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Roadies and engineers crowd the area and bump into me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I make my way to the side of the stage and I watch him as he sits on the stool, alone on the stage. The spotlight illuminates him, and he has his eyes closed as he finishes the song.
He has a sad smile and he looks tired as he addresses the audience; more tired than any man should be. I know how hard this must be for him, and how much harder it must have been for him to call me. This has been a long time coming, and the anticipation is that of an impending train. I always knew I would get back on the ride, but this time, I don’t know where it’s going.
He moves into the next song and I hear the familiar chords to Blood and Bone. I am taken back to that moment when I found him in the snowy woods, a broken and sad boy. I knew back then that he owned me, just as he owns this audience.
My heart ached for him then, just as it does for him now.
I am in love with tragedy.
There is a part of me that is drawn to him and this song. It’s the way the melody calls to me, the memory of writing these lyrics together, and the way our voices fit in the harmony. As if being carried by the notes, I take a step out onto the stage. Someone hands me a microphone and I start to sing the chorus with him like I was always meant to do.
I can hear the crowd become louder, but I am focused on Jack as I make my way across the stage. Jack looks at me surprised, but his fingers don’t miss a beat.
He’s not alone anymore.
Neither am I.
I never liked being on stage and being the center of attention, but singing with Jack feels like coming home. This is where I was always meant to be. He doesn’t take his eyes off me the entire time, and it’s as if I can see all the pain and the love in those beautiful blue hues.
The song ends and the spell is broken. The crowd cheers so loud it hurts my ears.
“Mia Stone, everyone!” Jack turns to the sea of people, speaking into the microphone. He gives me a dramatic bow and it makes me smile. “Thank you,” he says to the crowd. “Thank you very much and goodnight!”
He slips his fingers through mine and I can feel his pulse, wild and fierce. We walk off the stage together. Once we are away from the crowd, he turns to me and says, “That’s one way to make an entrance.”
Inside the dressing room, I cock my head to the side. “Well, you know me, I like the attention,” I say sarcastically. My hand is still inside of his, and it’s as if he’s afraid to let go. If he does, would I disappear, fade away with the sound of the crowd?
He looks as though he’s about to say something else when a man bounds into the room. “Absolutely fucking amazing!” he yells, and claps Jack on the back.
The man holds his hand out for me and I shake his politely. I can tell Jack is annoyed, and once he grabs his stuff, he links his hand in mine again as we make our exit to the alley. The cold air hits me as soon as the back door opens. We stop at the back of Jack’s car, and I can feel the tension coming off him in waves.
I can only imagine how hard this is for Jack. It had taken him a long time to feel comfortable in his own skin after we left Payson. He used to talk in his sleep and had nightmares when we first got to L.A. Jack has demons, and they often take the shape and form of his father. I wonder if he still has nightmares.
“It’s really good to see you,” he pulls me in for a hug and whispers into my hair.
I touch the side of his face and feel the heat from his skin. “You too, Jack.” I search his eyes. He looks different, and yet the same; maybe a few more lines around his eyes, and a couple of new tattoos dotting his arm and snaking out from under his shirt.
Reluctantly, he lets go of me and I climb into the passenger seat of his car. I pull out the package of Red Vines I grabbed on my way over, holding them up between us. “I brought Red Vines,” I say to cut the tension.
“Red vines?” he asks incredulously.
“Every road trip needs Red Vines.” I smile and hand him one. I thought after all this time it would be awkward between us, but it’s not. You never forget how to be with your best friend.
We sit in silence for a long time, the highway ahead of us. Taillights come and go out of focus. I don’t realize how tired I am until Jack’s voice brings me out of my daydreams.
“Did Cash give you a hard time?” he asks.
I wondered when this subject would come up. Cash and I have managed to keep everything private and the tabloids have not gotten wind of our separation yet. The wound is still so fresh, my heart ripped to shreds at the thought of him. It feels almost like a betrayal sitting next to Jack in his car.
“I don’t want to talk about Cash,” I warn him. Some things will only remain between Cash and me. That includes my terminal illness.
“Okay,” he agrees, keeping his eyes on the road. The blackness of the highway swallows us up as we drive through the desert.
I reach behind me where I threw my bag, hoping to find something to distract me when I find a bag of chips. I pull them forward and realize they are something I would never expect to find Jack eating.
“Are these kale chips?” I laugh.
Jack grabs the bag from me and tosses it into the backseat.
