Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Hours later, on Saturday night, Jamie enjoyed some much-deserved silence on the couch in his greenroom. He had eaten dinner—brown rice and grilled chicken, though he would’ve preferred a cheeseburger—and showered in the luxurious owners’ suite.
He’d even changed into an exorbitantly expensive navy tee and dark-wash jeans Sammi had a stylist pull for the occasion, topped off with his University of Tennessee hat and his own scotch-brown cowhide boots.
After that morning with Brinton, they were his new favorite boots.
Pre-show, he usually prayed, journaled, had a whiskey, or let his mind go blank. But that was before he met Brinton. He hadn’t seen her since that morning, and she hadn’t responded to his texts. It worried him.
Had something happened? Should he try to find her? Unfortunately, he knew that was impossible. In a few minutes, he was due to rock the shit out of that stadium. Still, his whirring thoughts refused to settle.
A knock at the door snatched him back into the present.
“It’s open.”
A petite brunette with a clipboard and headset ducked her head in. “Mr. Crawford, they’re ready for you.”
He drained the last of his whiskey and followed her out.
A few minutes later, when Jamie stepped on stage, it felt like nothing he had experienced before. Not the Grammys or the other sizable shows he’d played over the years. This was, hands-down, the biggest crowd he’d ever seen.
The stadium lights and flashing phone screens looked more like oval diamonds strewn across a midnight sky.
A sea of fervent faces in the crowd. He briefly took out his in-ear monitors—it was worth the residual buzzing he’d experience—and let the roar rip through every cell in his body.
He was nervous, as always, but he was also exhilarated.
Strapping on his guitar, he waved to the crowd. They went nuts.
When he glanced side-stage, Brinton was sandwiched between Tex and Sammi. She looked a little frazzled, eyes wide and darting around her. But she also looked beautiful in a flowy white dress. Under the lights, she glowed like an angel. He’d have to tell her that later.
He waved, but she stared at the ground, oblivious to everyone around her. Was she all right? There wasn’t space to unpack that, because now, it was go time.
He nodded to his drummer, Lee, who counted the band off as they blasted into his latest single, “One More Heartbreak.”
By the time Jamie rolled through the first two songs, his adrenaline had smoothed out.
His voice was strong, despite missing soundcheck, and the crowd ate up every second.
He reciprocated that love. Because connecting with his fans—bringing them a reprieve from their troubles, even for three minutes at a time—made every late night, every tough decision, and every crushing moment he’d experienced in his life worthwhile.
As he strummed the opening chords of his father’s hit, “The Long Road,” Brinton caught his eye again. She looked wobbly, crouched low to the ground in a shadowy corner.
Something was wrong.
His team didn’t seem to notice. They were watching him. Jamie focused on singing the right words at the right time, praying somebody would step in. Yet, each time he stole a glance her way, nobody did.
Brinton’s head bobbed between her knees.
Through the first chorus, his mother’s smiling face, on the last morning she was alive, flashed in his mind. Nobody had seen her pain either. Jamie was a helpless kid then.
Now, he was a man.
His father would be pissed. The bad press from what Jamie was about to do may even put Brinton’s article at risk. Could he survive the fallout? Would Brinton think he went rogue again?
Fuck it.
He couldn’t let her suffer alone.
During the bridge, Jamie crossed to his guitarist, Garrett. He turned his back to the crowd. “Stretch out that solo as long as you can,” Jamie shouted, leaning in.
Garrett nodded, his mop of dark hair swinging over his eyes. Yet, he couldn’t mask his bewilderment—along with everyone else in that stadium—when Jamie stormed off stage.
Brinton was hyperventilating, her face sticky with tears.
She couldn’t make them stop, couldn’t breathe.
Her chest clenched, a warning that if she didn’t inhale soon, if she didn’t move, the mounting pressure would crush her bones and squeeze her organs, until there was nothing left.
That’s what her panic felt like: a ravenous black hole.
Then, Jamie’s guitar scraped against the pavement. She could barely make out his body’s distinct lines, which she’d come to catalogue like a fingerprint. Still, she felt his presence beside her. He bent down on one knee.
“Brinton, honey, you’re okay,” he said slowly, cautiously, as if soothing a spooked horse. “I’m here with you.”
“No—you can’t,” she yelped, surprised that her voice still worked. It came out mangled, the words compressed cement-tight, congesting her airways. “The show. You have to play,” she gasped, hands gripping the back of her skull. “You can’t be here.”
Jamie projected confidence, doing what he loved. She couldn’t help but admire him. And yet she was fucking everything up for him.
Gently, Jamie grasped one of her trembling hands, bringing it to his soft, smooth lips.
“I-I don’t know what happened,” Sammi told him, eyes wide and gripping her sides. “Said she needed some air.”
Brinton had started spinning out that afternoon, during her confrontation with Rich. Then, she spent many more hours spinning out at the guest house, as she tried to piece together a workable draft to send him. Eventually, she did, and hightailed it back to the concert.
Brinton hated her misfiring brain. The lightning-hot stage lights, wall of screaming fans, and Rich’s threats were a powder keg for another surprise panic attack.
She tried to ground herself with five things she could see. Four things she could touch. Three things she could hear. But her vision blurred and hands went numb.
It wasn’t fucking working.
“Son, you gotta get back out there,” Tex said, exasperated. “We’ll take care of this.”
“I’m not leaving her.” Jamie’s voice was like iron. He didn’t shift his eyes from hers. “Sweetheart, keep your eyes on me. Don’t worry about anything else going on. Can you do that for me, Bee? Take one deep breath, please?”
She did. The snarled knot in her throat unspooled. She could see, even faintly, that when Eli and everyone else had pushed her away, Jamie had run to her. He was a safety net, breaking her fall. Finally, she started to catch her breath.
He squeezed her hand and breathed right along with her, smoothing the tears away from her cheeks with his thumb. “Good, honey. You’re doing so good. Keep your eyes on me and keep breathing.”
“She all right?”
It was Jamie’s father. Brinton hadn’t noticed when he approached, but his disapproval clotted the air nonetheless. The volcanic heat of embarrassment and fear seized from the pit of her belly, but she followed Jamie’s steady breathing. Let herself hold on to him.
“She will be,” Jamie answered. “Give her some space. Please.”
His father grunted, then stalked toward a flight of stairs leading backstage, where a trio of suited executives received him like loyal supplicants.
“Have Michael take her back home, will you?” Jamie asked Sammi.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll go back with her.”
“Thank you,” Jamie said. He kissed Brinton’s forehead. “I swear, you’re gonna be okay, after some rest. I’m gonna be home soon to take care of you.”
But what about all the commitments he had? All the hands to shake and self-righteous jackasses to play nice with, so he could continue doing the thing he loved most? He couldn’t throw that away, not for her.
The waiting crowd, now a unified, jeering chorus, had turned on him. It was her fault.
“But—”
“Woman, that’s not up for discussion.” Sweetness emanated from his smile. “I said, I’m gonna take care of you.”
Brinton nodded. He helped her to her feet.
An older man with a headset nervously tapped Jamie’s shoulder. “Um—Mr. Crawford…” He nudged his black, thick-framed glasses up his nose. “The band don’t know what to do next, and folks are getting rowdy out there. Are you…coming back?”
Jamie picked up his guitar. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
“I got her, Jamie. Go on,” Sammi said. Taking Brinton by the hand, she led them down a set of stairs and toward the VIP parking lot.
“I’m sorry about that, folks,” Jamie said over the speakers, moments later. “I had to take care of a family emergency. I appreciate your patience; everyone is fine now. So, let’s get back to it.”
He had called her his family, something she had never expected when she thought back to their headline-making first meeting. And everything that had happened since.
But after tonight, he felt like family too.