As long as I was his I’d never find my peace,
so the last chords faded out.
And when the song was over,
And dusk turned into dawn,
You were heaven-sent and hellbound,
And I was already gone.
I loved you anyway,
Tried to keep it to myself.
But I wrote you into every song,
Felt you every single day.
I can’t escape the memories,
Or get back what you stole.
‘Cause you were mine for a little while,
Even though
You whispered words he never said
Laid bare all my fears and doubts.
Still find ways bring me peace, when the last chords fade out.
And when the song is over,
And the stage lights lose their glow,
You’re still Heaven-sent and hellbound,
And I’m the fool who let you go.
A tear slips down my cheek as the last note drags on. I tug out my earpiece and take one last bow, leaning my guitar against the stool and walking off stage.
In the dark corridor behind the stage, an onslaught of dry, rasping coughs assaults me. I lock eyes with Stacy, my tour manager sent from the very depths of hell. She’s waiting in the wings with a scowl on her face. I have half a mind to flip her off, but I’m too exhausted to fight. I duck into my tour bus.
“I thought we agreed that song was too pedestrian,” she says.
I throw my head back and roll my eyes, tossing my cowboy hat onto one of the bench seats and sinking beside it. Nashville is our last stop before I head home to my empty downtown penthouse apartment, and I don’t have any patience left for Stacy’s attitude. “I distinctly remember disagreeing with that assessment.”
Stacy looms over me. If I cared enough to look at what I’m certain is her disapproving glare, I’d have to crane my neck, but I’m all out of fucks.
“Whatever, Ruby,” she says. “You can’t just go rogue like that. The label is watching your every move as it is.”
“Of course they are. God forbid their cash cow steps a toe out of line and does something that makes her happy for once.”
Ruby Lynn Hayes: Country Music Darling.
It would be a shame if the headlines reflected the borderline abuse I’ve endured at the hands of my record label, or that I’m supposed to be on vocal rest. My handlers decided finishing the tour was more important than my health.
