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24
SUTTON
PRESENT DAY
I’m struggling to pull on a pair of red cowboy boots when Devon strolls into my dressing room.
“Hey, Sut.”
I eye him, confused. In the three years he’s been my guitarist, Devon has never, one, walked into my dressing room, uninvited, or, two, called meSut.
“Need something?” I ask in the politestget the fuck outtone I can muster.
“Well,” Devon drawls before leaning against the counter of the vanity and crossing his arms, “I heard you get extra friendly with your guitarists these days.”
People are still gossiping about me and Teddy. Awesome.
“Unless you want to get replaced—again—I’d suggest you only come in here when I ask you to.” I pair the suggestion with a sweet smile that says,I mean business.
Devon holds both his hands up. “Touchy subject. Got it.”
I grit my teeth and stomp one foot, finally feeling my toes slide into the end of the boot. They pinch my toes, but are more comfortable than the heels I usually wear out onstage. “Did you need something?”
“Extra tickets for Chicago. I fell in love while I was laid up, collecting unemployment, and my lover is a big Sutton Everett fan.”
“Please tell me you don’t use the fact that you work for me to pick up women.”
“I don’t use the fact that I work for you to pick up women.”
I roll my eyes. “Take it up with Hannah or Suzan.”
“They said I needed to check with you…since you already have guests attending that show.”
I look up from stuffing my other foot in the matching boot. “What? I didn’t invite anyone.”
“Well, someone sent tickets to your parents. Andyourlover.”
“What?” I repeat. But even as I say it, I recall the exact conversation where I approved that happening. “Fuck. They’ve already been sent?”
Devon shrugs. “Not in my job description. But since that show is in two days and knowing the speed at which physical mail travels, I’d go with a confident yes on that.”
I swear again. Seeing my dad will be awkward, especially since the last interaction we had consisted of him texting me my mother’s number with no words of caution or support.
I’m more worried about what Teddy might think, though. Will he see it as a peace offering? A desperate gesture? A genuine invitation? I’m worried about what to do or say if he shows up. And if he doesn’t show, it’ll be a dramatic dagger to the heart.
“Was that a yes or no on the tickets?”
“Yes. Fine. Whatever. Just get out so I can finish getting ready.”
Devon smirks. “Okay.”
He leaves, and I don’t finish getting ready. I stare at my reflection.
I miss Teddy—a lot. More than I expected to, and it wasn’t a low bar to begin with.
“Youare my favorite dream, June.”
That sentence has stuck with me, been on an endless loop in my mind. I remember asking him what his favorite dream was. Remember his answer—“I don’t know.”
