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But she clung to the idea that he wanted to talk to her. Maybe he didn’t love her, right now. But maybe he might?
Micah turned his face and found her there with her parents like he knew that after what happened she’d need to be around familiar people. His face was an open wound. Ravaged. And all she could think was that he didn’t love her back and it hurt him so much “This is for the bravest woman I’ve ever met. Helen,” he said and broke into “This is Forgiveness.”
She flinched from the song; there really was something about it she did not like. “Hey,” she said turning to her parents. “You want to—”
“Listen,” Jonah said. “Listen to the words.”
“I don’t…” She shook her head. The roar of the crowd and everything made it hard. Or made it easy to be hard. “I can’t…”
“Honey,” Mom yelled. And something in her face was deeply scary. She reached out and held Helen’s hand. Micah hit the chorus.
Hurting you won’t change a thing. Hurting you won’t ease my pain.
She sucked in a breath that didn’t come. There was no air.
That was…familiar. But why? Because she’d heard it a bunch. The song was all over the radio. But she hadn’t. Really. Every time it came on she turned it off. She’d heard it once at the rehearsal space and it had sent her into a panic attack.
The only way forward for any of us is forgiveness.
It was from her victim statement.
“But he wouldn’t…” use those words in a song. Would he? Take all her pain and make a song?
Jonah nodded.
Oh God. She folded over at the waist.
And all at once those songs she didn’t like listening to—“Forgiveness.” “White-knuckled.” “Ghosts.” It was because they were full of her words. Her pain.
Jonah’s hand was around her waist holding her up.
All those songs he was writing while they were together on that road trip. Relentless. Was he…just using her? Was any of it real or was it all for his music?
Well, she knew the answer to that, didn’t she? It was in his silence after she said I love you.
Mom’s arms came around her and she looked out at the crowd of people singing her words. Their pain and her pain. And the guy on stage using all of it for his own purpose.
“Get me out of here,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Micah
She was there, her face pale and stricken, every word he was singing doing her some kind of harm, and he wished he could stop, but even if he stopped singing, the thousands of people in the arena would keep going.
The words Helen had said to the woman who killed her fiancé had become the words he used in a song, had become the words thousands of people had internalized and were screaming back at him.
It had a life of its own, which was what good songs did. Songs that touched something visceral.
She just didn’t know. He’d put her in this position without her knowledge or consent.
When he couldn’t bear witness to her pain anymore, he turned to the other side of the stage, lifting his finger and pointing up to the nosebleed section so they could roar their approval.
When he turned back to look for her…she was gone.
The band finished. Gathered at the edge of the stage for one last bow. He felt his brother’s arm over his shoulders.
“We did it, Micah!” Alex shouted in his ear. And it was true, everything about the night had been an astronomical success. The kind of night he’d never dreamed was possible as a kid living in that shitty trailer, wondering if they could pay for heat or water that month.
And it felt like ash in his mouth.
“We’re the motherfucking Band of Outlaws!” Miguel shouted and they all threw guitar picks and drumsticks into the chanting crowd and he ran off stage.
“Great show!” Jo said with a rare smile. It must have been good if she was happy.
“I need my phone,” he said. Not even engaging with her excitement. All around him were people trying to get his attention. Slapping his back and sticking cameras in his face.
“Micah,” Jo said, leaning forward. “You have two interviews tonight. Rolling Stone and The Times. You can’t…leave.” She looked at him like she knew what he was thinking. That he was going to get in a car and go find her.
“I’ll do the interviews. Just give me the phone.”
She handed him his phone and he took off down one of the hallways until he got someplace kind of quiet. He dialed Helen’s number. It rang and then went to voicemail. He called again. Same thing. One more time and it was finally picked up.
“Helen,” he said. “I’ve been trying to tell—”
“Micah. It’s Jonah. Stop calling. She is in no shape to talk to you.”
