I pulled her into my arms, because honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. The look on her face was breaking me. I wanted to do more than hold her, but when she sobbed into my chest, suddenly my needs disappeared. The only thing that mattered was her.
I was relieved I wasn’t the problem, but I was desperate to figure out what was so I could fix it. I stroked her silky hair, breathing in the soothing scent of her shampoo as she hiccupped against me, trying to collect herself. The selfish part of me hoped she’d never find the strength to leave my arms.
Holding her felt nice. We fit perfectly—her cheek on my chest, my chin on her head. I could’ve stayed like that forever, but like most great things, it didn’t last nearly long enough.
Layne pulled away, sniffling. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“Don’t be,” I said, smoothing her hair back from her face. I wanted to kiss her so badly my chest ached, but this wasn’t about me. I took a deep breath, restraining my urges as I took her hands and led her to one of the sofas outside the sound booth.
Once seated, I resisted wrapping my arms around her again. Her own arms were crossed tightly over her chest telling me she wanted space. Instead, I knocked my knee into hers and used one of my mother’s favorite lines. “So, what are you struggling with today?”
Layne’s eyes met mine and her face twisted into a mixture of humor and disbelief. “Are you kidding?” she squeaked. “I’m struggling with everything! The pressure, the fear, the what ifs.”
“What ifs?”
“Yes! What if no one likes my songs? What if we don’t get any votes? What if I’m not good enough?”
“There it is,” I said softly. “Now that you’ve admitted it, we can get somewhere.”
She rolled her eyes. “How? It’s not like we can know any of the answers. I just have to suck it up and stop being a coward.”
“You’re not a coward.”
“Oh really? I’m the one having the meltdown.”
“I assure you, it’s normal.”
She scowled at me.
“What? It is. I could tell you countless stories about musicians losing it on my father.”
“Countless?” she challenged.
I grinned, enjoying that I’d managed to distract her for a moment. I lowered my voice. “Let’s just say once you’ve seen someone put a guitar through a window, not much shocks you.”
Her eyes widened. “Who did that?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She huffed a laugh and loosened her arms, dropping her hands into her lap. “I’m sorry, I’m such a wreck today.”
I took her hands. “Don’t apologize. Being nervous is normal.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. It just means you really want this. And that’s a good thing.”
“I do,” she whispered. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in the world.” She looked down, chewing her lip. “I think . . . I think that’s why I’m so afraid.”
“You have nothing to be afraid of, Layne.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re incredibly talented. And you have me as your partner,” I added.
“But what if I’m not good enough?” she whispered.
“You are,” I assured her.
“But what if I’m not?”
“Then at least you know you gave it your all. What else can you ask for?”
She nodded, but still chewed on her lip with uncertainty.
“Look, if you’re searching for perfection, you’re always going to fall short. You just need to get in that booth, remember why you wrote those songs and play your heart out.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I don’t know about easy, but it should at least be fun. Otherwise what’s the point?”
She nodded.
“What do you say? Wanna go in there and take one more stab at it?”
She brightened and squeezed my hands. “Thank you.”
“Hey, what are partners for?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Layne
“What do you think?” Wyatt asked from the seat next to me at the sound board.
“That wasn’t half bad,” I said, pulling the headphones off. “I think we’re almost there.”
“Coming from you, that means it must’ve been incredible,” Wyatt said.
“I’m still not sure it’s good enough to upload to the voting page.”
“I have an idea about that.” Wyatt hedged.
I didn’t like the uncertainty in his voice. “What kind of idea?”
“Like you said, we’re almost there. But I think there’s one missing ingredient.”
“What?”
“You.”
I blinked at him, not getting his meaning.
“Your voice,” he clarified. “I think the song needs you on the track.”
“Wyatt—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Before you say no, hear me out. I think if you at least came in with me on the chorus it would help balance out the sound and actually add some tension. I mean, this line,” he pointed to the part about the kiss. “It’s basically a duet. Having two voices gives it that push and pull it needs.”
“I’m not a singer,” I replied.
“Sure you are. You sing with me all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” he challenged.
I crossed my arms, unable to articulate my feelings. “I don’t know. It just is.”
And it was. I wasn’t afraid of Wyatt. Actually, I trusted him. Singing in front of Wyatt had become strangely settling. But the idea of letting strangers hear me sing . . . “I’m too nervous to sing in front of anyone else. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I’m going to puke.”
“Okay. But can you at least admit this song could benefit from a female vocalist?”
“Yes, but since we don’t have one, it doesn’t matter.”
“We do, she’s just as stubborn as an elephant.”
“You did not just refer to me as an elephant!”
Wyatt leaned back in his chair groaning dramatically as he rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “Okay,” he said, straightening up. “What if I can prove it to you?”
“Prove what?”
“That this song needs your voice.”
“How are you going to do that?”
Wyatt glanced at his watch, then back at me, a playful grin pulling at his lips. “I might know a way.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”
I laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Do I have a choice?” I asked.
“No.” Wyatt grinned and grabbed my hand, pulling me off the couch. “Come on, my little diva.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“No, way! I’m not going out there, Wyatt.”