Unconditional
Page 56
“So don’t do it for yourself,” Brit adds, “do it for him.”
She finishes just as he reaches me. “All set?” Garrett checks. “I can’t tell you what a life-saver this is,” he adds, letting out a breath. “I owe you one.”
I catch my breath. Brit’s right. I can’t let him down. I’m the one who got him into this, now I have to find the strength to see it through.
“Ready,” I nod, even as my pulse does a panicked tap dance in my chest.
He hustles me onto the stage area. “Here she is,” Garrett announces proudly. “Let’s get the show started!”
I look up to find a hundred faces staring back at me, waiting and expectant.
Holy crap. My stomach lurches, and I stumble right into the microphone stand.
“I’ve got you.” Garrett steadies me, then shows me the mic and wiring. “Testing,” he says, checking the sound levels, then passes it to me. “You’ll do great,” he adds, with an encouraging squeeze of my shoulder. “Just pretend it’s you and me. You can do this, I know you can.”
He moves to stand at the side of the stage. I take a shaking breath, and look up at the crowd again.
Big mistake.
“Uh, hey everyone,” I whisper into the mic. The crowd shifts, impatient.
“We can’t hear you!” someone yells.
“Sorry,” I say, too loud this time. There’s a screech of feedback from the mic. People cringe and cover their ears.
Oh God, I can’t even manage to speak right, let alone sing!
I send a desperate look to Garrett, wishing I could flee for the door, but he just smiles and gestures to keep going.
“So, I guess I better get started,” I mumble, fumbling to loop the guitar over my body.
“Sometime this year would be nice!” another voice comes from the crowd.
There’s a ripple of laughter, and I can feel my cheeks burning with humiliation. What am I supposed to do now? I look around the room helplessly. The guitar feels like dead weight in my hands, and every time I even think about opening my mouth, my brain goes blank. I don’t even know what I’m going to play!
This is it, I realize miserably, my own personal nightmare come to life right here on the stage: everyone watching me, waiting for me to fall apart, to prove I’m not so perfect after all. I can’t hide behind clothes and makeup up here, I can’t skate by on good manners and polite chit-chat. It’s all on me. Only me.
Remember, Garrett believes in you. Don’t let him down.
I close my eyes a moment and take a deep breath. I do what Garrett tells me, and imagine I’m back at the beach house, sitting on the back porch, just him and me. The waves crashing in the distance, the calm of the sun on my face.
I feel a slow wave of peace settle over me, chasing the fear back, just a little, far enough for me to take the first few strumming chords on the guitar, and feel the sweetness of the melody ripple through me, anchoring me safely in place.
I can do this. I want to do this. Coming to Beachwood has been about me finding the strength to be myself, to show myself to people, vulnerabilities and all. Sure, they could hate my performance and boo me off the stage, but for the first time, I realize that it’s not about their reactions.
This is about me having faith in the girl I’ve been hiding, deep inside. Trusting her enough to let her voice be heard. No polish, no perfection.
No hiding anymore.
I open my eyes, and I start to sing.
23
Lord, that girl could slay armies with that voice of hers, tempt sailors like a siren to the shore.
I’m nervous for her, panicked I’ve pushed her into something she isn’t ready for—right up until the moment Carina opens her mouth and starts to sing.
Then it all just melts away: the bar, the restless crowd, the whole f**king world. It all fades to nothing. In a moment, she’s my everything.
Carina’s voice echoes out across the bar, clear and sweet as an angel. I’ve heard the song before on the radio, it’s some gentle ballad, but Carina adds a wistful edge to the words, a darker emotion that makes it sound like new. She’s clearly nervous as hell: keeping her eyes fixed to the floor, clutching the guitar like it’s a life raft, but for a few minutes, the whole bar is silent, watching her. Totally under her spell.
Including me.
Watching her, I feel a weird emotion rising in my chest. Protectiveness and affection and awe all rolled up into one.
She’s a miracle, and she doesn’t even know it.
How could she have been hiding this talent for so long? Why would she think she was no good? It kills me that she’s spent so many years trapped behind that ice queen attitude, keeping the world at arm’s length because she thought she wasn’t good enough. But at the same time, I see her up there, hesitantly picking out the chords for each new note, and my heart swells with pride. She’s fighting for her second chance, being so damn brave to take these risks.
Everything about her is perfection.
Carina reaches the end of the song, the guitar chords slowly fading away. There’s a moment’s hush as we all take it in, and then a thunder of applause.
Carina’s head snaps up for the first time. She blinks, looking out at the crowd like she’d forgotten they were there. Then she realizes the applause is for her. The realization sweeps over her face, and she breaks into a delighted smile. She glances over, searching me out in the audience.
“OK?” she mouths, still having no idea of her own talent.
She finishes just as he reaches me. “All set?” Garrett checks. “I can’t tell you what a life-saver this is,” he adds, letting out a breath. “I owe you one.”
I catch my breath. Brit’s right. I can’t let him down. I’m the one who got him into this, now I have to find the strength to see it through.
“Ready,” I nod, even as my pulse does a panicked tap dance in my chest.
He hustles me onto the stage area. “Here she is,” Garrett announces proudly. “Let’s get the show started!”
I look up to find a hundred faces staring back at me, waiting and expectant.
Holy crap. My stomach lurches, and I stumble right into the microphone stand.
“I’ve got you.” Garrett steadies me, then shows me the mic and wiring. “Testing,” he says, checking the sound levels, then passes it to me. “You’ll do great,” he adds, with an encouraging squeeze of my shoulder. “Just pretend it’s you and me. You can do this, I know you can.”
He moves to stand at the side of the stage. I take a shaking breath, and look up at the crowd again.
Big mistake.
“Uh, hey everyone,” I whisper into the mic. The crowd shifts, impatient.
“We can’t hear you!” someone yells.
“Sorry,” I say, too loud this time. There’s a screech of feedback from the mic. People cringe and cover their ears.
Oh God, I can’t even manage to speak right, let alone sing!
I send a desperate look to Garrett, wishing I could flee for the door, but he just smiles and gestures to keep going.
“So, I guess I better get started,” I mumble, fumbling to loop the guitar over my body.
“Sometime this year would be nice!” another voice comes from the crowd.
There’s a ripple of laughter, and I can feel my cheeks burning with humiliation. What am I supposed to do now? I look around the room helplessly. The guitar feels like dead weight in my hands, and every time I even think about opening my mouth, my brain goes blank. I don’t even know what I’m going to play!
This is it, I realize miserably, my own personal nightmare come to life right here on the stage: everyone watching me, waiting for me to fall apart, to prove I’m not so perfect after all. I can’t hide behind clothes and makeup up here, I can’t skate by on good manners and polite chit-chat. It’s all on me. Only me.
Remember, Garrett believes in you. Don’t let him down.
I close my eyes a moment and take a deep breath. I do what Garrett tells me, and imagine I’m back at the beach house, sitting on the back porch, just him and me. The waves crashing in the distance, the calm of the sun on my face.
I feel a slow wave of peace settle over me, chasing the fear back, just a little, far enough for me to take the first few strumming chords on the guitar, and feel the sweetness of the melody ripple through me, anchoring me safely in place.
I can do this. I want to do this. Coming to Beachwood has been about me finding the strength to be myself, to show myself to people, vulnerabilities and all. Sure, they could hate my performance and boo me off the stage, but for the first time, I realize that it’s not about their reactions.
This is about me having faith in the girl I’ve been hiding, deep inside. Trusting her enough to let her voice be heard. No polish, no perfection.
No hiding anymore.
I open my eyes, and I start to sing.
23
Lord, that girl could slay armies with that voice of hers, tempt sailors like a siren to the shore.
I’m nervous for her, panicked I’ve pushed her into something she isn’t ready for—right up until the moment Carina opens her mouth and starts to sing.
Then it all just melts away: the bar, the restless crowd, the whole f**king world. It all fades to nothing. In a moment, she’s my everything.
Carina’s voice echoes out across the bar, clear and sweet as an angel. I’ve heard the song before on the radio, it’s some gentle ballad, but Carina adds a wistful edge to the words, a darker emotion that makes it sound like new. She’s clearly nervous as hell: keeping her eyes fixed to the floor, clutching the guitar like it’s a life raft, but for a few minutes, the whole bar is silent, watching her. Totally under her spell.
Including me.
Watching her, I feel a weird emotion rising in my chest. Protectiveness and affection and awe all rolled up into one.
She’s a miracle, and she doesn’t even know it.
How could she have been hiding this talent for so long? Why would she think she was no good? It kills me that she’s spent so many years trapped behind that ice queen attitude, keeping the world at arm’s length because she thought she wasn’t good enough. But at the same time, I see her up there, hesitantly picking out the chords for each new note, and my heart swells with pride. She’s fighting for her second chance, being so damn brave to take these risks.
Everything about her is perfection.
Carina reaches the end of the song, the guitar chords slowly fading away. There’s a moment’s hush as we all take it in, and then a thunder of applause.
Carina’s head snaps up for the first time. She blinks, looking out at the crowd like she’d forgotten they were there. Then she realizes the applause is for her. The realization sweeps over her face, and she breaks into a delighted smile. She glances over, searching me out in the audience.
“OK?” she mouths, still having no idea of her own talent.
