her voice felt good, felt satisfying, as it fell from her mouth.
It was how Juliet was so often described by media outlets online, and they’d continued to say that about her while bringing up her quote about Darcy.
“What the hell is so sweet about her, huh? What could I have possibly done to her?”
It was the thought that had plagued her for days.
Blythe stood up, putting her hands on Darcy’s shoulders to make her stop moving.
An uphill battle, given Darcy’s near inability to stay completely still.
“If I had an answer to that, Darce, I would have told you days ago. The first time you asked. But I don’t.
And right now, we need to focus on the fact that we’re going live with Miles Stanton in five minutes, not focus on Juliet and what she may or may not have meant by that comment.
” She squeezed her hands, comfortingly, looking into Darcy’s eyes.
Where Darcy’s were green, her sisters were blue – because while they both heavily resembled their mother, they’d both gotten their eyes from their respective fathers.
“This is your moment. Don’t let Juliet get in your head. ”
Darcy took in a long, deep inhale through her nose, nodding as she breathed it out.
Blythe was right.
Except for – “This is our moment,” she corrected.
Juliet might want to use the fact that Darcy was in a group with other people as some sort of weakness, but Darcy knew very well that her sister and her best friend were her strengths.
Blythe returned the smile, tightly, before she squeezed Darcy’s shoulders again, then dropped them. “Right. Now, I need to clarify: you did tell the producer that I will not be playing that ridiculous dating-game-thing that they had us do six months ago. Right?” She asked, sternly.
“Yes,” she firmly stated, mostly because she didn’t want Blythe to tear her a new one.
Ohhh, her sister had been fucking livid the last time – and first time – they’d been guests here, after their album had blown up.
They’d been featured along with pop sensation Joshua Ross, and Miles had them all play a game, spinning a wheel where they answered hypothetical questions about their romantic lives.
Most of it had been fine. Except for when Joshua had answered that he’d been hoping to “shoot his shot” with Blythe since he’d first seen her in a picture.
Blythe had narrowed her eyes at him, holding up her left hand and wiggling her fingers at him. “I’m engaged.”
And it wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really. Except for the fact that Joshua had already tried to shoot his shot when they’d seen him in this very green room and had already been firmly shot down, and was trying to use the pressure of being on-air for Blythe to give in.
“Joshua Ross isn’t even on the show with us this time,” she added, hoping to take away some of that cloud of negativity surrounding Blythe.
This, actually, was why she needed to not let herself get caught up in thoughts about Juliet. Because Darcy had bigger fish to fry, namely making sure to put out any fires that arose with Blythe and Emerson.
None of them had expected this meteoric rise to fame, and absolutely nothing in the world could have prepared them for it.
There was no crash course in preparing for this level of exposure, and they’d all learned that very quickly.
Blythe and Emerson had both taken to posing their questions to Darcy.
It was the default setting when it came to their music, and it always had been.
Most of the time, she was the one who had a vision.
She was the one scribbling in her notebook or sending herself voice notes.
She was the one signing them up for open-mic nights and trying to get them auditions at festivals and competitions.
It made sense, mostly. Especially taking into consideration that she was the centerpiece – Blythe had been roped into this, into performing with her, due to being her sister, and Emerson had gotten into it as her best friend-slash-instrumental expert.
Blythe and Emerson had now formed a friendship, but they all knew that Darcy was the glue.
Darcy didn’t mind being that glue. She did her very best to show up for Blythe and Emerson and reassure them and lead the way into their newly found public status.
The only problem was that she had no fucking clue what she was doing, either. She was flying blind here, just like they were.