Ipushed away and rolled my eyes. “Oh, my God, shut up.”
“Hey,I’m not sayingIwannasee it happen, but the internet does. I’ll be all, hashtag-Chally,hashtag-finally.” My cheeks were on fire with my own excitement, mingled with atinge of embarrassment, and Sebastian laughed as he pinched my face. “Ooh,you’re blushing! God, this isgonnabe epic.”
Wouldit be, though? I wanted to believe it’d be like something straight out of oneof those romantic comedies the guys were always watching. Equal parts sweet andmomentous. But it also could be awkward as hell. Innocent flirtation over thephone with your best friend was a lot less awkward than doing it in person. Andwhat if it wasn’t the same? What if it wasn’t as good? What if we had justspent the past few weeks making sure that things would be bizarre between usforever?
“You’reon, Molly,” Devin announced, entering the green room with a reassuring smile.
“Buthe’s not here.” I found myself pouting, unable to keep the words bottled up.
“I’msorry,” Dev said, frowning. “Maybe he hit traffic.”
Inodded somberly, having nothing else to say, and left the green room to walkout to the stage.
Themoment the audience saw me, they erupted in applause and I smiled with sinceregratitude. Performing in front of so many people had become a lot morecomfortable since my first show, but the stage had yet to feel like home. Ihated to admit that I didn’t love this life, but when I watched the enjoymentdisplayed on the faces of Devin and the guys, I knew something was missing forme, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever find it.
“Howdy,Texas!” I spoke into the mic, whipping my guitar over my shoulder. “It feels sogood to be back home withy’all, but it’ll feel evenbetter to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
Thecrowd cheered and chuckled, and I grinned. “I’ve beensharin’a tour bus with all these sweaty guys for the past month and a half, and let metelly’all... It is notnearlyas glamorous as it sounds.”
Iwaited the appropriate amount of time for the laughter to dwindle. I’d gottengood at that, reading the audience. “So, tonight is the last day of mytwenties.” They applauded and I bowed my head to the smattering of happybirthday wishes. “Thanks,y’all. It’skindascary, isn’t it? I didn’t think it would be, but ifI’mbein’ real, now that I’m here, thirty soundsprettyfreakin’terrifyin’.But it’s also kind ofexcitin’, too. Like, I’m not akid anymore, right? The guy at myH-E-Bisn’tgonnacard me anymore when I buy mybeer now, right?”
Morelaughter, and I grinned. “Anyway, I got a few songs here Iwannaplay fory’all, so let’s get it done before I boreeverybody to death. This first one’s called, ‘My Memories Are Full.’”
Iclosed my eyes, as I did at every show, and pushed myself to forget the facesand lights. I envisioned a universe, all for me, where I was the only lightburning in a sky of dead bulbs. I had to compensate, I had to shine thebrightest I could, and I strummed my guitar with everything I could muster. Itwirled and stomped my feet. I spun and swayed my hips, and when I reached themicrophone, I belted out my lyrics with the power of the cosmos.
“Someare colorful and vivid,
Somehorrendously dull,
But thanksto you, my long-lost friend,
Mymemories are full.”
Therewas pain in my voice tonight. The hurt of leaving another decade behind, andthe sting of having my hopes built up only to be let down. I should’ve knownbetter, I should’ve been more guarded, but dammit, this was Chad. He wasdifferent, and yet, he hadn’t come tosee me play.
Isang and let my pathetic heart weep, knowing it wasn’t the end of the world,but it still ached. I sang, and when I was finished, I thanked the crowd forbeing such an incredible audience. For indulging me and for listening. Theyapplauded, and I turned to leave the stage.
Whatfirst stopped me from leaving, is a mystery to me. I couldn’t tell if it wasthe abrupt escalation of their cheers, or if it was Chad, walking out onto thestage with his rarely played Gibson hanging around his shoulders. He plugged anamp into the acoustic electric, adjusted his earpiece, and when he reached thehead of the stage, he stopped and grinned at me.
“Youthought I wasn’tcomin’, didn’t you?” he askedquietly.
Heknew me too well. I sniffed back the oncoming tears and shook my head,incredulous. “Shut up.”
“I’mnevergoin’ anywhere again, Molls,” he told me withsincerity, and before I could react to that statement, he adjusted the mic andspoke into it. “Dallas, how the hell areya? Myname’s Chad Wilcox.Y’allmight remember me from mybrief stint with Devin’s band …”
Thecrowd laughed, and I marveled at him and the command he had over them. Hiscomfort at the mic, even when he was used to being in the background. This wasclearly where he belonged, in front of an audience, but me? I wasn’t soconvinced yet.
“So,I wanted to come out here for two reasons,” he went on to say, after thecrowd’s applause died down. “To wish this gal over here a happy birthday …”Another applause, this one, for me. “And,to explain what’s been going on with me. And while I’d love to havey’allsing Happy Birthday right now so Molly doesn’t haveto hang around here like she’s my beautiful assistant orsomethin’,I’m not sure I couldactually talkabout this if shewasn’t here, so …” He turned to me and struck me stupefied with an apologeticsmile. “Better make yourself comfortable for a couple of minutes, darlin’.”
Darlin’. Thecrowd tittered with affectionate sentiments andaww’s, while I quietly swoonedand continued to stand beside him.
“Iknow I toldy’allthat I had to take a break from thetour‘causeI was sick withthe flu. But now I’mgonnatelly’all,that was only partially the truth. Iwassick—still am. That much istrue, but I never had the flu.” A dull murmur laid over the crowd like ascratchy, uncomfortable blanket. I watched as they turned to each other, browsfurrowing with question and betrayal.
Chadtook a deep breath, and I caught sight of his jaw trembling under the stagelights. He was trying, and I knew he needed help to go on. So, without a careof who was watching or what the internet gossips might say, I slipped my handinto his and squeezed.
Itwasn’t the first time I’d ever held his hand. God, we had years of memoriesbetween us of holding hands, but this time, it felt likesomething. Something new.
Thecolumn of his throat shifted with a deep swallow, and although he didn’t breakeye contact with the crowd, his hand slid against mine. Our fingers aligned andfitted together with the distinct sensation of puzzle pieces sliding intoplace. Almost in slow motion, almost overwhelming. I nearly gasped, and Iwondered if he’d felt it, too.
