Page 136 of The Alternate Captain
I roll my eyes, because I guess, in Johnny’s world, that’s what they are.
“Sure.”
“And you’re worried?”
“I don’t think I’ve prepared enough,” I say.
“You’re ready. Don’t overthink it. Just keep the next note in mind. Play like you do for me—when there’s no pressure and just ears waiting to hear the music.”
I concentrate on his voice, and by the time we say goodbye, I feel fairly normal.
After stowing my phone away, I turn to see Darren beckoning me towards the stage.
“Kelly, we need to stand by the curtains,” he says. And I weave through the crowd, over to where I left my cello.
The nerves hit me as soon as we’re in our spots and the light is beating down on us. Flashbacks from my audition at the music college roll through my head, and I’m struggling to focus. I don’t even think I can keep my cool.
But I’m not afforded any time to freak out, because Patrick’s arms raise, and he waves his baton. Shit.
Johnny’s face swims into my head, and that laugh he does when he’s trying to convince me something’s a good idea, then I replay the conversation we just had.
Then we begin, and I revel in that thought as I sway with the music. The Christmassy feeling filling the air and the warmththat spreads through me has me feeling relaxed and confident once we progress through the first piece.
As we come to the end of our composition, I hear Tom whooping and cheering in the crowd in a way that only Tom does, and I have to refrain from bursting into a laugh.
Even when Patrick introduces me to the casting directors after the show, I’m carefree and casual, but completely flabbergasted when they invite me to a formal interview after Christmas.
And the worry creeps back in. Except I don’t have time to dwell on it, because Tom bursts through the door of the backstage entrance, ignoring the ‘Performers Only’ sign.
“You were wonderful!” he says, pulling me into a hug.
Tom draws his attention to the muffin basket sitting in the far corner, next to my cello case.
“Are these from J-Dog? He’s such a babe. I love him,” Tom says. “Are you official now, and does your brother know yet?”
“Shh,” I whisper, pointing towards Darren who’s schmoozing someone less than three metres away.
“Oh, shit, yeah. Well, anyway. Are you?”
“I don’t know. But we are telling Mike soon. At least, I think we are.”
“Well, you can tell him now, if you like—he’s out there.”
My heart stops in my chest.
He never comes to my shows.
Without hesitating, I rummage for the card that came with the muffin basket and stuff it into my bra. Then I shove the basket towards Tom and tell him that if anyone asks, he was the one who gifted it to me.
I pull Tom in close to whisper in his ear.
“Darren can’t see Mike. I know he’ll ask him about Johnny, so it’s your job to go out there and cause a distraction.”
“What? What sort of distraction?”
“I don’t know. Maybe tell Mike I’ll meet him at the hotel—actually don’t because Darren is there too.” I think fora minute, catching sight of Darren moving towards me with his saxophone case. “Change of plan. You’ll need to distract him,” I gesture to Darren, “so I can get Mike out of here. I’ll text you and let you know where we’re going, and you can meet us there.”
“You can’t be serious,” Tom says indignantly. “I can’t.”
