I for one would have been happy to see him multiple times a week, but I had the sense that he was holding back on purpose, not willing to jump in all the way with me. I hated it. I craved more time with him. I saw in him a line of music that seemed the perfect complement to my own. And if our notes could just line up on the same page, the harmony would be breathtaking.
But I also knew I’d hurt him. I’d broken his trust and earning it back would take time. So I did my best to be patient.
CHAPTER TEN
Sean was going back to touring. It had been two and a half months since his injury, and I worried about him leaving the safe bubble of his house and going back out on the road. So when Randy offered to fly me to Houston so that I could be there for Sean’s first show back, I said yes without hesitation. Sean didn’t know I was coming. Surprising him would be more fun, so I flew out Saturday afternoon, making it there with just enough time to eat dinner and then get to the arena.
Going to a concert alone would bother some people, but I’d gotten used to it, even preferred it. I could stand there, swaying to his music and focusing all my energy on his performance—his brilliance.
He really was brilliant.
Why did he have to be so brilliant? Why did I have to love and hate his success in equal measure?
Watching him perform, seeing the way that he sank into his songs, did give me a strange peace. His life was hard, but it was clear he loved this part of it. He loved singing. He loved playing his guitar. He loved telling his stories.
When the end of the concert neared, I moved out of my seat and made my way backstage, flashing my badge to each security guard I passed. I watched him sing the last two songs from backstage, admiring the way he moved. He would lean into certain lyrics and pull back from others.
His last song finished with a hard beat and the arena exploded in cheers. He bowed, thanked the audience, gave credit to the other musicians who worked with him, thanked the audience again and then walked away with a wave.
I grinned as I watched him step backstage, sweaty but obviously satisfied with his performance. I was used to his after-concert routine, so it surprised me when a stage hand immediately approached and dropped something small into his hand. He threw whatever it was into his mouth, then took the bottle of water she offered.
A hard ball dropped in my stomach. I tapped Randy on the shoulder and pointed my chin in Sean’s direction. “What was that?”
“What?”
“The pills Sean just took.”
He looked over at Sean as he downed the rest of the bottle of water. “Pain meds. Any time he’s played for a long time, he has to load up.”
My heart seemed to pause. “Any time he plays for long?” I asked. “Does that include rehearsals?”
“Yeah.”
I blinked, my gut churning with worry. “So he’s been back on the pills for a few weeks now?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t that concern you?”
“Why would it?”
I widened my eyes at him, letting my face call him an idiot so I didn’t have to vocalize it. “I assume we’re not talking about aspirin. So with his addictive personality, is it a good idea to load him with narcotics?”
“He’s in pain.”
“But…” I blanched. “I got him off the pain meds. He was off of them completely when he was four weeks post-op. You’re saying he stayed off of them for less than a month?”
“His hand is recovering well. We’re keeping an eye on it. But playing full shows is no easy thing, Libby. We knew this would be harder.”
“Did anyone consider having him not play?” Instead of undoing all my hard work?
“We wanted him to let Jimmy take over the guitar, but Sean insisted he do all the playing. Claims it messes up his rhythm if someone else is on guitar. I told him he should take the meds before he starts playing to manage it better, but he was worried it would slow his reflexes and frankly, I’m sure he was right. So, this was the compromise. Suffer for his art, but load up on pain meds right after.”
“Why didn’t you wait?”
“Wait for what?”
“For him to get better! Why didn’t you just not do the concert? You could