Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

“Needed a change. This is definitely different.”
    He smiles, and I feel Mel melting because I am right there with her. Illegal. Seriously.
    Our little group is interrupted by Leslie Duncan, the town’s sole lawyer and the lead singer in the only band in town that covers old country and rock music. He pushes his way through the crowd and gives me a big hug.
    “ Graceland, I can’t believe you’re sixteen already. I remember when you were three. You just refused to keep your dress on, and your mother had to chase you off stage more than once.” He chuckles to himself, and I force a smile at him, but in reality my stomach is churning and burning at the thought of her. People think because I don’t remember her it doesn’t hurt or it doesn’t matter if they talk about her like she was a good person. A doting mother. I notice Bentley watching me. His face gives nothing away, but his eyes are absorbing me in the same way Hunter’s do. Like they know what I’m thinking before I think it.
    “ Anyway,” Leslie continues. “I just came over here to tell you Manny’s truck broke down so we’re short our guitar player, meaning we won’t be starting for another hour or so. Sorry, Grace, I know how much you love to dance.”
    I assure him it’s okay but really I can’t stand the thought of hanging around for another hour. I’ve been dancing my whole life. Daddy put me in ballet so I’d have something ‘girly’ in my life, as he put it. My poor clueless father. But I do love it. I just like to be moving, I like the way the music can take over and the body moves with it. The push and pull between them, the way they work together and off each other to make perfection. Dancing keeps my mind steady, especially in the winter when there's not as much farm work.
    “ You guys play cover stuff?” Bentley pipes up, and everyone looks at him.
    “ Yes, young man. And you are?” Les steps up to Bentley, looking up at him. Ben shakes his hand.
    “ Ben, sir. I’m helping Carter out on the farm this summer.”
    A wide smile spreads across Les’ face.
    “ Wonderful, wonderful. You play guitar?”
    Ben shrugs. “Yeah, since I was a kid. I know a lot of old rock, so I could play as long as I know the song. You might have to change your line up a bit.”
    It takes all my strength to keep my mouth shut and my eyes their regular size, but I never would have pegged Bentley for the musician type. My eyes flick between Ben and Les as Les thinks about it.
    “ Let’s try it, why don’t we?” Les would have put his arm around Ben’s shoulders to guide him but I doubt he could have reached, so he drops his arm and just gestures Ben to follow.
    A bump to my hip distracts me, and Lacy’s standing next to me.
    “ Didn’t see that coming, hey?” She laughs. Mel, Kelsey and Julia are beside us in seconds.
    “ So that makes him like ten times hotter. Jesus, Gracie, why were we not informed?”
    I shake my head.
    “ I had no idea.”
    We all watch, even my brothers, as Ben makes his way to the stage and casually throws a guitar strap over his shoulder, like this had been the plan all along. I don’t think anyone believes it, that he can play. But there he is, twisting the little knobs, tuning the guitar, shaking the hands of the other band members and plucking at the stings. I remember the first time we met and my liking his calloused hands. His working hands. Not a working man. Musician. I think I like that better. This makes everything better.
    Ben plugs in his guitar and strums a chord. The sound fills the arena, and the vibration travels through me making my skin tingle.
    Mel is right.
    Ten. Times. Hotter.

CHAPTER 11
    Bentley
    I am such an idiot. I have no idea why I admitted that I play. That I’m good. I’m not good, I’m great. I had to be. Nothing but the best was my father’s motto. Unless it was being a good parent. Then he’d settle for sub par. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been dragged onstage to play in place of some cracked out guitarist. Sometimes I’d play off stage, and the real player would just air guitar, if he was capable.
    It does kind of feel good to have the instrument in my hands again. I never thought I’d miss it, and I didn’t until now. I miss playing, but I don’t miss what playing means in my family. I have an obligation to continue playing, to cater to fake spoiled douchebag famous people who want the world and want it for free, who think they know music, but in