Bedo points at Austin, twirling his finger, a signal to wrap things up, and we finish the interview. I go through the motions, good-bye pleasantries and thank yous, but my heart isn’t in it. As soon as we are back in the SUV, I fire questions at our manager.
“Did you know? Is he really that sick? What’s the prognosis? Does Lexi know?”
“Whoa. Slow down, lover boy.” Bedo sets his phone on the seat while our driver navigates the route back to the stadium. “I’ve heard rumors for a while, but yeah, Richie Sands is dying. I don’t think he has long.”
“Did you know?” I turn to Iz because he’s more silent than usual.
“I heard rumors too. But you know how that goes, man.”
“Does she know?” My gaze bounces between the two.
Iz shrugs and Bedo picks up his phone, focused on his cell when he answers. “Your guess is as good as mine. Lori Mallory knows.”
“Her mom? How do you know that?”
Bedo holds his finger up, cutting me off to answer his ringing phone. “What’s the problem now? I told you to work out the pyrotechnics before tonight’s show. We’re six hours from go time. This isn’t child’s play.” He continues to go back and forth with whoever’s on the line for the rest of the ride.
My thoughts race as I search my memory for every conversation Lexi and I have shared—whether there’s a possibility she is already aware her father is dying, or if her mother hasn’t yet told her. And what kind of mother doesn’t tell her child something like that? I can’t come up with any indication Lexi knows, and my palms sweat, my nerves taking over. Goddamn, we just got together and now this, real life demolishing the carefully stacked trust we’ve been building. She’s stronger than any woman I know so I have to believe she’s tough enough to handle this. To not let it shake her. To shakeus.
“It’ll be okay. Just tell her,” Sean suggests with a nudge to my shoulder.
I nod, acknowledging his words but not completely believing them. My leg bounces with nervous energy that only increases when the car pulls up alongside the tour bus.
“Hey! Don’t be late for sound check!” Bedo shouts after me, but I’m already out the door, running to the bus.
“Lexi!” I shout but find her exactly where I left her.
“Trent? You okay?” She sets down her acoustic and pushes up on her knees.
I drop to the foot of the bed. I can’t catch my breath. Fear. The fear of how this will hurt her consumes me, but I push the words from my mouth. “Lexi, I’m so sorry. I just heard the news.”
She crawls over to me and brushes her palm against the scruff of my cheek. “What? What’s going on?” She doesn’t know. Her eyes hold so much care and concern.
“About your father. Richie Sands. Lexi, he’s really sick.”
She pulls back, her hand leaves my face, and she straightens her spine where she sits. “Oh. Yeah. That.” She’s not at all surprised.
“Wait. You already know?”
“That he’s dying of cancer? Yeah.” She picks up her notebook and flips through a few pages. As if it’s no big deal. “Hey, I want to run this song by you.”
“How long have you known?” I rise and pace the length of the bed, unable to remain still as all that energy from before, the fear of how she’d take this news, courses through my veins again, but this time it’s fueled by irritation.
She blows out a rushed breath and slams her notebook shut, giving me her full attention. “For over a month. Why?”
I still my steps and throw my hands up to meet her indifferent stare. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
She blinks once, her jaw hard, and pins me with a glare. “Why would I tell you? Why would I tell anyone?” She’s pissed. Well, good. Because I am too.
“Because we’re together, Lex! That’s the kinda shit you’re supposed to share. I shouldn’t have to hear from celebrity gossip that your father’s on his deathbed.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Just stop. Okay, he’s a sperm donor. He’s no father. Not to me.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“No! Why would I want to do that?”
I don’t get it. How she can play this off like it doesn’t matter? Like it isn’t significant. But then again, maybe she doesn’t think it is. Maybe she doesn’t realize. Maybe only I do. If I had the chance to do it over, to say good-bye if only for a few minutes, I would jump on the opportunity. “Because he’s dying, Lexi. This is your last chance—”
