A Song for Rory
Autore
Cerella Sechrist
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Chapter One
“AND THE WINNER of this year’s Artist of the Year is...”
Sawyer Landry tensed in his seat as the reigning country music diva, Daisy Elliot, slowly untied the red satin ribbon from the envelope. He knew the cameras would be watching him, so he tried to appear relaxed and prayed the stiffness in his shoulders wasn’t obvious. The auditorium sat hushed in anticipation of Daisy revealing American Heartland Radio’s most prestigious award.
If he managed to win, he could just hear his manager’s reaction. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, sugar! I knew you had it in you! Perle Jackson peppered all her conversations with such colorful dialogue. It was part of a carefully cultivated persona that she put on to disarm others. Sawyer had quickly learned not to trust her redneck shtick. Perle was as ruthless as a Mafia crime boss when the occasion called for it, which made sense if you believed the rumors that she’d actually grown up in Brooklyn, and her Southern accent was as fake as her fingernails. It made Sawyer glad she was working for him and not against him.
Daisy fumbled with the envelope, her bracelet catching on the satin ribbon. She laughed breathlessly, the sound a whiffle of air against the mic.
Sawyer realized he was balling his hands into fists, so he slowly eased them open. There was a collective shifting of the audience as they grew impatient with Daisy’s delay. At long last, she tugged the gold-edged ivory card from the envelope.
“There we go,” she announced, her voice carrying an air of relief. “As I was saying, the winner of this year’s Artist of the Year is...” She drew a breath. “Sawyer Landry!”
The tension broke as the audience swept to their feet in a standing ovation. Sawyer was a beat behind as the announcement hit him. He’d done it. Artist of the Year.
“Come on up here, darlin’,” Daisy exhorted.
He received several congratulatory thumps on the back as he navigated his way up the red-carpeted runway to the stage. From his peripheral vision, he noticed a montage of his concert performances and various awards ceremonies displayed on the massive auditorium screens.
The applause rose several octaves as he tossed a wave toward the audience. He felt himself warm to the reaction. It was heady enough to hear a crowd of two thousand fans screaming his name, but having such a strong reaction from his peers, even his idols, in the industry cheering him—that was a rush at an entirely new level. He nearly tripped over his cowboy boots—a gift from Nashville’s premier designer—as he moved toward the podium.
The audience was still on its feet, hooting and hollering, as he accepted the bronze statue from Daisy.
“Congratulations, Sawyer,” she murmured for his ears alone as she leaned in to press her cheek to his.
He hefted the weight of the award in his hand. It was an elongated sculpture with a crystal sunburst radiating from the top. He glanced down to read the description: “An artist of the highest caliber, displaying showmanship and talent, Artist of the Year,” followed by the date and year.
Sawyer swallowed hard as he read the words, making an effort to keep his emotions in check. He’d done it. After years of living out of a van, playing dive bars and community events, never knowing where his next paycheck would come from, he’d finally reached the top. He raised his head and looked out over the auditorium. The stage lights were too bright for him to make out individual faces, but the applause still rippled on.
He finally let out a breath and grinned. The sight of his smile set the crowd off once again, and the clapping intensified a few more notches. He raised a hand to quiet them, but it was still several long seconds before the room was silent.
“I don’t even know where to begin, there’s so many people I need to thank.” He drew a breath. “My band, my manager, Perle, and all the talented folks at Americana Records.” He quickly ticked through his mental list of industry partners, executives and collaborators.
“My family, especially my parents, for buying me my first guitar. I told you I’d pay you back for it one day, and now I guess I can.” He was rewarded with a rumble of laughter from the audience.
“I’m especially grateful to my fans. Every single one of you who bought an album or downloaded a single or attended a show—you are what has made this possible.” He laid a hand across his heart. “And I thank you for that.”
He stopped then, his gaze fixed on the sunburst at the top of his award. He experienced a tug in his chest, as he so often did when he was onstage, staring out at a crowd or accepting an award. In all those times, there was still one individual he had yet to thank.
She was the one person who had made all the difference in his life and his journey to this stage. But he hesitated to name her. After all, it was unlikely she harbored any fond memories of him after the way he’d ditched her.
But wasn’t this the moment? The occasion when he was meant to pay homage to those who had shaped and defined him, the ones who had believed when others had withdrawn their support? If that was the case, there was only one person whose belief in him had been unfailing, no matter the hard times. It was his own pride—the recognition that he was the selfish one who had given up on her and not the other way around—that had kept him from voicing her name.
Well, there was no time like the present.
“There’s one more person I need to thank. And she may be the most important person of all.”
A hush swept over the auditorium. With the stage lights blinding him, he could have almost believed he was alone in the room. He drew a breath and closed his eyes, struggling to find the words.
“Rory, if you’re watching—” he opened his eyes, trying not to wince at the bright glare “—I’m sorry.”
Saying those two words eased a bit of the ache in his chest. He hadn’t realized what a relief it would be to speak them aloud. It bolstered him to continue.
“You deserved so much more than what you got. And truth be told, you hold more talent in your pinkie finger than I have in my entire body.”
If the audience still remained in the auditorium, they had fallen utterly silent—he could imagine he was speaking directly to Rory. Only the faint electrical hum of monitors and amplifiers could be heard.
“If anyone deserves an award for best artist, it’s you. Because you’re the best artist I’ve ever known or collaborated with. Your faith in me helped me to believe in myself. I dedicate this award to you.”
Daisy cleared her throat, and a soft guitar riff from the speakers signaled it was time for him to wrap it up. He also heard a faint reverberation from the crowd, a wave of whispers traveling through the room.
“So, thank you...for everything.”
He tipped the award in acknowledgment and then moved toward Daisy, who was waiting to direct him off the stage. There would be a crowd of reporters wanting to interview him. Applause followed him into the wings, and he heard the ceremony’s host segue the proceedings into the next performance.
Sawyer paused at the hallway that led to the press area and looked down at the award he held in his hands. Though he felt relieved at having finally recognized Rory after all this time, a weight of grief still hung over him. Most days, he was too busy to acknowledge it, but in moments like this, the truth hit him full force.
No matter how many albums he sold, concerts he played, or awards he won, he wondered if he would ever shake the regret of letting her go.
* * *
RORY CALLAHAN TRIED not to fidget as the scones were passed.
It wasn’t that she was bored or having an awful time, she was just uncomfortable. High-tea luncheons weren’t really her type of scene, especially when she’d been forced to dress in a frilly pink sundress and strappy heels thanks to Paige Worth’s stringent dress code for the bridal shower. She tried to slip off the tight heels, but her best friend, Erin, nudged her gently in the side.
“Stop moving so much,” she whispered in an aside. “Paige is shooting daggers.”
Rory frowned and stopped working one open-toed shoe’s heel against the other. She slid a glance in Paige’s direction and caught her fellow bridesmaid glaring in disapproval.
“Well, it’s ridiculous,” she hissed back at Erin, her Irish accent more pronounced with her exasperation. “Why do we have to dress up in these fancy frocks anyway? Harper doesn’t care. In fact, I’m sure she’d have been just as happy having the shower at the Moontide, like I suggested.” She looked in her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s direction. Harper was smiling graciously. If she was unhappy with the choice of venue, she didn’t show it.
Beside her, Erin’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what I would have preferred, too,” she acknowledged, “but Paige insisted. And as the matron of honor...”
“I know, I know.” Harper’s sisters were sharing the role of matron and maid of honor, and that meant that whatever Paige wanted trumped anything Rory or Erin suggested. Tessa, as the maid of honor, occasionally spoke up to veto her older sister’s ideas, but on the whole, Paige was the one running the prewedding events.
“The Moontide would have been a lovely choice,” Rory continued, trying to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard by the other shower attendees, “and I’m sure Aunt Lenora could have used the business.”
Aunt Lenora was Erin’s great-aunt by marriage, and the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast in Findlay Roads, the Moontide Inn. Erin and her young son, Kitt, lived there while her husband, and Lenora’s great-nephew, Gavin, was deployed overseas in the army.
Erin didn’t reply, and Rory guessed she’d decided to say nothing if she couldn’t say anything nice. Rory bit her tongue and tried to do the same. Harper was about to become her sister-in-law, and it was no good to start things off by complaining about Harper’s oldest sister.
“All right, everyone!” Paige, positioning herself in the center of the room, clapped her hands to draw the group’s attention to her. “Now it’s time for another bridal-shower game!”
Rory stifled a groan. After pin the ring on the groom, when she’d nearly choked on a macaroon at the blown-up photo of Connor used for the pinning, along with bridal bingo and shower charades, she’d had her fill of wedding-game antics. But Paige wasn’t done yet.
“I’ve saved the best for last.” Harper’s older sister was glowing with excitement. Rory had never been one of those girls who became giddy over weddings, even less so in the past couple of years since her breakup with her longtime boyfriend. But over the last two hours, she’d concluded that Paige’s enthusiasm more than made up for her lack of it, where matrimonial mayhem was concerned.
“Tessa is passing around your cards right now.”
As one of Harper’s bridesmaids, Rory already knew what was coming. Both she and Erin had been given the shower itinerary during one of Paige’s bridesmaid meetings, which occurred on a weekly basis now that the wedding was only three weeks away. So it was no surprise when Tessa handed her and Erin one of the scavenger-hunt cards, but still, Rory deflated a little.
Tessa paused to squeeze Rory’s shoulder in encouragement. Rory straightened. Tessa was keenly observant and definitely the sweeter of Harper’s two sisters. But still, Rory didn’t want to seem sour, especially as a member of the wedding party. She’d just have to make the best of Paige’s bridal-shower scavenger hunt. Tessa moved on to the next table.
“As you can see,” Paige continued with her instructions, “you have a list of items for our bridal scavenger hunt. Some items are easier than others.”
Rory scanned the list she’d be sharing with Erin.
A piece of candy.
No problem there. Erin always carried some in her purse, to appease Kitt when he got antsy.
Paper clip.
That shouldn’t be too hard. They could just ask at the hotel’s front desk.
A penny.
Easy.
She didn’t get a chance to finish perusing the items as Paige began speaking once again.
“Now remember, ladies, you only have twenty minutes to find everything on the list. The first pair back here with all of their items wins this deluxe mani-pedi gift certificate!”
Rory took a look at her fingernails. She kept them trimmed short, not only because of her server’s job, but also to make it easier to play guitar. She supposed she could use a manicure, especially for the wedding.
“All right, let’s get ready...”
Rory and Erin pushed back their chairs and joined the other guests, who were preparing to sprint for the doors. Erin neatly tore the sheet in half and handed the bottom portion to Rory.
“This will go faster if we split up.”
“Good idea,” Rory agreed.
“Set...” Paige prompted.
Rory glanced at her list as Paige shouted, “Go!”
There was the clicking and scuffing of shoes along the tile as the other shower attendees made a dash from their private reception room to commence the hunt.
“Meet you back here once I have all my items,” Erin offered, and then Rory was on her own.
* * *
RORY REGRETTED ERIN splitting their list by the time she reached the second item. Paige had obviously increased the difficulty with each sequential object. While she doubted Erin had had much trouble locating the penny, paper clip, or candy, Rory had gotten creative in tracking down a fork, newspaper, postage stamp and piece of hotel stationery.
But the final item on her list was the oddest.
An umbrella.
Rory stared at it for a full thirty seconds, wondering how in the world Paige had come up with these items. She stood in the hotel lobby, a gift bag—compliments of the resort gift shop—filled with her scavenger items hanging from her fingers. Where to find an umbrella?
She looked around, wondering if Paige meant for her to steal it from the coatrack. No way was she taking it that far. It was just a stupid game, after all. This is what came from letting Paige take charge. Rory sighed and tapped her foot then winced as the straps of her sandal pinched the side of her ankle. She was tempted to just take off her shoes and walk around barefoot, but Paige would probably be scandalized at the sight.
She moved toward the other side of the lobby and leaned against a column, which was hidden behind the large fronds of a potted palm, and rubbed at the offending sandal strap. She supposed she could always ask at the front desk for help. She knew some hotels kept umbrellas on hand for the convenience of their guests. But then her attention fastened on the placard sign standing nearby, advertising happy hour in the hotel lounge.
She grinned. Ah. Paige didn’t specify what type of umbrella. Surely one of those little cocktail ones would suffice.
Rory straightened and headed in the direction the sign indicated.
She couldn’t wait to see the look on Paige’s face when she and Erin showed up with all their items.
* * *
RORY ENTERED THE hotel lounge, which was pretty quiet this time of day. She imagined it was a much livelier place during the evening hours. But right now, there were only a few businessmen seated at the bar, and a young couple in a corner. Rory’s eyes drifted to the stage that dominated the room. There was no live entertainment taking place at the moment, but the sight was still a familiar one to Rory. Over the years, she’d played in over a hundred bars and lounges just like this one as she and Sawyer traveled around the country, performing their special blend of country and Irish folk music as they tried to make a go of a musical career.
She’d given up that life after Sawyer left her, though, and while she may have missed the man, she didn’t miss the smoke and gloom of the bar scene. In some ways, it had been a relief to walk away from it all...even if she did still resent Sawyer for the way he’d abandoned her.
“Excuse me.” She approached the bartender. “I need an umbrella.”
He eyed her with a look he must have reserved for customers who’d had too much to drink. She frowned at his reaction. “You know, one of those little ones you put in fancy cocktails?” She held up her torn sheet of the scavenger list. “I’m on a scavenger hunt.”
The man’s eyes cleared. “Ah, part of the bridal-shower party, are you? I’ve seen a few of you going back and forth.”
Rory nodded in confirmation. “So, do you have any tiny umbrellas?”
“I think we have some in the back. Give me a minute to see if I can scrounge one up for you.” He gave her a wink, but she pretended not to see it as she shifted her attention away from the bar.
She hoped the other shower guests weren’t way ahead of her. She didn’t normally have a very competitive streak, but she didn’t want to end up dead last in this game. She had a feeling Paige would somehow hold it against her. She wouldn’t be surprised if the other woman had a game planned to name the worst bridesmaid in the wedding party. Not that Rory was shirking her bridesmaid duties. It was just that Paige always seemed to expect so much more.
While Rory waited for the bartender to return, she reached for the bowl of peanuts on the bar. She picked through them, not really all that hungry even though the shower luncheon had consisted of mostly dainty finger foods. She’d probably be starving by the time she punched in for her shift at Callahan’s that night. Maybe she’d try to get there a little early and grab a bite.
She pushed the peanuts aside, then tapped her fingers restlessly on the smooth plane of the bar. With nothing else to occupy her, she turned her attention to the hi-def televisions mounted behind the counter. An entertainment channel was running—she recognized several of the starlets that flashed across the screen. There was no sound coming from the TV, but the captioning was announcing which of the featured celebs were going to be on the next season of some hit reality show. She leaned against the counter and watched the monitor without any real interest. She was just starting to space out, wondering what was taking the bartender so long and whether Erin had found all the scavenger items on her half of the list, when the entertainment host shifted to the next story on his agenda.
She stiffened as the familiar face of her ex-boyfriend flashed across the screen.
“Sawyer,” she breathed.
The headline ticker across the bottom of the screen announced him as the winner of the coveted Artist of the Year honor at the American Heartland Radio awards show. She experienced a pang of grief and a thrill of pride, both at the same time.
He’d done it. Not only had he found success as a country music star, but now he also had the most prestigious award in the industry to back it up.
The image shifted to him on a stage, holding his prize and speaking to the audience. Her heart fluttered as she noted that success had only enhanced his handsomeness. The light brown hair that he’d always kept on the longer side had been trimmed and styled, and the dusting of scruff along his jaw added a layer of cowboy cute that was surely a hit with female fans. She swallowed, peanut crumbs sticking in her throat.
“You a fan?”
She jerked, realizing the bartender had returned. He was holding out a miniature yellow drink umbrella, and it appeared as if he’d been standing there waiting for her to take it for some time.
“No, I’m not,” she replied, her voice clipped.
“If you say so.” He looked at the television, and Rory tried not to follow his gaze. She didn’t need to see Sawyer again, didn’t need to feel the stab of betrayal and heartbreak once more.
After nearly two years, she’d thought it wouldn’t hurt so much. Wasn’t that what everyone had told her? It takes time. Wounds heal. You’ll find love again...and all that. But Rory wondered how much more time she’d need? How much longer would her tender heart ache at the mention of his name or the sight of his face on a magazine, website or on TV? When could she finally stop avoiding country radio, afraid to hear his latest hit and wonder if he ever thought of her, if he ever missed her like she missed him?
“Don’t you need to get back to your party?”
Rory snapped to attention a second time as the bartender spoke to her. She tried not to bristle. What business was it of his if she wanted to hide out in here, away from the fuss and frills of this wedding business? Every time she turned around these days, she was confronted with reminders of love and happily-ever-after. She was thrilled for her brother and Harper—of course she was. But their impending nuptials were a reminder, every single day, that she was alone. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad if she and Sawyer hadn’t been together for so long, if they hadn’t had so many dreams and plans of a life together.
She shook her head. No use going there. She forced herself to look back at the television. Sawyer still dominated the screen, but it appeared to be a post-awards interview. Her eyes flicked to Sawyer’s face as he was being interviewed on a red carpet. She didn’t know what the reporter was asking, didn’t allow herself to read the captions. But she watched Sawyer’s face, the happy glow, and let the hurt and anger take hold of her once more.
All of Sawyer’s dreams had come true. And after almost two years of silence, she doubted that she even entered his thoughts anymore.
