“Okay.”
Abram shakes a tambourine at me. “Make it memorable!” he shouts.
“Miss Shelby Morgan!”
Oh, damn, that’s me.
Rooster nudges me forward while Dawson introduces what’s left of my band. He talks me up real big to the crowd. My cheeks burn under the pounds of makeup as I make my entrance. I squint and wave at the crowd.
“Go, Shelby!” someone screams. A shrill whistle follows.
I search and find Anya frantically cheering for me. Ice actually smiles. I wave back and blow them a kiss.
“Ready?” Dawson mouths to me.
“Yup.”
He signals the band and they launch into the first notes of Friends in Low Places. The crowd hollers something fierce. I wait for my cue, then belt out my lines with all my heart.
Everyone’s a little wild. Dawson’s band must’ve hit the sauce before gettin’ on stage. They detour into several long riffs which makes it hard for me to follow along but it’s a fun, festive atmosphere so I roll with it.
Kenny has a great time dueling it out with Dawson’s bass player, while Abram shakes his tambourine like he’s gettin’ paid by the jingle. I’m loving every second, my smile stretched so wide, my cheeks hurt.
Dawson nods to me. His guys extend a ramp from the front of the stage out into the audience. Dawson swaggers down it while still crooning to the audience.
This is gonna be tricky.
My gaze bounces around, finally landing on Rooster on the floor in front of the stage. Jiggy, Dex, Steer and Pants form a loose circle around him. I channel my inner Baby and have my own Dirty Dancing moment as Rooster and Jiggy offer their hands and gently lift me in the air, setting me on the concrete floor below.
As the biggest guys, Pants and Steer form a wall of muscle in front of us, slowly walking up the sloping aisle. Dex moves in behind us, while Jigsaw stays on my left and Rooster stays on my right. On the other side of the arena, the spotlight follows Dawson through the crowd with a similar number of bodyguards surrounding him.
People scream and lunge for me. Flashes of light explode, leaving me blinking and seeing spots. I smile, wave, reach past Rooster to shake hands and say hello. A little girl thrusts a magazine at me and I quickly scribble my name.
When I get bogged down too long, Steer and Pants aren’t shy about pushing people back to keep us moving.
With all the excitement, I totally lose my place in the song. Somehow Dawson’s still keeping up his end of the chorus.
“Third verse, Shelby!” he shouts.
Son of a biscuit.
My mind blanks.
We reach a small platform and Rooster helps me up the steps. From this vantage point, I see hundreds of happy fans way up in the stands and I wave. “How y’all doing! So good to see your smilin’ faces! You wanna help me sing this one?”
They respond with enthusiastic yells but no dang lyrics.
Laughing into the microphone, I turn and spot Dawson on a similar platform halfway across the arena. “You’re the expert. You’re gonna have to help me out, Dawson.”
“I gotcha, darlin’,” he croons into the microphone and launches into the final verse.
Mother of sweet sinnin’ fools. Did Dawson get the first couple lines wrong himself?
Please forgive us, Garth. We’re not worthy.
We get our acts together for the kiss my ass line, which we sing in unison before launching into the chorus together. Everyone’s on their feet. The building’s shaking from the thundering voices singing along with us.
The band’s boisterous and vibrant, carrying us through the chorus again. Dawson’s voice cuts out for a minute, then returns. He’s off the platform, coming my way.
Someone taps my leg.
I glance down into Rooster’s eyes. He motions me forward and helps me down the steps.
My pack of bodyguards approaches Dawson’s and they open up so we can sing a few lines together, then keep moving past each other. I end up returning to the stage on the side Dawson left.
He meets me up there and grabs my hand, lifting it over my head, then dipping us forward for a dramatic bow. “Thank you, Nashville. Thank you, Shelby Morgan…” he rattles off a long list of people and introduces his band members again.
The band’s still playing. Crowd still singing.
Dawson pulls me in for a sweaty hug. “Thank you so much, Shelby.”
“No, thank you!” I gush, laughing and holding back a rush of happy tears. “Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
He pats my back and I take that as my cue to get gone before I embarrass myself.
This has to be the highest moment of my career and I don’t want the night to end.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rooster
“I’m deceased,” Shelby flops onto the bed in our hotel room face-first. “Stick a fork in me. Bury me with my boots on.”
Next to me, Greg chuckles. “This is the fun part of artist-wrangling no one tells you about.” He claps his hands. “Come on, Shelby. You can sleep later.”