If the song about Roger had been a window into Brandt’s past, this one was a snapshot of his present, each detail captured so that there was no escaping the big picture. This wasn’t a fling, hadn’t ever been a fling.
You’re my family, Shane had said, and that exactly was what the song conveyed. They were a family, the three of them. They didn’t need T-shirts or some group chant. Just a string of memories, and this unexpected, unshakable bond. And the song so perfectly captured all of that. It was a wonder that Brandt’s heart didn’t leap out of his chest right then and there, present itself to Shane for the taking, because it was his now, and there was nothing Brandt could do about it.
Not that he wanted to. Anyone would be lucky to have someone like Shane, someone who felt as deeply about them as Shane did. Oh, he didn’t say the words, even in the song, but only something raw and powerful could inspire a song like this.
Love.
It was there in the harmony, and maybe there in that heart that was now Shane’s too. Brandt wasn’t sure because he’d never felt this before and was pretty sure no one had ever cared about him this much either. He held his breath on the final notes as his eyes burned.
Damn. Shane wasn’t just something. He was everything. And now to see whether the judges agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
That was something. Shane could almost hear Brandt’s voice as he finished the song. His heart kept pounding even after the final chord, no longer with nerves but rather emotion. Felt like he’d run a four-minute mile and might never catch his breath again. And all he could think about was Brandt’s reaction, if he’d truly heard everything in Shane’s heart.
“Wow.” The host guy came back out onto the stage with him. Oh yeah. Judging. He still needed a score. Shane supposed he needed to school his expression, some sort of made-for-TV eagerness maybe, but he was wrung out. Best he could manage was a nod for the host, who was continuing to dole out the compliments before turning toward the judging panel. “Judges, what say you?”
The first was a starlet more known for her social media empire than her movies, the sort of loud personality that reminded him of Shelby, or at least, how Shelby had used to be. For the prior contestant, the judge had been standing in her chair, and now with Shane, she was fanning her face with an exaggerated sad expression.
“You made me cry.” She directed her critique right at Shane. And heck if he knew how to respond to that. “And I don’t like to cry. Damn you.”
“Sorry.” He wanted people to feel, to hear his stories and be moved, but he didn’t want anyone genuinely upset.
“Oh, don’t be sorry. You’re too pretty to be sorry.” She waved her bejeweled and glittery fingers as the audience tittered. “And you better keep making me cry...in LA.”
Pressing one of those well-manicured fingers to the big gold button, she hammed it up for the crowd, who whooped and hollered.
Shane let himself smile and say thank you, but she was only one vote. If he wanted a sure thing, the other two would have to agree.
“And Rita?” The host pointed at the next judge, an aging singer who’d been part of a hip-hop girl group in her teens that had been way more successful than her later solo pop efforts. She smirked at the host, who had to prompt her. “Do you agree?”
“Country’s not usually my thing.” Rita played to the audience, smiling at the smattering of boos. “And it’s early in the evening. But the audience seems to love you...” That got an ego-raising roar from the audience and a laugh from Rita. “Thank you, Portland. I’m thinking...”
“Yes?” The host held the microphone out to the audience for more cheers when she drew the moment longer than necessary, hyping the audience further.
“Well, the crowd sure wants to see you in LA.” She hovered her hand over the buzzer, getting more whoops and hollers. “Okay, okay. I can’t hear a song like that and not hit this button.”
Two. He’d gotten two golden buzzers. That was more than he’d expected, and his abs quivered.
“One more and you’re through to LA.” The host pointed out the obvious as the spotlight turned to the third judge. “But Graham’s our toughest judge. Let’s see what he has to say.”
This guy was a producer with a string of hits to justify his lofty rep as a star maker. But he was also known for his biting wit on this show. He made a show of a big frown and a simmer-down gesture to the audience.
“Acoustic guitar is overrated. I’d like to see you take more advantage of the backup band. And loosen up a little when you intro your song. I was prepared for dental surgery, not that number.”
“In other words, you liked it?” the host egged him on, all grins.
Shane couldn’t smile though. This close to advancing, all of a sudden he didn’t want to lose to his inability to make small talk with the audience. He seriously needed to start taking notes as to how Brandt so easily charmed people.
“I didn’t hate it.”
“Hear that, Shane? He didn’t hate it.” The host turned back to Shane as the audience laughed. “Anything you want to say to him to get him to press his buzzer?”
No would be the easy answer. No meant that he’d still be at loose ends, free to continue watching the baby for Brandt, and drifting through this thing they had going for as long as he could. No would mean fewer hard choices. But it would also mean disappointing Brandt, who was here and watching and who said he hurt with wanting Shane’s dreams to come true.
“I sing to tell stories, and I’ve got a lot more stories in me. Give me a chance and I’ll make you proud.” He spoke to the camera and the judge, but really the words were all for Brandt. If Brandt was here because he felt something for him, then Shane was going to do his damnedest to make him proud. And he wanted to give this thing between them a real chance, even if that meant difficult decisions.
“Ah. A storyteller. Well...” The audience roared as he paused dramatically, eyes narrowing, voice somewhere between amused and scolding. “I suppose I’m curious. I’ll give you that chance, but I’ll be watching to see if you can deliver a show as well as you can write.”
Buzz. The sound of the judge smacking the button seemed to reverberate through the whole auditorium and right through Shane’s bones. He’d done it. Holy fuck.
“Thank you, sir.” He managed to scrape together enough oxygen to speak. “And the rest of you. Thank you.”
“And there you have it. Our first competitor with a ticket to LA.”
The host waved him off the stage, where the same PA from earlier directed him through the maze of cameras and people.