Page 41 of Playing With My Heart Strings

dusty

The First Live Concert

I glance over my reflection in the dressing room. “You’re Dusty Wilder, international country music superstar,” I mumble to myself as if I need a reminder. “This is what you do.”

It’s been so long since I’ve toured, I’m a bit worried I’m out of practice. Performing in the studio and in bars around Nashville is different than performing in a stadium.

Tonight’s concert is in a smaller venue, with a max capacity of 1,500 people.

But as the weeks go on, the sizes of the venues will increase.

The concert venue in Atlanta houses just over two thousand, and Thompson-Boling Arena in Knoxville accommodates about fifteen thousand.

I’ve performed at Neyland before, but over a hundred thousand fans would probably be overwhelming for the girls and counterproductive to the reality show.

The finale concert, however, is being held at the legendary Ryman Auditorium.

It’s an honor and a privilege to perform on the hallowed stage of the Grand Ole Opry, so the catch is that only the winner will get to sing in the circle with me after the final decision.

I truly believe any of the four finalists would thrive on the Opry stage, but there’s only one woman I want standing next to me at the end.

Baylor.

A hollow knock at my dressing room door startles me, and I clear my throat before adjusting my cowboy hat.

“Come in.” I make my voice as gruff as possible. The door swings open to none other than Brooklyn James. “Brooke, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Wow, Dusty, what happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’ I came to support my favorite country singer, of course.”

“You’re your favorite country singer.” I playfully roll my eyes.

“Fine. My favorite male country singer,” she corrects.

“We both know that’s Riley Green, not me,” I scoff, shaking my head in amusement.

“I do love that man,” she sighs before plopping down onto one of the couches. “But, no, seriously. I came here to give you some moral support. Maybe offer some advice on who should make it to the end of this little competition here.”

“Trust me, I already know who I want to make it to the end.”

“YOU DO? And you haven’t spilled the tea yet?” She slams her palms down on the plush couch, not that it made any kind of noise at all or had any dramatic effect. “I want to know everything, Dusty, I swear to God.”

“Technically, I signed an NDA, so I don’t owe you shit.” I laugh, teasing her. “But remember the girl you saw on the solo date with me?”

“Yes! Baylor, right?” She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees and her chin in her palms.

“She’s special. She makes me feel , Brooke.

I’ve been at an impasse with songwriting, but her being here sparked something in me.

It’s not anything the label would want, but the only thing that matters is the inspiration.

That has to mean something. And we have pretty good chemistry, too, I’d say.

” The last part I mumble under my breath, hoping Brooke won’t catch it.

She gasps. “You had sex, didn’t you!” It’s more of a statement than a question. A loud statement.

“Shh! Be quiet!” I hiss. “Physical intimacy in that manner isn’t allowed on the show. I could lose my contract.”

“It’s a risk you’re willing to take, though, isn’t it?”

Both the angel and the devil on my shoulders nod along with me.

“I think I’m falling for her. We’ve had some secret dates off camera, and I’ve learned a lot about who she is.

Her dreams and fears and her family. I’ve also told her things I haven’t told many others.

About why I came to Nashville in the first place.

” Brooke already knows my story. We’ve supported each other from the very beginning, navigating the music industry together.

“It’s like there’s a string tugging me toward her. I can’t get her out of my head.”

“Look at you!” Brooke juts out her lip as she gets up to walk over to me. “Dusty Wilder, all grown up and falling in love. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Brooklyn. You’re gonna make me think you’ve gone soft.”

Her arm reaches out in a flash as she slaps me on the arm. “I can be a strong, independent woman and a romantic all at once, thank you very much.”

“Maybe we ought to get you on the show next. I’d pay good money to see you fall in love.”

She sputters out a laugh, dismissing the suggestion. “That’s all right. I like seeing you on my television a lot more than I like seeing myself. Well, I’d better let you go. Good luck out there. I’m proud of you, D.”

We share a quick hug, and then she slips out the door.

“You’re Dusty Wilder, international country music superstar,” I whisper the mantra to myself again as the door clicks shut.

“Chattanooga, how’re you doing tonight?” Jarrod greets the crowd, who roars in response.

“Welcome to the first stop on the Heart Strings live concert series! We’re down to the final four women who have been vying for Dusty’s heart and a record deal with Ace High Entertainment.

Give it up for our women—Katherine, Sage, Baylor, and Valerie! ”

That’s the cue for the women to enter the stage.

The band starts to play the intro to “9 to 5,” the song the ladies chose to open the concert with.

The audience is already into it, clapping along to the beat as Katherine starts singing the first verse.

She’s a natural out there; her stage presence is lively and engaging.

Even with the small amount of space she was given in blocking, she’s able to work the crowd, a sign of a great performer.

The final four women are a force to be reckoned with, all equipped with powerful vocals and their own unique style. I’m pleased with the choices that led me here.

Once the first number is complete, all the girls except Katherine exit the stage. I wasn’t informed what solos they would be performing, but when one of the stagehands brings out a stool, I know her song’s going to be slower.

Katherine’s style has stayed true to classic country roots. It’s what she’s good at, no doubt, but part of me wishes she would branch out a little. Experiment. Be brave.

“Hey,” a feminine voice distracts me from the performance on stage. When I turn over my shoulder, Valerie places a hand on my arm. “How are you feeling?”

I’ve always appreciated the way she checks in on me. We’ve developed a sort of friendship outside of what was expected to be a romantic relationship in the past few weeks.

“I’m excited. It’s been a while since I’ve done a full concert, but I’m ready to go back out on tour. This at least scratches that itch until the finale is over,” I explain without meeting her eyes. By this time, Katherine’s finished her song and Sage has already replaced her.

Both of us are watching the stage, and I can’t decide if she’s not looking at me because she’s genuinely interested in Sage’s performance, or because she wants to avoid what’s become inevitable.

Although Valerie and I have a good relationship—I could see a musical partnership working between us—there aren’t sparks.

And Heart Strings is about more than finding a business partner.

From the beginning, it’s been about finding someone to navigate music and life with.

“How are you?”

Her eyes shift to the floor then back up. “I’m just grateful to be here. I want so badly for this to work out in the end, but I’m soaking up every moment just in case.”

Guilt twists her knife a little deeper into my chest. I’ve tried my best the past few weeks to stay engaged in my other relationships for the sake of the show, but trying doesn’t make the situation any less unfair.

On my last solo date with Valerie, she brought up her concerns about leaving the show alone, and I wasn’t able to give her the validation she was seeking.

Not without it being a bold-faced lie. I told her I want her to find love and success, whether it’s with me or not.

If she understood the deeper meaning, she didn’t show it.

“You deserve to be on this stage, Valerie.” I reach down to give her hand a quick reassuring squeeze, not too quick, but nothing lingering either.

She tilts her head up, and as her eyes meet mine, she gives me a soft smile. “I’d better get ready. Baylor’s about to go on.” She gestures toward the stage.

Sure enough, Sage finishes her song and the lights dim as Baylor walks out.

My breath hitches in my throat at the sight of her, even from backstage.

Her hair falls down her back in loose curls, her jeans hug her curves in all the right places, and her black top is cropped above her belly button, showing off her toned midriff.

She’s my dream woman in more ways than one.

When the lights come back up, cheers rise from the audience, evidence that she’s cemented herself as a fan-favorite over the last few weeks.

I’m not the only one whose eyes are glued on her throughout her performance. Producers and other crew members pause in their tracks when they hear her voice. The song is over too soon, but as she exits the stage with a beaming grin, I intercept her, pulling her in for a kiss.

“You were incredible out there,” I murmur against her lips.

“You think so?” she hums.

“May as well be a Baylor concert, not a Dusty concert,” I tease, pulling away slightly. “You’d think you were the headliner with how the crowd was reacting.”

A flush creeps into her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “We all know they’re here for you. Half of them probably wish they were up on stage singing instead of me.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, darlin’.

” I kiss her forehead. “Seriously, you were amazing out there.” And I look forward to the day it’s both of us performing an entire show together.

I, of course, leave that part out, even though it’s probably written all over my face.

Baylor deserves to be reminded of how much I care for her, though.

How much I want it to be us at the end of all this.

“Thank you so much, Chattanooga! You’ve been incredible so far tonight!

” I take the microphone out of the stand so I can walk around the stage.

“I’ve got a few more songs for you, but first, I wanted to invite back to the stage another one of the incredible women here on the show with me.

Y’all went crazy for her earlier, and I expect the same energy again. ”

A few laughs rise from the audience.

“Give it up for Baylor!” I extend my arm toward the side of the stage as she walks toward me.

We’re nearing the end of the concert, and I’ve already had the opportunity to sing my duets with Katherine and Sage. Both of them performed really well tonight, but the song I chose for me and Baylor—with a little help from Brooke—is going to be a hit. I can just feel it.

The stagehands bring out stools for both of us, and after Baylor takes a seat, I look at her and mouth, “Ready?” She nods, and I start picking the beginning notes of “Don’t Mind If I Do.”

While the song isn’t exactly a sappy love song, the lyrics still prove to be true.

Not being able to hold her in my arms every night like a normal couple is killing me from the inside out, and I do my damndest to make sure she knows, locking eye contact and singing the words to her like we’re the only people in this entire venue.

She joins in with the harmonies, and our voices blend seamlessly. When she takes over, singing the last verse on her own, the entire venue falls silent, every single person in attendance listening intently to Baylor.

Listening to my girl.