If only I could.
“I was following in Dad’s footsteps but it turns out it wasn’t for me.” Lie.
I was awesome at being an officer and an agent. I think it’s a job that could’ve made me happy for a long time but I ruined my career when I chose to pursue Thane. I’d be screwed if the FBI investigated me and discovered my connection to The Fellowship.
“I’ve considered opening a professional photography studio.” I’d prefer babies and brides over naked, cheating asses any day.
“You always had a camera around your neck. Or a violin in your hands. Do you still play?”
“Every day.” It’s the only thing that brings me comfort, as though it bridges the gap between Sin and me. I sometimes imagine he’s with me and we’re playing Canon in D Major together.
I know. Totally nuts.
“I play bass with a band. It’s just for fun but we have a gig here tonight. We go on in forty minutes. I’d love for you to stick around.”
“Oh, that’s right. You play guitar.” I can’t believe I forgot that. I always thought he looked hot strumming that thing.
“Our fiddler had to cancel on us at the last minute.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Very, and even more so considering we’re in Coyote Ugly. This crowd always expects to hear ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’”
“Yeah, that’s a super one.”
“And not possible without a fiddler.”
“Definitely not,” I agree.
A grin spreads across Cody’s face. “You still know it?”
“Hell, yeah.” It’s the only country song I know.
“What a coincidence.” He shrugs and points toward the door. “I happen to have Digby’s violin in my truck.”
“Oh God, no.” I’ve never performed publicly except for recitals as a kid, and those were involuntary.
“I don’t play for other people.” I use my violin as private therapy.
“You’d be surprised by how much fun it is.”
He’s crazy if he thinks I’d go on stage without practicing. “We’d need to rehearse.”
“We have forty minutes.”
“Really? You expect me to practice with you for less than an hour and then join your band on stage to perform in front of all these people?”
“Why not? You’re a fantastic fiddler. You have the song memorized forward and back.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Probably. Have a few more whiskies and you’ll forget your nerves.”
I’ve played my violin a lot since returning from Edinburgh so I’m in tiptop playing shape, probably the best ever.
I’m desperate to feel anything other than the misery of living without Breck. Although I’m certain this isn’t a good substitute, it’s a start.
I hold up my JW and toss it back. There’s no way I’d agree to this if I weren’t buzzing a little. The whisky has clouded my judgment. “Okay. But you’re buying.”
“Understood.”
I have three more Johnnie Walkers for good measure as I do a run-through with Cody and his band in the back room.
“Damn, Wilson. This girl is good. We might need to use her to replace Digby on a permanent basis,” the drummer says.
“Ohhh, no. I’m not a performer. I’m only doing this because I owe Cody one.”
He looks puzzled for a moment before bursting into laughter. “You talking about busting my nuts?”
I’m laughing hard, and it feels good. Nice to laugh in place of crying for a change.
“Playing one song with us won’t begin to make up for that. Mmm,” he groans as he shifts his hips. “I’m still feeling that one.”
“I never apologized. I’m really sorry.”
I feel I owe an explanation for my reason but what do I say? Sorry, Cody. I was being trained to become a killer so I was a little overly responsive to being pounced upon.
“It’s okay. You got your message through loud and clear.” It’s been twelve years and I still hate that I did that to him.
The lead guitarist comes into the back room, interrupting our conversation. “Showtime.”
I skulk onto the stage with the four band members, violin in hand. Each guy takes an instrument while Mark, the lead singer and guitarist, goes to the mic. He introduces every member and lastly comes to me. “Digby couldn’t be with us tonight so Miss Bleu MacAllister has graciously volunteered to step into his shoes on a number we couldn’t possibly do without a fiddler.”
He plays a few chords to liven up the crowd. “‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’” I drag my bow over the strings since it seems like a cue. “This is the way it sounds when you put a Tennessee girl on a fiddle.”
We jump straight into the song, which is good. It means this will be over quicker.
The crescendo of the song approaches and Mark motions for me to take center stage. Shit. I don’t want to be seen. It’s bad enough being heard. It becomes clear he isn’t going to give up so I concede and move forward until I’m front and center. Not my forte.
I shouldn’t have had those whiskies.
I’m thrilled when the song ends. Without a word, I quickly sneak away from the stage and back to my table.
Ellison gives me another drunk clobber hug. “Bleu! I haven’t heard you play like that in years.”
She turns to her friends. “My sister is a total badass, am I right?”
Five drunken voices agree and shout comments about my playing.
Cody is back at our table as soon as his band finishes. “You did a great job. Thanks for being a good sport.”
“You can thank Johnnie Walker. I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.”
“Why not? You’re amazing. It’s a shame to keep that kind of talent to yourself.”
Has Cody forgotten me entirely? “Have we met?”
Cody laughs. “I see not much has changed with the MacAllister sisters in twelve years. You still prefer to hang in the background.”
“I’m content with not being seen or heard.”
Ellison and her friends squeal loudly over some sort of nonsense. “There was only room for one attention whore in our family. She was there before me so I never had a chance.”
Ellison leans in between us. “Heeeey, Bleu. We’re tired of this place. We want to go hear the dueling pianos at Silky O’Sullivan’s.”