at me for a beat. “So Lauren and I can come to your show? She’s been dying to see you live, and I have to admit that I’m excited to hear you in person so I can get a better idea of how to set up the studio to best capture your aesthetic.”
Shaking my head, I let out another laugh. “Yes. You guys can come to my show.”
With a nod, he turns and heads for the door, and I follow him in, bemused. Here I always thought my brothers were assholes who either pitied me or tried to hold me back. Turns out they were just trying to save me from myself.
What else have I been all wrong about?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alexis
Nerves ride a tilt-a-whirl in my stomach as I approach the venue, my hand sweating as it clutches the handle of my guitar case.
I haven’t felt this nervous before a performance in …
Ages. Maybe one of those talent shows I was reminiscing about? The first time I played solo, just me and my guitar?
But these nerves are different. These aren’t about performing, not per se, at least.
These are about Colt’s reaction to me showing up at all.
Will he talk to me? Will he be mad that I didn’t call him back?
Some part of me hopes he’ll be happy to see me. That we’ll get to talk after the show, I’ll pull out the divorce papers and tear them apart in front of him, tell him I won’t sign with a label that required that much control of my personal life, and that I want him. Forever.
But mostly I worry he’ll be furious.
I’ve spent the last several days thinking and planning. When I saw that the venue had removed me from the billing, I called immediately, explained there’d been some kind of misunderstanding, and that yes, I absolutely would be there as planned.
Since Colt hasn’t posted anything online about us splitting up, I have to believe that he’s waiting for me, or more accurately, the label’s PR team, to announce it. But I have no intention of doing that. Not unless he signed those papers for a different reason than I thought.
Maybe I should’ve returned his calls, but I didn’t think he’d be willing to actually listen to me. And I wasn’t willing to get trapped into that conversation on the phone.
No, it has to be face-to-face. And since I still don’t know where he’s staying, tonight is my first and best option.
So here I am, guitar in hand, hoping that he won’t see me until we’re on stage together.
Maybe that’s shitty too. Maybe I should find him before the show and let him know I’m here. That I’m playing the show, we’re doing it as planned, and that we need to have a real conversation afterward. The conversation we should’ve had days ago, but he left before we could.
Instead, the tech dressed in black meets me at the stage door and shows me to a dressing room. I hold my breath the entire way down the hall, especially when I pass the door with Colt’s name on it. But he doesn’t appear anywhere, and then I’m safely in my own dressing room, where I can relax and prepare for the show, followed by a showdown.
Opening my case, I remove my guitar, softly strumming the strings to make sure it’s still in tune. Then I pull out the envelope of papers, laying them on the counter so they’re ready for when I need them.
Sitting quietly, I take several deep breaths, calming and centering myself. If I’m going to pull this off, I need to be on top of my game. Because there’s a good chance that me showing up will throw Colt off in a big way. He’s professional enough and we’ve played this show enough that I’m confident he’ll recover. But I need to not falter.
After gathering myself, I start playing quietly. It’s the new song that I wrote at my mom’s house. And I’m hoping that it’ll go a long way toward clearing up this misunderstanding.
Because I’m hanging on tight to the fact that’s what all this is. A big, fat, ugly misunderstanding.
I should’ve told him about Delores giving me the divorce papers the day it happened. I should’ve told him, and then I should’ve shredded them on the spot. Because that was never an option for me.
If I’d done that, none of this would’ve happened.
“Five minutes,” the stage manager calls through my dressing room door.
“Thank you, five,” I call