Change my mind, move my whole damn world
And then you take what you get and give the blame
Because you know there ain’t no shame
In gettin’ while the getting’s good,
Girl, get while the getting’s good ...
Griff’s moving slow, but he’s clear and focused, singing with his typical cocky confidence. His voice sounds better than ever, rough and ragged. Goddamn gorgeous, if she really wants to admit it. Sure, he’s hungover and hurting, but he’s hiding it well and that’s all that matters to Alabama.
She needs this. She needs this tour and she and Griff have to pull together to make it a success.
Don’t need to stick around to understand
Don’t need to see him to know I ain’t your man
So pack your bags, you done what you could
And get while the damn getting’s good ...
Despite her crossed arms, her emotionless face, Alabama can’t help but tap a toe at the charming sound. It’s a terrific song. Griff’s entire first album was a knockout, had won him Male Artist of the Year at the ACMs. She remembers angry-eating ice cream as she watched it on TV with Holly. He had thanked his mama, thanked Jim Beam, and then promptly booked it offstage. He was high as a kite, and she—and the world—knew it.
There’s a soft rustle in the dark and then Brian’s standing beside her. His arms crossed against his two-small shirt, he wears a headset attached to his mouth, a somber expression. He watches Griff for a long second and then says, “You two sounded good tonight.”
She nods. “Yeah. I thought so too.”
The admission has her gritting her teeth.
They sang together again onstage. After her first few songs, Griff had graced the audience with his presence. She still doesn’t like it, him stepping in to smooth things over with his fans, but she didn’t fight it. They sang a cover of “Pancho and Lefty,” and then Griff left her to finish out her set.
Brian’s headset erupts with the sound of buzzing voices. His brows lift and then he sighs. “I gotta go help Mikey out of a jam.” A small smile overtakes his face. “You got this, Al.”
“Thanks,” she says softening, surprised by Brian’s bolstering words.
She watches him retreat to the shadows and returns her gaze to the stage.
For a split second, Griff glances over, his gaze sweeping over her. She stiffens, her heart ricocheting in her chest as if it wants to leap onstage with him. Then she scowls at herself, at her traitorous internal organs. Griff’s eyes are already forward, focused back on the audience.
Why is she even bothering with Griff? Why doesn’t she just let him sink, blow his own boat up? Well, she’s on that boat. And Alabama’s done sinking.
Still, she can’t help but watch him, can’t help but wonder if that boy, that sweet boy from Clover, is still in there. Somewhere. She saw a glimpse of him this morning in Griff’s apology. It was sincere. Honest. Shame in his eyes. He meant it, and that meant a lot to her. There was no trace of the edgy bullshitter who put up a tough-talking front last night. No trace of the man who had taken her in his arms and tried to—
Alabama’s thoughts are blasted out of her brain at the sound of an electric guitar sizzling onstage.
She presses fingers to her lips, smothering a laugh.
Their sounds are so damn different. Sounds she never would have pegged them for. While Griff is all countrified rock and roll, Alabama’s pop-country. When they played together back in Clover, at Mill’s Tavern, they somehow bridged that gap. Their sound walked the line between old school country and rock and roll.
And no matter what, their songs always had heart.
Alabama’s phone vibrates. She pulls it out from the waistband of her skirt and checks it. A text from Freddie. Keep up the smashing work!
Below it—an attached screenshot of a headline from the Nashville Star.
Despite Rocky Start to Tour, Alabama Forester’s Voice Finally Takes Center Stage
She smiles softly, trying to ignore the thrill of excitement, of happiness, she feels at one measly—albeit positive—headline.
Once again, Alabama’s eyes settle on Griff.
She doesn’t know if she trusts his word, the promise he made this morning to toe the line, but it’s all she’s got, so she has to hang on to that.
Because she can do this.
She and Griff—they can do this.
They have to.