The Song in My Heart (20 page)

“No. I don’t want anything to change. I want it to stay exactly the way it is.”

“Ah, but it will change. Which is exactly why I hope you enjoy every minute you’re singing to these intimate crowds.” She could see that Erika believed her, could sense she was happy hanging on so tightly to these outdoor, intimate performances. But Dess knew the end was drawing nearer for Erika. The press had cottoned onto them, crowds were showing up for their performances in greater numbers, calls and emails were steadily coming in, requesting appearances. They were on a train and it was rapidly picking up speed. And when that kind of momentum started, Dess knew from experience that it couldn’t be stopped until it had run its course.

“What if I don’t want it to change?” Erika said, a note of desperation in her voice.

They stopped walking and faced each other. “But getting discovered is what you want.”

“But that was before…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “No. Dreams don’t die because someone new comes into your life. You have to go for what you want, because if you don’t, you’ll be haunted by the what-ifs, by regrets. You have too much talent to settle for anything less than going for it, Erika.”

“But you yourself walked away from it so easily. Maybe it’s not worth it.”

Squeezing Erika’s shoulders for effect, she said, “I was ready to walk away. I
needed
to walk away to save myself. But that was me. You can’t give up before you’ve even really tried.”

“What if the price is too great?”

“No,” Dess answered, refusing to let Erika give in to her doubts. “There is no place for fear if you’re going to do this. You have to be all in. It won’t work otherwise.”

If only I could take my own advice
, Dess thought cheerlessly. She wasn’t all in with Erika, not with her heart, and that alone doomed their future.

Erika turned from her, immersed in her own private thoughts, while Dess silently dwelled on her own pain. There was always a price to pay for the things you want most.

* * *

Erika glanced nervously at the darkening sky, wishing their set was over and they could get the hell off the stage before the storm struck. They were sitting ducks among all the scaffolding, lights and speakers that were the size of compact cars. The wind had picked up considerably, but the organizers were pushing forward, saying that if they didn’t get a couple more sets in, they’d have to refund people’s tickets. Refunds equaled financial disaster, Erika knew, and like everyone else, she wanted to be paid.

Dess and Sloane were totally fixated on tuning their instruments. Erika wished she had even a tenth of their confidence and concentration right now. She glanced again at the threatening sky, back at her watch, then at the duo on the stage ahead of them.

“Stop worrying,” Sloane shouted over the music and the wind. “We’ll be on in a few minutes, do our five songs and get out.”

“We could give up our spot,” Erika said. “Let the group behind us take it.”

“Absolutely not,” Sloane said, pointing a finger for emphasis. “You do that, and pretty soon people won’t sign you to play these things. We’re professionals with a job to do. We don’t let people down.”

“Well, they should damn well be shutting this whole thing down.” A thunderclap in the distance underscored Erika’s point.

Sloane shook her head. “Nothing gets in the way of business, darlin’. You should know that by now.”

All right, fine
, Erika thought helplessly, but she was going to hate every minute of their five songs and question why she was going against her gut feeling every second she was out there. She could be holed up somewhere with Dess, safely braving the storm over a bottle of wine together, and the thought gave her a modicum of hope.
As soon as we’re out of here, that’s exactly what we’ll do
.

Their turn onstage came as wave after wave of low-lying black clouds rolled by so close it seemed they could almost be touched if you reached up high enough. The stage manager gave them the thumbs up. The thought burned in Erika that it wasn’t going to be his ass up there getting struck by lightning.

The crowd—what was left of them—recklessly urged them on. Perhaps they were too drunk to care, Erika thought. Or just young, stupid and disillusioned about their mortality. Erika gritted her teeth and smiled through the opening chords of “I Put a Spell on You”—her own angry, edgy, rock-fueled rendition. At the last minute they’d decided to drop the two ballads they’d planned, including her and Dess’s song, because there was no way they would be heard over the booming thunder and the cracks of lightning now cutting through the air like sniper fire.

One down, four to go, Erika thought, as they launched into an acoustic version of Linkin Park’s “What I’ve Done.” She wasn’t feeling the music. She had to shout the lyrics to be heard, which was turning her voice to crap. She glanced at Dess, who’d moved to the far corner of the stage to get closer to a trio of enthusiastic fans who reached up as though they were trying to pluck fruit from a tree. It struck Erika how much Dess was enjoying the moment, rocking out with the fans, staying just beyond their reach but teasing them with her guitar, letting their fingers brush its glossy coat at one point, the guitar a connecting point between them. Her smile was bigger than Erika ever remembered seeing on stage, and it was a beautiful sight that sent her heart soaring. It sparked a glimmer of hope that Dess would continue to perform with her even if she was lucky enough to get bigger venues. Or that she would play alongside her should she get a record deal one day. Why couldn’t they continue performing together?

Erika heard it before she saw it. The wind sounded like a truck engine bearing down on them, gathering speed and intensity with each second. She turned in time to see a web of metal scaffolding buckle, then topple in slow motion like a child’s Meccano set. A speaker crashed onto its side. Lights dangling from the scaffolding suddenly let go of their hold, shattering on the stage below.

“Dess!” Erika yelled, her heart in her throat. But even as she yelled and tossed the mic away and began to run toward her, she knew she was too late. Metal, wood and plastic had tumbled down on top of Dess in a twisted, sickening heap, swallowing her instantly.

Oh, God
, Erika thought as the screech of metal and the roaring wind suddenly came to an eerie silence. “Dess!”
Oh please, please don’t let her be hurt. Please, God, anything but that!
Others had dashed onto the stage. Arms began frantically pulling at the debris, and people shouted for a doctor, for someone to call 911. Sloane was there pitching in, unhurt and trying hard to get to Dess. “She’s under there,” Erika shouted tremblingly, shock and fear paralyzing her. “Get her out of there. Hurry!”

Slowly, a hand emerged from the rubble. It was Dess’s right hand, with the instantly recognizable emerald and gold ring on her third finger. Her fingers wiggled. “Oh, thank God,” Erika cried, her heart beating again, and she fell to her knees. “Dess, are you okay?”
Shit, I’m supposed to be calling her Dora
, she remembered too late.
Oh, fuck it.
“Please, baby, are you okay?”

Sloane’s face was the color of chalk. She was closer to Dess and carefully bent her head into a small gap in the debris to get a better look. She gave Erika a tentative thumbs up.

It was going to be okay, Erika decided. Because it simply had to be.

Chapter Eighteen

Dess’s groan came out muffled, the pressure on her chest squeezing it like a vise. She tried to take mental stock of her body, but it was impossible under the heap of material on her—some of it sharp and cutting into her, some of it heavy, like rocks. Her arm hurt like a bitch—she knew that much—and it hurt to breathe.

Sloane was yelling at her, saying they were going to get her out of there. She thought she heard Erika’s voice too, but her mind was swathed in gauze. Everything had happened so fast. She remembered a storm approaching. They’d just finished playing a song when all hell broke loose. She heard the crack of lights and scaffolding dislodging from above, but there’d been no time to escape, only time to throw an arm up to try to protect her head. It seemed to be still pinned above her. Pain lanced through her again and again, stealing what little breath remained in her lungs.

Sirens, faint in the distance, and voices that were loud and persistent, gave her some measure of reassurance. The noise also kept her from giving in to the dizziness, the pain and the blinding fatigue. She wanted to sleep, to disappear. But she also feared never waking up again.

Strong hands pushed away the last of the debris, but someone shouted that they shouldn’t move her until the paramedics arrived. The pain from her arm was a hot poker right up into her shoulder, and she groaned again. Louder now.
Oh fuck
, she thought.
This isn’t good. My arm’s broken.

Erika’s face appeared above her, hovering, and for a moment Dess wondered if it was her imagination or a dream. Then Erika tenderly stroked her cheek, and Dess cried tears of gratefulness.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay now. Help is coming. How do you feel? Where does it hurt?”

She tried to speak, but the words refused to form. “Arm,” she managed to say through the pain and fog.

“It’s going to be okay,” Erika said again. Her voice was hoarse, as though she were choking on her concern, and it tore at Dess’s heart. She wanted to turn the tables and reassure Erika, but she couldn’t move and could barely speak.

“You,” Dess said, pushing out the words. “Okay? Sloane too?”

Sloane’s face swam in her field of vision. Her eyes looked worried, but she was smiling. “We’re good. And you’re going to be good too.” She leaned closer to whisper. “The kid here is pretty worried about you, so don’t let her down, okay?”

Dess tried to smile. “I’m tough.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that. Takes more than a little old storm to knock the stuffing out of you, pal.”

She closed her eyes as the sirens drew closer, wanting so badly to sleep. More than that, she wanted Erika cradling her, rocking her to sleep, whispering comforting words to her. Yes, it was exactly what she wanted.

* * *

Erika paced in the emergency department’s waiting room, trying desperately to keep from boiling over. She’d save it for the concert’s organizers, who’d refused to shut things down as the storm approached. She’d sue their asses off, and so would Dess. And as soon as she was sure Dess was okay, she was going to track them down and tear them new assholes.

Sloane returned and handed her a cup of coffee. “You look like you want to kill somebody.”

“I do want to kill somebody. One guess who that might be.”

Sloane slumped in the plastic seat. “We’re lucky it wasn’t worse. But don’t go getting yourself sued or blacklisted. It’s up to Dess what she wants to do about this later, and the cops will investigate too. If there were safety violations, it’ll be dealt with, okay?”

“Dess had better be okay, or else—”

“She will be. Now sit.”

Erika grudgingly took a seat. She didn’t want to sit here like a useless lump; she wanted to be with Dess. Her mind raced with questions that couldn’t immediately be answered. Like how Dess’s injuries might affect her in the long run. Whether she was going to be fit enough to play the rest of the tour. And more important, if Dess had to leave the tour, whether Erika even wanted to continue with it. She couldn’t imagine not seeing Dess every day, not having her right there onstage with her, not kissing her, not being able to hold her hand, not being able to make love to her every day. Her absence was something Erika couldn’t fathom right now.

“This is all my fault,” she muttered, close to tears.

Sloane sighed impatiently. “Don’t even start. We were all in it together, wanting to get through the set. And if this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m the one who convinced her to join our tour, remember?”

It was Erika’s turn to offer solace. “Right. Okay then. Let’s make a deal to stop blaming ourselves. It’s not like it’s going to help Dess, is it?”

Sloane leveled scrutinizing eyes at her. “I can see why she loves you.”

Erika’s heart somersaulted. “She loves me?” she asked weakly, hoping like hell Sloane wasn’t toying with her.

Sloane waved a dismissive hand. “Of course she does. She just doesn’t entirely know it yet. Or maybe she knows it, but she doesn’t want to admit it. In any case, she does and she will.”

“She will?”

“Stop repeating everything I say.” Sloane laughed, and Erika did too. Laughing made her feel instantly better.

A doctor—tall, thin, silver haired—strode purposely toward them. Her authority cloaked her like a suit of armor. “I’m Dr. Metcalf,” she said tersely. “You are the family of my patient?”

Sloane answered for them. “Best friends. Her mother and sister are coming up from Chicago in the morning. How is she doing?”

The doctor hesitated, her eyes suspicious. “My patient is noted as having some celebrity status. I can only give updates to family members.”

“Please,” Erika implored. She was desperate and wasn’t beyond shaking the information out of this doctor.

“We came in with Dess,” Sloane added. “We’re her bandmates, her best friends. Hell, I’ve been best friends with her for almost twenty years.” She pulled out her wallet, the leather so cracked it was curling, and flipped to a picture of the two of them. She flashed it at the doctor like it was a badge.

“All right.” The doctor relented, and Erika’s tensed shoulders collapsed in relief. “She has a badly broken arm and will require surgery in the morning. She also has a mild concussion and bruised ribs. We’ll need to keep her for a few days. She’s lucky. It could have been much worse.”

“Thank you,” Sloane said. “And thank you for protecting Dess’s privacy. Can we see her?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s late and she’s on morphine anyway, so she’s not very aware of her surroundings at the moment. She needs her rest tonight.”

Tears welled again in Erika’s eyes, as they’d done many times over the last couple of hours. She needed to see for herself that Dess was all right, but Sloane was steering her away from the doctor and toward the door.