22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Laredo
O nce again, my mouth writes a check that my butt has to cash. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I can’t help it. When others walk around the world obeying stop signs and following arbitrary rules made up by senseless people, I step around the velvet ropes and sneak in the back door.
There was no way I was going to disappoint Betty’s little sister. I saw in Betty’s eyes the love and reverence she holds for her sister. I possess the same for my sister, Hailey. They are special people who you’d do anything in the world to make their dreams come true.
Margo skips ahead of us like a kid headed to a party while Betty hangs back, dragging doubt alongside her. A summer ago, she would be up for this type of adventure.
“It’s not too late to turn around. There’ll be another concert tomorrow, another artist for her to obsess over. There always is here in Seaside.” She tries to hide the excitement in her voice but fails. I recognize it on the edges.
I will not disappoint her.
We close to within a few dozen yards of the large white tent. Security and a hostess with a clipboard hover near the entrance. Scenarios run in my head.
I could make one call to Ariel. She’s a headliner and festival darling. Rules don’t apply to artists at her level. Then I think of the Post-it note she left for Adam and me. I’m not exactly at the top of her friends-and-family favors list right now.
Family.
I think of Hailey. The festival is still buzzing about her performance from last year. One mention of the family name and I’m sure the hostess would let us in. But I won’t trade on my sister’s name. She’s worked too hard to earn her place at the table. I will find another way. I always do.
We approach the tent, and movement along the edge captures my attention. Festival workers follow thick black cables strewn from the boardwalk generator to the rear of the tent. Coils of speaker wires and a black-and-silver travel roller case for musical equipment sit next to the generator.
“Here.” I grab a twenty-pound, tightly wound rope of speaker wires and hand them to Margo. She giggles, already on board with the plan. I turn to find Betty, hands already on the roller case as if she’s a roadie returning from break.
She shoots me a cute smile before lowering her head and muttering, “This had better work.”
I wink at her and race in front of Margo, waving my arms to draw the attention of the approaching security guard away from Margo. I point for Margo and Betty to keep moving down the thin corridor next to the tent while I distract the guard.
I tap a nonexistent earpiece and huff out an exasperated breath as if I’m already twenty minutes late. “I know, I know. We just got word one of the speakers for the Sano set blew. We have to get to the stage double time, or those VIPs will…” I let the security guard’s imagination complete the sentence in his head.
I raise a finger in the air, halting the guard from commenting, lowering my chin and twisting away from him. I cup my other hand over my ear as if I’m having trouble hearing what is being said in my earpiece. “We’re here. Give us thirty seconds.” I turn to face the guard, who is half-distracted by the growing queue of VIPs. “Listen,” I say, capturing his attention. “I got to go, or they’re going to have my head.”
I don’t give him a second to process. Confidence and chaos—between the two, a lot can be accomplished. I rush in front of Margo and hope this tent is set up the same way the rehearsal tents are in the festival area. They usually have open flaps in the rear behind the stage to allow for the loading and unloading of equipment.
We navigate down the thin aisle, hopping over PVC tubes and wires until we reach the disorganized area in the back of the tent. Empty guitar cases, backup drum equipment, and half a dozen roller cases clutter the area. I grab the speaker wires from Margo, hoisting it on my shoulder, and step over a nest of extension cords to the flap. I poke my head in and exhale.
Speakers and roadie equipment litter the side of the stage area, and the stagehands in their black T-shirts and headsets race around the madness. I wave to Margo and Betty, pointing them to a spot in between two sets of speakers where they will be out of the way. No one gives us a second glance.
Betty stands behind Margo, her hands on the top of her shoulders, leaning forward and whispering something I can’t hear. They both burst into silly giggles as if they are playing hooky from school. I pause and take in the scene, knowing this moment will stick with me forever.
A scrum of bodies passes in front of them: a man in a suit reading a note, two stagehands talking into earpieces, a young woman with a utility belt filled with tools. That’s when I see him, standing two feet behind them, head held high, dark curls, midnight eyes, and the swagger of a superstar—that must be Sano.
He looks to be in his late thirties, and I realize I have seen him before. Soccer ads, selling some fancy sports car in a magazine ad, and a designer watch billboard. He’s not just a musician but also a model.
Sano whispers to the young woman, and she directs the man in the suit to rush to the stage. Our timing is impeccable—the set is about to begin.
Giggles from the girls pull Sano’s attention from staring out at the VIPs to them. It takes a second for his eyes to spot them between the speakers, and I hold my breath. One wave of his hand and we’ll be escorted away. Instead, he smiles, tips his head in their direction, and blows them a kiss.
I hear Betty’s scream over the cheers from the crowd. Other men in this situation might carry doubt, might question practically delivering their woman on a platter to an artist their girl has crushed on for decades. But I’m not most men. Especially when it comes to Betty. I operate under the assumption that every man on the planet wants her, but she has chosen me. They can look, but she’s mine.
Sano gives them his back, but I see his shoulder shake in laughter at their reaction. His laughter only fuels the girls.
“She’s your biggest fan. Had the poster over her bed for years.” Margo outs her sister, and I expect this new version of Betty to reprimand her. What she does surprises me.
“I love you,” she shouts toward Sano, and I’ve never felt prouder. My wild child has returned.
I could stay here drinking in this moment for hours, but this moment isn’t about me. I stride to Betty, her attention focused on the stage. I push her hair from the back of her neck and place a soft kiss. It’s gentle and is just a precursor to what I’d really like to do with her.
“Text your coworker so she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person,” I whisper.
She speaks without turning. “You were serious? You’re going to the bookstore?”
Margo must overhear and turns. “You can’t stay for one song?”
I shake my head. “I’d better go while your sister still believes I’m being responsible.” I chuckle as it’s the last trait anyone ever associates with me. “Enjoy the show.” Without thinking, I turn and place another kiss on Betty, this one right on her lips. Her eyes go wide. I know her sister is watching, taking notes. I’m claiming her in front of someone who matters. I’m supplying the answer to Margo’s question over lunch. Betty is mine. “I’ll catch you later.”
I nod goodbye to Margo and turn, but not before noticing Margo’s mouth hanging open. Her final words the best words I’ve heard all day. “I knew it.”
Of course she did. Anyone that looks at the two of us can see we belong together. Maybe now Betty will too.