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We didn’t discuss this—how we would act around each other.
There wasn’t time to earlier, between love declarations and nosy teenagers. I had a lot of questions aimed my way at the tennis courts—that’s for sure.
The group of people assembled in this room isn’t random. They all have substantial and lasting roles in Sutton’s life. And I have no idea how she wants to play this. We never acted like a real couple in front of the rest of the band while on tour. And the couple David and Lily have witnessed me as a part of involved their other daughter. I’m confident neither of them has ever entertained the possibility of me and Sutton.
Lily releases Sutton, and David steps forward to embrace his daughter. Their hug is short and awkward—maybe because we’re all staring at them, maybe for other reasons.
Suzan appears, all businesslike, as usual. “Five-minute warning, Sutton. We need to get you upstairs.”
Sutton nods. “Okay.” She glances at David and Lily. “I’ll see you both after?”
David smiles. “We’ll be here.”
“Sutton?” Suzan gestures toward the doorway.
Rather than walk in that direction, she heads for me. I still in place, not sure how to react. This is uncharted territory. Actually, more like new land altogether.
Sutton and I haveneverhad a relationship that existed out in the open. We’ve always been in denial and behind closed doors.
I don’t move as she approaches, sequins twinkling under fluorescent lights.
Sutton doesn’t pause until we’re pressed together, her arms slung around me. “You’re here,” she breathes.
“I told you I would be,” I murmur back.
I feel her chest inhale and exhale, pressed against mine, before she steps back.
For a second—for the thousandth time—we stare at each other. This is familiar and expected—and not in a good way. I’m so tired of pretending Sutton isn’t the axis of my world. Sick of schooling my emotions.
But I do it again with a smile I’m not even sure Sutton can tell is fake.
Rather than head out onstage with the band, I stand with Sutton’s father and stepmother off to the side.
David and I make small talk as we wait for the show to start. He asks a lot about the farm, which I think surprises himself as much as me. Most of his responsibilities there were foisted upon him after moving to Brookfield and the decline of Joe Everett’s health.
Sometimes, the things you don’t ask for are what turn out to be the best things for you.
Sutton strolls out onstage to a chorus of wild cheers, effectively ending our conversation. I glance over at David, watching him watch his daughter perform. The expression of pride on his face is unmistakable. I wish he would express it to Sutton. Wish she would tell him she sacrificed her own happiness all those years ago in an attempt to protect his.
The show passes quickly. It’s strange to witness it from this angle rather than be a part of it.
We draw closer and closer to the end.
Closer to “Heartbreak for Two.”
The final song ends, and the chant starts. “‘Heartbreak for Two!’ ‘Heartbreak for Two!’ ‘Heartbreak for Two’!”
Rather than give the signal for the opening chords to start, Sutton walks closer to the edge of the stage. The crowd quiets, thousands falling silent in sync to listen to what the microphone echoes around the packed arena.
“Playing in Chicago always feels extra special. I was born here. Lived here until I was seventeen. When I was seventeen, my family fell apart. My faith in love took a beating. We moved to a small town I’d never visited. I handled it like a typical teenager—with plenty of resentment and grumbling. But then…” She pauses. “Then, I met a boy. I was in a town of strangers, and he didn’t feel like one. He felt familiar and safe and special. For a whole bunch of reasons, I decided that we would only be friends. And he became my closest friend. I wrote a song about him.”
A smattering of claps sounds through the rapt audience, as sections of the audience seem to realize this is an introduction to the finale.
“That song is what launched my career—the reason I’m standing here in front of you all tonight. Art, in its purest form, is about emotion. I wrote a song about a boy I loved—about a boy Istilllove—and people connect with it because I felt every word when I wrote it and I feel every word when I sing it.
“And that boy is here tonight. So, Teddy—”
There’s a roar from the audience when she says my name, a rippling response I wasn’t expecting and she wasn’t either, based on the moment she takes before continuing.
