Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
S avannah
On a wooden stool beside me sits an empty water bottle. My throat is bone dry. The crowd’s larger than normal, and it’s hot outside. All that body heat, combined with the temperature, is making it unbearable. I’m sticky and gross. Trails of sweat are racing down my spine, and my blouse feels like it’s plastered to my back.
“Folks, it’s time for me to take a short break. Thank you all for coming out tonight to Mad Dogs Run. My name’s Savannah Grace. Please, refresh your drinks and be sweet to your servers. I’ll be back soon with some more music.”
Twisting my arm behind me, I pluck at the fabric to pull it away from my skin. As I stand, I can feel my skirt doing the same to my legs. I need something, more air conditioning, maybe? Or, at least, a fan. I need to talk to Sam. I can’t be melting in front of the customers.
As if he reads my thoughts, Sam catches my eye with a wave of his hand. Good. Maybe he can get one of the guys to find something in the storeroom that will help, and they can put it on the stage before my break is over. I return his gesture, and he nods.
As I lean my guitar against the chair, I snatch my purse. The underside of my hair feels as gross as my clothes. Reaching inside my bag for the ever-present claw clip, I gather the mass of strands and pull them high on my head. After testing the mess to ensure it’s secure, I grab the travel-size body mist I keep in an inside pocket and pump the spray around me for a few light-scented spritzes. Instantly the aroma of vanilla and wildflowers punch the air and, I hope, disguise any perspiration stinkiness.
The space between the bar and the stage isn’t a great distance but, it’s far enough to hinder my view when I’m performing. There’s no mistaking who Sam is but, as I close the gap between us, I make out a new face and my heart stops.
Ian Stanton? What the hell?!
An instantaneous tightening occurs in my chest and invisible bands make it difficult to breathe. After a second or two, I force in some air, sucking in the necessary oxygen to clear my head and keep myself composed.
“Hey, Sam.” I quickly plaster on a smile.
His wide grin greets me. He then gestures to the man sitting beside him with a sweeping wave of his hand. “I got a surprise for ya; Miss Savannah Grace, this here’s Ian Stanton.”
My body responds on its own by way of quickened breaths and a tripping heart. I don’t allow my smile to waver but quickly take control of my mindset and lock down my emotions.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stanton.” My tone is pleasant, belying my shock. Other than exchanging pleasantries, I don’t feel equipped to hold meaningful conversation. I need an escape to calm my scattered thoughts, so I focus my attention on the Ladies’ Room door and issue an apologetic look between the two men. “If y’all will excuse me.” I make a quick escape. Oh, how I wish I could sprint away, but that would be much too obvious. After what seems like an eternity, I reach my destination and vanish behind the heavy door.
Jezus. Why is he here?
I snatch a breath to steady my jumbled nerves and close my eyes as I lean my back against the door’s faded green paint. Why now? It’s been four years since I’ve seen his face and, in a few seconds, my thoughts run amuck. Chastising myself for the uneasiness I feel, I snatch images from my younger years. That time in my life threatens to corrupt my composure and I can’t let that happen while I’m singing.
My hands shake. My knees do the same. And to think I was once completely in love with Ian—or so I imagined. He was my rockstar infatuation. My wild dream husband. Though it seems like a lifetime, it wasn’t so long ago. Back when my life was still silly and free.
I scrape my nails against the peeling paint as I push away from the door. Slipping inside a vacant stall, I throw the toggle latch and drop down to the seat. A rush of panic hit me like a wet blanket when I realized who he was. With measured breaths, the weight drifts away and I settle back into my skin from what can only be described as an out-of-body experience.
My blurred vision clears and I blankly stare at messages scratched into the stall door and my eyes catch a message that reads “I love Ian.” A crystal-clear memory of a Boundless Hearts concert surfaces. A night of birthday craziness with my best friend, Candace, and an unforgettable twenty-four hours later that traded a happy memory for a tragic one.
My breath hitches as I remember the intricate patterns from the blood of my parents forged in our dining room carpet. Sometime, in the hours I was gone celebrating, my childhood home turned into a crime scene. When I returned home from the concert, I found them. News of their murder at the hands of an unknown assailant shared top billing on our local news with a report of Ian’s near-fatal overdose. It’s a time I hate to remember but am destined to never forget. A shudder ripples through me and my blood chills. If not for Candace booking us a hotel room as a birthday gift, the police might have discovered three bodies instead of two. Stop!
I have a few minutes left and need to steady myself before going back out there to sing. Seeing Ian was a sucker punch, but I can’t let it affect the rest of my night. Though his presence stirred my memories of a night filled with hopes and dreams, I remind myself that I’m not that innocent lamb from long ago. I’ve grown in every facet of my life and am a much different person than I was then. I have a show to finish and have no time for indulging old stories.
Taking a moment for nature’s call, I rearrange my clothes and unlatch the lock. The cold water keeps me present as I wash my hands and compartmentalize. I imagine my concerns swirling down the drain with the soapy water, then snap off a paper towel as I catch my reflection, and, with a deep breath and tipped-up chin I take my inner frazzle from mountain to molehill. A quick fluff of my hair and a slip of gloss across my lips and I’m almost ready. Checking a near-perfect smile I remind myself again of who I am: a confident woman. You’ve got this, girl!
A deep, smug breath swells my chest as I curl my fingers around the door handle and bid farewell to my reflection. As I pull, the frame and door stick from the humidity before budging open, a reminder that I still never mentioned a word to Sam about the heat.
The scent of beer blends with chattering voices. I zip through the crowd wearing invisible blinders and reach the stage. A surge of pride wells up inside with the knowledge I successfully fought the urge to look in Sam and Ian’s direction.
“Did you get a fresh round of drinks?” I ask, pulling the microphone to my lips. I glance over at the barmaid. “Hey Jeri, can you send me over a bottle of water?”
I detect her silhouette and a bob of her head in the dim light, then sit back, adjusting myself in the seat.
“Y’all should be feeling pretty good about now.”
They respond with a roar to my softly spoken observation, and I lift my guitar onto my lap. Despite my best efforts to shake off the short-lived panic attack, my fingers still tremble a little bit. I look up, ready to start the next song and see Sam directly in my line of sight in the back of the room. Tall and imposing, he’s in a wide-legged stance with his arms folded across his chest. I know that posture and I will not let him make me feel bad or give me a guilt trip because I didn’t linger when he wanted me to stay.
A small seed of defiance springs to life inside of me. If he’s pissed off that I didn’t stick around to chat, so what? I’ll be sure to remind him that I was pleasant. I was polite. Nothing more was required.
Meeting his stare with one of my own, I move forward and play the chords of the song’s intro.
Screw him.
* * *
An hour wears on as I successfully pivot from one song to the next. I play with the idea of sticking to the set list, then decide to sing a song from long ago. One that will resonate with Sam’s special guest. I look over at Ian, catching his eyes with mine as best I can.
“Did you know I write many of my songs?” It’s a rhetorical question. “I do. I also like to cover songs from famous bands. I hope you enjoy them all.”
I boldly pull the pick across the strings, strumming back and forth to set an easy rhythm. The tempo is different than what the crowd will recognize but my pride insists I’m doing this. I open my mouth, take a breath, and close my eyes. This one’s for you, Mr. Rockstar!
They say makin’ mistakes is a part of life
And I say that’s good livin’
Sin will stain your mortal soul
And some things ain’t forgiven’
How much penance does a person need
Before the whitewash will cover the bleed
How many tears do you cry before you go crazy
Purge my sins, cleanse my soul
Take this heart and make it whole
He-e-e-eal me
Reach inside, take my pain
Can you make me whole again
He-e-e-eal me
Heal me.
Despite my best attempt to remain unnerved, my voice warbles ever so slightly. I croon the song that scored Ian and Boundless Hearts a platinum record. It’s a gamble, singing the song in the fashion I wrote it, but it’s one I’m willing to take. Their band made millions on a bastardized, heavy-metal version of the song, but I’d signed over the rights for five hundred dollars and VIP tickets to their concert. My parents encouraged me to enter the contest, confident that I had talent. I guess I did because the band made a boatload of money off my song. Now, their lead singer was hearing it the way it was meant to be sung, and not the way they recorded it.
A surge of pleasure rushes through me like a rebel ghost swelling through the mist, and the memory of the brave girl I used to be rises like a phantom. The rush of confidence thickens my blood bringing back a memory of a fearless girl inside her bedroom. She penned those words keeping time with her heartbeat while the lyrics poured out like a waterfall. When I last heard Ian sing them, he was wasted. His garbled version tripped over words that came from my soul. The sloppy slurring disappointed me and others that night, making me cringe when some in the audience booed him. That whole night I straddled a razor’s edge of excitement and devotion and walked away disappointed and confused. At the VIP Meet and Greet, I made a fool of myself, starstruck and love-drunk as I fawned over my crush. I tripped over my words and fumbled my questions, just as he had done on the stage. When we were made to move along so that others could meet the band, my ever-loving friend, Candace, walked me to our hotel room in silence. With her comforting arm around my shoulder, we stumbled and tripped our way down the hall. When she fell asleep my mind raced and thoughts stewed. My hopes sunk beneath unanswered questions, so I went to the vending machine to drown my feelings with junk food. It was there I found Ian.
I opened my mouth to thrash him with bitter words, but I couldn’t. The man before me wasn’t the cocky singer I’d seen hours before. This was a sad man. A broken man. He couldn’t get the machine to take his money and was totally defeated. The sight was unexpected. Instead of anger, I pitied him. He asked me to help him to his room and, in doing so, I also helped myself.
I revisited my irresponsible behavior from the night before in the morning and, when a hung-over Candace and I stood at the front desk checking out, we were quickly distracted by a rush of reporters. Outside the lobby doors were several police cars and an ambulance. Candace pressed for information and got it from the gossipy desk clerk. Ian had overdosed. Fear consumed me. Was I the last person with him?
I walked away from the desk, desperate to breathe as anxiety consumed me. All I wanted to do was go home, talk to my mom, and wash traces of the night before down the drain. In our Uber Candace reported that housekeeping found Ian, barely breathing. There was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels beside him marred with fingerprint traces of white powder on it, and on top of the nightstand.
Scattered images flash through my mind and prick my heart as I struggle to sing.
Shattered glass.
Crimson dots on a new pair of Vans.
A lake of blood.
The next thing I remember is Sam holding me, telling me it would all be okay as I cried.
For all my life, Sam filled many roles, including surrogate father. He and my dad served together in the military but in this battle, he had my back. There was no other family and, when Sam arrived, he took over. My childhood home was a crime scene and had now become the source of a nightmare from which I’d never escape. Now the house held nothing for me and going back inside the building was an act I couldn’t fathom. Sam arranged for me to stay with Candace until he tied up loose ends. She had gotten a job right out of college and moved into a condo. I was staying with my parents until I could figure out what I would do to pay the bills and continue with my music, which they encouraged. But life has a way of changing your best-laid plans. Instead of the future I envisioned, I spent days curled up in a ball on her couch, using the television for background noise while she was at work. Sam checked in on me and did so often. I half-listened when he said an investor had made an offer for the house, and absentmindedly signed the papers to transfer ownership. I didn’t care about anything for a while and, as I teetered between reality and madness, Ian lost his appeal to me. The last I heard of him; they’d moved him from the hospital to a rehab center.
Oooo, I did my best
But failed the tests
Danced a bit with my demons
Reaper stood beside, to hitch a ride
He does that with us heathens
Oh, I lost it all
and ate my pride
Dug a grave,
‘cause I almost died
Your road is always one of your own makin’
Purge my sins, cleanse my soul
Take this heart and make it whole
He-e-eal me
Reach inside, take my pain
Can you make me whole again?
He-e-eal me
Heal me.
At the start,
A woman stole my heart,
She said she’d stay
But lied and ran away
I messed with the law,
And found the devil’s claw,
Thought I was done,
Down the end of
some man’s gun
Purge my sins, cleanse my soul
Take this heart and make it whole
He-e-eal me
Reach inside, take my pain
Can you make me whole again?
He-e-eal me
Heal me.
They say makin’ mistakes is a part of life …
Peace settles over me as I strum the last chord and hold out the last note. I tuck my memories away. Beneath my closed lids, I imagine kissing my parents goodbye. A second later, I open them, and I freeze.
No one is moving.
Did I screw up the words?
A thunderclap of applause hits the air like lightning, and the jolt pops me out of my seat. One by one people rise until everyone in the room is standing.
Tears sting my eyes. My heart fists. Warmth flushes my cheeks then races over my throat and chest.
“Wow.” Shock slips through my lips into the microphone, but they can’t hear me. It’s what my dad called ne plus ultra —the moment you reach your highest success. My whispered word floats away, lost in the roar of the crowd.
* * *
I floated on a cloud the remainder of the evening but now, I’m done for the night, and I’m glad because I’m tired. The adrenaline that surged through me from the audience’s reaction to Heal Me took me high but, now the flow’s returned to normal, and I’m spent.
“I’d like to thank you all for a night I’ll never forget. Again, I’m Savannah Grace and I’ll be back at Mad Dogs next week. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
My limbs protest as I quickly pack up. I’m stiff from sitting. My bed will feel good tonight and I can’t wait to get home.
As I kneel and place my guitar inside its case, the worn, blue velvet lining captures my attention. I didn’t keep many things from my house when I moved but I wouldn’t dare leave this behind. It’s a sweet connection to my parents and something all three of us have touched.
I let my gaze linger on it for a moment. Inside, the creamy, worn fabric begs for my attention, so I slide my fingertips over the cloth. A hint of a smile tugs at my lips. Its deep cobalt color has dulled with age but is now washed-out just enough that it’s near the shade of my mother’s eyes.
Instantly, a flash of her face sweetly assaults me, and the memory of her beauty trembles my lips.
“I hope you’re proud of me, Momma,” I whisper to the presence I feel, but can’t see.
Emerging tears sting my eyes. I clear my throat to shake off the threatening emotions. I’ve got no time for reminiscing. I’ve dawdled long enough. If I want some quiet time at home to soak in my first standing ovation, I need to get moving.
Quickly, I secure my guitar. As I pull my hand away to close the lid, the garnet ring my parents gifted me for my sixteenth birthday snags a scrap of the material. I toss a look side to side. Was that you who made my ring catch?
The thought that my mother could influence such an act runs a smile from my heart to my lips while I contemplate the possibility that her spirit is somewhere nearby. I dislodge the cloth and fondle it between my thumb and fingers, noting to myself that, if she could be close to me in spirit form, she would be. The thought warms me inside as I tuck my new talisman into my pocket.
“Savannah?”
I turn toward the voice at the end of the stage. “Yes?”
A gentleman who appears to be about fortyish looks between himself and the pretty woman whose hand he’s holding. Their affection is transparent as they share a loving look between them.
“We just wanted to say, we really felt your song tonight. The way you sang Heal Me hit us in a different way than the Boundless Hearts’ version. The way you performed it made us like it better than the original.”
The original huh? I smother a snicker. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
“We’ll be back next week and hope you’ll do it again,” the woman adds.
My brow quirks high. “I just might.”
They depart and I grab the guitar and my purse to make a quick exit.
“Savi!” Sam’s voice booms across the thinned-out crowd.
Shit.
My head falls back, and I close my eyes, feeling defeated. I’m never going to get out of here.
Irritation bristles my temper, yet I tamp down the slow-simmering anger within as I take the necessary steps to approach him. “Yes?”
My feelings must be showing because Sam’s jolly expression fades. “I thought you might take a minute for my friend.”
And there goes my plan to get out of here fast.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I’d done that during my break.” The strain in my voice is apparent.
I exaggerate a slow turn and am instantly sucked in by Ian’s beautiful amber eyes. Over the years I’ve convinced myself that my infatuation with this man has waned, but I can’t deny the fact that he’s still hotter than hell as I’m pulled into the warm, smokey color.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stanton. Forgive me. I’m Savannah. It’s nice to meet you— again. ”
Ian’s expression goes blank with my cocky attitude. Perfecting my resting bitch face I, ever-so-slowly, turn back to Sam.
“Will there be anything else?”