Page 106 of Trip Through Your Wires

“Your best friend offered to help you countless times but you’ve always said no. And I get it, Sparky, I do. Pride is something I know well. But this? You’re better than this.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop the tears that threaten from falling. “I couldn’t ask her for this.”

“You could have asked me,” his eyes flash. “You are mine to protect. You can ask me for anything and I will always have your back.”

A lance of pain slices across my chest as the fear of losing him hits me. Every second I stand here looking like some dime store hooker chips away at everything we were and could have been. But as if hearing my thoughts, under the bulky fabric of his sweatshirt, I feel his forearm flex and see the corner of his eye twitch, ever so slightly, and it hits me…I haven’t lost him. He knows something is wrong.

What he just said…it’s the promise he made to me that night on the beach when he pulled the gun from my trembling hand. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he trusts me and he is not going anywhere. He’s ready to help, in whatever way he can.

I don’t know what to do. Should I run through the back door and leave, telling Jake everything and risk all our futures? Or should I get up on the stage and keep this charade going a little while longer until I find something on Richardson. Knowing sometimes the only way out is through, I know what I have to do. I have to dance.

Looking up at the stairs, I get an idea. “Mamma,” I ask quickly. “Can you lower the lights?”

She looks from me to Jake, nodding. “How dark?”

“Enough so they can see him.”

“Honey,” she smiles, “he’s hard to miss.”

I look back at Jake, knowing she’s right. He attracts attention no matter where he is. That smile, those eyes…he’s one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. It’s no wonder all the girls at Highland flock to him. With his beauty, charm, and incredible personality, even I was helpless against Jake Chambers. But win me over he did, and there’s no way in hell I am letting him go. Not now. Not ever.

“Can you be totally still?” I grip his forearm tighter.

“Depends,” his eyes scan my face. “What are you going to do?”

“Dance,” I say matter of fact.

“What?” His eyes grow wide. “It’s packed out there.”

“I know,” I nod. “And if I don’t get out on that stage in about one minute, there is going to be hell to pay.”

His eyes darting back and forth, fevered breathing tickling my lips. “Sparky, tell me what’s going on.”

“I will,” I nod. “I promise. But right now I need you to sit your ass in that chair and don’t move an inch. Pretend to be a mannequin. Here,” I reach around him and grab a hat from the shelf next to the stairs where the girls stash their props after coming off the stage. Pulling it over his head, I bring the bill down over his eyes. “Now, take your sweatshirt off and turn it inside out. Hurry.”

He takes off the hat, hands it to me, then takes his sweatshirt off, turns it inside out, then pulls it back down over his head. When done, I give him the hat back and he slips it on.

“This okay?” he asks.

The block lettering of his team sweatshirt is no longer visible and with the hat pulled down, I can barely recognize him. I don’t know how Jake got in or even how he got past Richardson without him seeing. But he hasn’t come back here yet, so it appears we’re safe, for now.

“Come,” I slide my hand in his and pull him up the stairs.

When we reach the stage he looks to the curtain as I rush over to the other side and grab the chair some of the girls use in their routines and drag it to the middle of the stage. “Sit down,” I command, “and do not move an inch. No matter what I do, you must remain absolutely still. Grip the chair seat, your thighs, anything, but me. If you do, you will have the bouncers up here in seconds. Understood?”

I hike a leg over his lap and straddle him. “First,” he locks his eyes on mine, no one’s gonna tell me that I can’t touch you. And second, you’re dressed like that and sitting on my lap. How can you expect me to—”

“Please,” I lean in, bringing my mouth to his ear. “They will hurt you, and I will die if anything happens to you.”

“Sparky,” he whispers, brushing my thigh gently with his thumb.

I pull back slowly and when our eyes meet again, he swallows deeply. “This is for you,” I whisper. “Only, you. Remember that.”

A loud, fast fiddle starts blaring from the speakers overhead, and when the curtain pulls up, and a light shines down on us, I know it’s show time.

Pushing up from his lap I start to dance, mimicking moves I’d seen the other dancers do, dozens of times. It must look okay because there are cheers and applause as I make my way around the stage, swiveling my hips, giving the audience their first view.

But when the chorus hits and I listen to the words, the song takes on new meaning. “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” It’s fitting. Eerily so, and when I look at Mamma, and see her standing there, hands clasped in front of her with a smile on her face, something tells me she didn’t choose randomly.

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