But she’s singing about misunderstandings and pain and fighting for the love that’s rightfully yours.
Does she mean us?
Even when the song ends and the audience bursts into applause, I remain frozen, blinking at her profile as a smile that’s equal parts relief and triumph takes over her face. Then she turns her head, and our eyes lock.
She stares at me, her smile slipping a fraction before she hitches it back into place, the consummate professional. But she gives me a nod, like she’s answering all the unspoken questions teeming in my head.
One tiny nod that I’d miss if I weren’t staring at her like a starving man stares at a four course meal.
Then she turns back to the crowd and Tom smacks my shoulder, pulling me away. But I don’t even remember what I wanted to talk to him about anymore.
Dazed, I follow him to the greenroom, where he stands with his arms crossed and his chin thrust out, radiating anger and irritation. “What the fuck, Colt?”
I blink at him. “That’s my question.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “Look, man. I don’t know what your problem is—“
“What did you say to make her come?” I ask, cutting him off.
He blinks at me a few times. “What are you talking about?”
Gritting my teeth, my blood pressure spiking again, I stare him down. “I told you that she wasn’t able to make this show. That she had new contracts that would preclude her participation. Why did you call her? What did you threaten her with to make her show up?”
His brows come down, anger taking over his face. “Fuck you, man. I didn’t call her. I told my assistant to start changing the billing, and before we could even change it all, she called and said there was a misunderstanding and that she’d absolutely be here.” He shakes his head at me in disgust. “I don’t know what kind of misunderstanding you two are having, but keep it off my stage and figure your shit out before you come in here accusing me of things.” He clips my shoulder on the way out of the room, but I barely notice.
She planned this. She didn’t answer my calls on purpose.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me she’d be here?” I ask the empty room.
But no one has to answer me. I already know. They all assumed I knew.
So then the real question is, why didn’t she tell me?
I manage to get through the show, including my duets with Alexis, without any mishaps. It’s surreal, and I’m so confused right now.
She came here. On her own. And sang a song about misunderstandings and relationships that she just wrote.
And I’m …
Fuck.
What am I?
Even though I got set up with a lavalier microphone, for the duets the stage tech removes it and says that Alexis didn’t have time to get one so we’ll be sharing the mic. Which we haven’t done since that first show.
That first show where we had sex immediately afterward.
Because singing a love song duet with someone while sharing a mic is incredibly intimate. Especially when you mean every word and there are layers of meaning and memories and intimacy baked into that song.
Singing with her, with her staring up into my face, her expression open and honest and vulnerable, a fresh wave of ache hits me. Longing.
God, I’ve missed her. It’s really only been a handful of days since I saw her last, but it feels like it’s been months. I feel like I’ve aged a decade in the last week. And seeing her again scrubs me raw in the worst ways.
And worse than that, a tiny glimmer of hope sparks inside me, and I can’t bring myself to stamp it out. I want to. Because hope is agonizing. But I just … can’t. Because somehow the flare of pain is preferable to the barren wasteland of no hope.
When the last song is over, we bow together, practice and professionalism carrying me through as we walk off stage hand in hand. Like we’re still a couple.
When we’re out of sight of the audience, I move to release her hand, but she tightens her grip, pulling me to a stop. “We need to talk, Colt,” she says, and I read the words on her lips more than hear them because I still have my sound cancelling in-ear monitors in and the audience is still cheering long enough and loud enough that we’d normally give them an encore.