He laid his cheek against the top of my head. “If it makes you feel any better, I think there’s some deep, dark hurt in Ford, and he’s trying to find a way around it. I honestly think he can’t help himself.”
It didn’t make it any better. Not at all. The fact that my uncle who, up until this moment, I trusted with my life, would use this opportunity to get attention left me gutted.I’m being selfish,I told myself.Not everything is about me.
The announcer started again. “We all know that here in good ole Tennessee—our home sweet home—we have to sing our beloved national anthem before every fooootbaaaallll gaaaaaaame. Tonight we’d like to welcome a resident of our great state who’s never sung for us before. You all know him from Whiskey and Women. Let’s hear it for Fooooord Duuupreeeeee!”
I blew out my breath as the stadium exploded.
Uncle Ford jogged to the middle of the fifty-yard line, waving. His face was plastered all over the massive Jumbotron on the south end of the stadium. Everyone roared. Tally covered her ears, looking like a deer in the headlights.
Ford jammed the mic in his back pocket, strummed his guitar and began singing. I straightened, hand over my heart, to give my country the respect she deserved. But I could’t enjoy his dulcet tones this time. When the song was over, everyone stayed standing. We glanced at one another, confused.
“Good evening, Tenneeeesseeeeeeee!” Ford intoned into the mic. Another explosion of cheers. “It’s great to be here with you.” More shouting and whistling.
Someone yelled, “I’ll Rocky Top you, Ford Dupree!”
He wore a coy grin. “I know I’m expected to sing ‘Rocky Top’ now as a solo, but if it’s okay with y’all I think I’ll turn it into a duet. What do you say?”
More cheering.
“What’s he doing?” I asked Ashton, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
But he didn’t answer, just watched, wearing an expression of concern.
Ford glanced around, his eyes mischievous. “Aaannaaa?” he called and my heart hit the concrete. “Aaaannaaa Baanaanaa?”
“Noooo,” I choked. “Absolutely not.”
Ashton looked as sick as I felt. He called Ford a nasty name under his breath.
“Well, now we know why he made us sing ‘Rocky Top’ on repeat,” Brooklyn said.
Then Ford had the gall to laugh. “You guys, I think my niece is feeling kind of shy. Could y’all help me out?”
“What the…” the words died in Brooklyn’s throat. She pointed to the Jumbotron, and I looked over to see my massive, horrified face staring back at me. The stadium erupted in laughter and cheers. I righted my expression and pasted on a smile. Looking at the Jumbotron, it was more of a grimace.
“Aaaannnnaaaaa?” Ford called again, but this time one hundred thousand fans echoed back, “Aaaaaaannnnaaaaaa?”
“Ma’am!” The woman who’d led Ford away minutes earlier was standing by the gate, motioning for me to come.
My eyes darted to Ashton then Brooklyn then Tally, all of them looking as shocked and helpless as I felt.
“Ann-a! Ann-a! Ann-a!” the stadium screamed.
“I don’t think you have a choice,” Brooklyn yelled over the buzz. “You’re at least three million views on TikTok either way.” She gave me a little shove. “Go!”
One foot in front of the other, I went, because she was right. I was going viral either way. The question was if I was going to be a poised, put-together viral video or a laughing stock. The woman took me by the elbow, spurring me along, down the steps and onto the field. I kept my eyes straight ahead as I walked past the football players mere feet away. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel Blue watching.
“She’s hot,” one of them said when I passed. “Somebody get me her number!”
I gulped and sent up a prayer pleading not to let me trip.
As I came toward him, Ford beamed, so proud of himself. I tried to glare him to death but then I noticed a camera filming every micro-twitch in my expression. Ten feet from Ford the woman finally let go of me. Ford pulled me into a showy hug like we hadn’t seen each other in a year and not like we’d just been sitting together four minutes ago.
The entire stadium let out a collective “Awwwww.”
I put a hand over the mic Ford was holding and hissed, “I’m gonna kill you when this is over.” I realized too late that his guitar had a mic clipped to the end and another was hooked to his shirt collar.
And the entire stadium had heard me.
