Page 44 of August Lane

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A ugust had learned that Silas was in recovery for opioid addiction when she was twelve.

A kid in her class had called him a junkie, and she’d defended her uncle’s honor so vehemently that she’d been sent to detention for disrupting the lesson.

After school, Silas sat her down and explained that he’d used heroin to cope with being incarcerated and couldn’t stop once he got out.

“That was a long time ago,” he’d said. “But it’s still something I live with. ”

She’d bombarded him with questions, afraid that the sickness he called a use disorder would eventually take him from her.

He answered them all honestly, including how staying sober meant changing his entire approach to life.

“I hated being a King. Hated my father. My brother. They were monsters, so I thought I’d become a monster, too.

But that hate was the only monstrous thing about me, so I let it go.

Started doing good things, making the world better ’cause I’m in it.

” That was why he held the Delta Blue Showcase.

To help young musicians. He also started the only local twelve-step program and volunteered as a sponsor.

Luke fixed things. Birdie’s house was freshly painted. Scarlet roses were planted along one side. The grass was cut. The walkway was weed free. Inside, every room had been deep cleaned to a level of spotlessness it hadn’t seen in decades.

He was focused on rebuilding, not tearing things down like she’d been lately.

Last night, August had done some soul searching, questioning whether her plan was worth putting his comeback in jeopardy.

There were other ways to start a career—slower, more ethical paths used by others who ultimately made it.

But those had eluded Black country artists for years.

Most likely, she’d end up waiting for a chance that would never come.

August couldn’t wait anymore. She’d been waiting her whole life.

Sacrificing Luke on that altar wasn’t the answer, either.

She’d landed on a solution that wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the scorched-earth approach she’d used before.

Now she had to get Luke on board. They had five weeks, enough time to iron things out with Jojo and convince her to allow Luke to debut his new single during her show.

Cool air spiced with sandalwood incense greeted August when she walked inside Birdie’s house.

Luke was playing the latest War and Treaty album and singing along while he cleaned the living room.

He didn’t mimic their vocals. Instead he harmonized in a key that slid perfectly inside theirs.

He used to do the same with August, use that immaculate ear to hook into her chaotic runs, as if he could see them coming.

The music cut off abruptly. The smile he gave her was quick and easy, unlike anything she’d seen since he returned. Luke unburdened was a sensory assault. It turned his eyes to bronzed light, his skin to amber honey. He even moved differently, with the grace of a lion who’d captured his prey.

August sat down. “I’ve been thinking.”

He joined her at the table. “All right.”

“Forbidding you from singing with Jojo was shortsighted. I hate the idea of that duet, but it’s a means to an end.”

He was quiet for a moment. “What end is that?”

“Launching your new album. We’ll announce that we’re working together, maybe ask David to help with a press release. It’s a good opportunity to clear up the rumors about our affair—”

“August—”

“—but not make it too clear. We want to make everyone curious, right? Enough to watch the show once it’s streaming and then—”

“I have a different idea.” He raised his voice to speak over her. “But I need you to answer a question first. And be honest with me.”

That made her nervous. What did he think she would lie about? “Okay.”

Luke leaned in and seemed to look past her eyes, to where her secrets were buried. “Why’d you stop singing?”

He was right. She didn’t want to answer that. “I sing in the choir every Sunday.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I’m not a performer. Writing is what I’m good at.”

“You’re not being honest.”

“That’s the most honest I’ve ever been with myself.” She swallowed whatever was welling in her throat. Those dreams were too old to flare up now. “I don’t have a voice for radio. It’s too distracting.”

“That don’t make a lick of sense.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” She stood, intent on ending the conversation. Luke rose quickly and blocked her path to freedom.

“Do you have stage fright?”

She tried to glare him into retracting the question. But this new, purposeful Luke was stubborn. He didn’t even bother folding his arms. He just stood there, velvet-eyed and patient.

“No,” she said, but then remembered what happened last week, how her jaw had locked the minute she touched a microphone. “Maybe. Who cares?”

“I do.” He adjusted his stance and spoke with his hands, like a coach pitching a new play. “You’re fighting for the wrong thing. None of these plans will give you what you want. What you deserve.”

“And what’s that?”

“To be a star.”

A laugh burst from her throat. “Might as well throw unicorn princess in there, too. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His eyes lowered briefly to her lips. “I’m well aware of that, sweetheart.”

August pointed the conversation in a much more interesting direction. “Call me that again.”

His breath hitched, then stopped completely. “What? Sweetheart?”

She wrapped the hem of his T-shirt around her finger. “Aren’t you tired of talking?”

He watched her pull his shirt up with lust-glazed eyes, but then pried her fingers away. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Luke left the room, and August did what she was told, mainly out of curiosity. His preoccupation with her singing was a sweet waste of time. They both knew he was the talent. Why was he suddenly obsessed with her performing?

Luke returned with his guitar and a worn notebook. “Do you recognize this?”

She did. It contained “Luke’s Song,” along with everything else they’d written together. “You kept that?”

“Of course I did.” He grabbed his guitar. “Those lyrics you gave me last night reminded me of something I wrote in there a while ago.” He started playing, a slow bluesy progression that fit seamlessly with what she’d written. Then he stopped and said, “Can you hear it?”

“Of course I can.”

“No, listen…” He played some of it again. “It sounds like you, doesn’t it? Southern sexy. A face full of smoke. Go on and sing it.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “You are. You’re just scared to want it. Because then everyone will know you do.”

He was right. Deep down, she was still that little girl, desperate for acceptance. She didn’t want to be alone onstage, with everything she lacked on display. “What if they hate me?”

Luke hugged his guitar and leaned closer. “What if they don’t?”

The front door burst open. Mavis barged inside, a large iced coffee in one hand and her phone in the other.

She stopped short at the sight of Luke, and her lips curved into a snarl.

She reared back and hurled her cup at his chest. It exploded on impact, drenching him in ice and foam. “You stole her fucking song?”

Luke had dropped a bomb on country music.

The media covered every aspect of his confession: the lie.

The racist Country Star auditions. The exploitive record contract.

His firing from Jojo’s show was swift and public.

Every major sponsor swore never to work with him again.

August, formally the internet’s favorite villain was now its favorite victim.

“He made her his sidepiece and stole her music? Girl, blink twice if you need help.”

August didn’t speak to anyone for days. There was no point. Luke had ruined their future with that phone call. When she’d asked why he did it, all he’d said was “I love you. And there’s a right way to do that.”

It was too much. She couldn’t handle declarations of love while being cut off at the knees.

A text from Silas ended her self-imposed exile.

Luke’s singing tonight. Thought you’d want to know.

The protests had doubled in size since the story broke.

Performing so soon after his confession would make it worse.

Provoking an angry mob was out of character for him.

Maybe it was a cry for help. Luke had been facing a mountain of backlash alone, while she’d been hiding, wallowing in slipper socks and a supersize jug of cheese puffs.

The customers were sparse for a Delta Blue open mic night.

Silas spotted her immediately when she walked inside.

He hugged her, which he rarely did anymore, and said “Good to see you” in a way that made her feel pathetic.

Silas usually took bad news with his chin out, daring it to do real damage.

Today he looked defeated. “He’s warming up in the back. ”

“Oh. Okay.”

Silas fidgeted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you love him.”

“I love you both.” He rubbed her back. “Y’all still fighting?”

She answered honestly. “I don’t know.” Mavis was the only one who’d yelled at Luke. August had asked for space so she could disintegrate privately. Meanwhile, their fragile relationship had been left in limbo.

The lights flickered a five-minute warning.

Silas led her to a table in the corner. She sat down as Luke walked onstage.

He wore a T-shirt and jeans, with a black cap pulled low, obscuring the top of his face.

Paired with his beard, which was fuller than when she last saw him, he was nearly unrecognizable.

“He’s been practicing for weeks,” Silas said. “Signed up with a fake name so he could sing what he wants.”

That explained the small crowd. Only a few of the audience members were paying attention. Most were chatting over food and drinks.

“He asked me about a job,” Silas said.