Read Online Nashville 2 - Hammer and a Song by Inglath Cooper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Inglath Cooper
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part of my own. I will myself to block out everything except my role in this.
The band starts the song up again, and the three of us are a little more confident, but not much.
Case stands and holds up a hand, motioning for us to stop.
The music drops to silence, and we stop singing.
“Hey, look y’all,” Case says, running a hand around the back of his neck. “The only way this is going to turn out worth a hoot is if you forget where you are. You’re just singing in church back home with all your aunts and uncles. That’s the you I want to hear. Okay?”
The three of us nod, mute, and I force the knot of pressure in between my shoulder blades to relent. I can’t think about Thomas or Sarah and their own batch of nerves. I can only control my own. I close my eyes and picture what Case just described. The little Southern Baptist church where I grew up. The tiny pulpit from which our choir belted out old-fashioned gospel hymns every Sunday morning.
And I see myself performing solos when I was nine, the familiar faces of the congregation smiling up at me, the smell of the coffee brewing in the church kitchen wafting up into the sanctuary. The way rain pinged off the tin roof of the old building and how that sound became part of whatever music we were singing.
By going there, I forget all about the here and now. I’m just me. Singing like I always have. For the pure love of it. For the joy it makes me feel.
That’s how the next several hours pass. I can hear that Thomas, and even Sarah, have found their own ways to shake off the stage fright and just sing.
It’s nearly eleven p.m. when Rhys raises a hand and says, “I think we got it.”
He sounds pleased, and relief washes through me.
Only then do I let myself come back to the present, the laughter and good-natured ribbing of the band members seeping into my awareness. I step out of the booth, and Cases’s son, Beck, walks over and says, “Y’all rocked that.”
I smile and shake my head. “Y’all made us look good.”
“It seems like you’ve really got something,” he says, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, the smile on his face less confident than I would have expected from someone who’d grown up with a country music star as his father.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s really an incredible opportunity.”
“Yeah, well, my dad doesn’t waste his time. So if he brought you here, he thought he had good reason.”
I start to bring up the thing about Lauren, but decide against it since she isn’t here tonight, and I’m not sure how public their relationship is.
Case walks over to the stainless steel refrigerator in one corner of the room, opens the door and starts passing out bottled beer. “If you’re not old enough to legally drink this,” he says, “then don’t. Honor system here.”
“That leaves me out,” Beck says.
“Me, too,” I say, shrugging.
“Can I get you something else?”
“Water would be great,” I say.
“Coming right up.” He turns and crosses the room, grabs a couple bottles from the refrigerator and walks back over to hand one to me.
Holden, Sarah, and Thomas are talking together several yards away. I can feel Holden’s gaze on me, but I refuse to look at him.
“So what’s your story?” Beck asks.
“Story?”
“Yeah. How’d you get to Nashville?”
“Wing and a prayer?”
He smiles. “How long have you been singing?”
“Longer than I can remember.”
“Sounds like it,” he says.
Warmth colors my cheeks. I glance down and say, “Thanks. That’s nice.”
“And true.”
“When did you learn to play guitar?”
“When I was still sitting on my daddy’s knee. He would hold me on his lap and put my fingers in position. It’s kind of like breathing. Probably like singing for you.”
“You’re amazing with that guitar,” I say and mean it.
“Thanks,” he says, and he sounds almost shy. Again, not what I would have expected. “Hey, there’s a party down the road
The band starts the song up again, and the three of us are a little more confident, but not much.
Case stands and holds up a hand, motioning for us to stop.
The music drops to silence, and we stop singing.
“Hey, look y’all,” Case says, running a hand around the back of his neck. “The only way this is going to turn out worth a hoot is if you forget where you are. You’re just singing in church back home with all your aunts and uncles. That’s the you I want to hear. Okay?”
The three of us nod, mute, and I force the knot of pressure in between my shoulder blades to relent. I can’t think about Thomas or Sarah and their own batch of nerves. I can only control my own. I close my eyes and picture what Case just described. The little Southern Baptist church where I grew up. The tiny pulpit from which our choir belted out old-fashioned gospel hymns every Sunday morning.
And I see myself performing solos when I was nine, the familiar faces of the congregation smiling up at me, the smell of the coffee brewing in the church kitchen wafting up into the sanctuary. The way rain pinged off the tin roof of the old building and how that sound became part of whatever music we were singing.
By going there, I forget all about the here and now. I’m just me. Singing like I always have. For the pure love of it. For the joy it makes me feel.
That’s how the next several hours pass. I can hear that Thomas, and even Sarah, have found their own ways to shake off the stage fright and just sing.
It’s nearly eleven p.m. when Rhys raises a hand and says, “I think we got it.”
He sounds pleased, and relief washes through me.
Only then do I let myself come back to the present, the laughter and good-natured ribbing of the band members seeping into my awareness. I step out of the booth, and Cases’s son, Beck, walks over and says, “Y’all rocked that.”
I smile and shake my head. “Y’all made us look good.”
“It seems like you’ve really got something,” he says, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, the smile on his face less confident than I would have expected from someone who’d grown up with a country music star as his father.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s really an incredible opportunity.”
“Yeah, well, my dad doesn’t waste his time. So if he brought you here, he thought he had good reason.”
I start to bring up the thing about Lauren, but decide against it since she isn’t here tonight, and I’m not sure how public their relationship is.
Case walks over to the stainless steel refrigerator in one corner of the room, opens the door and starts passing out bottled beer. “If you’re not old enough to legally drink this,” he says, “then don’t. Honor system here.”
“That leaves me out,” Beck says.
“Me, too,” I say, shrugging.
“Can I get you something else?”
“Water would be great,” I say.
“Coming right up.” He turns and crosses the room, grabs a couple bottles from the refrigerator and walks back over to hand one to me.
Holden, Sarah, and Thomas are talking together several yards away. I can feel Holden’s gaze on me, but I refuse to look at him.
“So what’s your story?” Beck asks.
“Story?”
“Yeah. How’d you get to Nashville?”
“Wing and a prayer?”
He smiles. “How long have you been singing?”
“Longer than I can remember.”
“Sounds like it,” he says.
Warmth colors my cheeks. I glance down and say, “Thanks. That’s nice.”
“And true.”
“When did you learn to play guitar?”
“When I was still sitting on my daddy’s knee. He would hold me on his lap and put my fingers in position. It’s kind of like breathing. Probably like singing for you.”
“You’re amazing with that guitar,” I say and mean it.
“Thanks,” he says, and he sounds almost shy. Again, not what I would have expected. “Hey, there’s a party down the road
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