Forty-Three
FORTY-THREE
COULD’VE BEEN
Moments away from the start of the show, Deacon and Don stroll up next to us. Seeing Don up close and not acknowledging what I know is like trying to keep the air in a popped balloon. The most basic part of me wants to scream Dad and see what happens.
“Y’all ready for your first big Nashville show?” Don says, all smiles and distant friendliness.
“More than ready,” Kick says, standing close to me, ready to scoop me up if I happen to fall.
All I can do is stare at Don. My maybe-father. The man who potentially knows exactly who I am but pretends I’m just a new artist on the tour. He’s standing here, smiling at me, believing I’m oblivious.
He and Deacon head up on the stage and we follow them, just like we’ve done every other night on the tour.
“You okay?” Kick asks.
I nod and plug in my guitar.
As soon as Deacon and Don exit the stage, I exit them from my mind. Tonight’s about me and Kick and making our dreams come true.
The crowd’s buzzing as soon as Mateo starts us off with a four count on the kick drum. This is our moment, the thing we do best.
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“Hey there, Kick.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“Hey there, Mari.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
The crowd’s energy is swirling around us, lifting us off the stage.
“Gorgeous night in Nashville, isn’t it?”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“I remember the last time we were in Nashville together,” he says, his voice smoky and sexy and God, I love this man.
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“Oh yeah? Remind me what happened?”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“You pulled me into an alcove and kissed me stupid.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“How dare you. I would never.”
I can see my smile on the screen over Kick’s head. It’s wide and bright and alive.
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“Never?”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“Well…maybe if you ask nicely.”
We launch into “I Kissed Her In An Alcove.” I know tonight isn’t our only chance, but it feels like a big one, an important one, and we’re leaving it all on the stage.
I shut everything and everyone else out and focus on Kick as he sings the words that started it all, the moment we first met, the first time we kissed, the first touch. I let myself feel all of it, the excitement and the pain and the confusion and the euphoria. It’s all here, right now. We’re letting everyone see the way we see each other. I’m not holding anything back, watching the way his body moves, drinking in the way he looks at me, the way his hands grip his guitar, the way he stomps the stage like he has too much energy to hold inside. As I’m playing, I move closer to him so that when it’s my turn to sing, we’re sharing the same mic, the same space, the same air.
I never want to stop sharing it all with him.
We sail through “Hot like Ice” and “Heaven” and “She’s A Ten.” There’s a bigger than usual group of people standing side stage watching us—the label people we invited, several people from Sparrow’s label, Emily and Cheddar, Cass, Jackson, Nic, Jasmine, Deacon and Don. One last person catches my eye right as we finish “She’s A Ten.”
My mother.
She’s mingling with the label people, seemingly not paying attention to our performance, but I know she’s catching every note.
She’s here. Why is she here?
I look at over Kick and he nods, urging me to say what we practiced. I pull my shoulders back and blow out a breath. I’m not going to let anyone, not even my mother, ruin this moment.
“Nashville, you’re such an amazing crowd. I wonder if you’d let us play a brand new song.” The crowd cheers, eager, ready. “It’s a song my father wrote a long time ago, but never got to finish.” I glance over to make sure Don’s watching. He is. So is my mother. “This one’s for you, Dad.”
Kick strums the first few notes, just like we practiced. Miguel and Mateo join in. I pick up on the fifth measure and start to sing.
Met too early
Fell in love too late
Should’ve found a way
To keep you
Dusty dry land
Filled with could’ve beens
Should’ve seen this flood comin g
Should’ve recognized him
Now the water’s rising
Carrying us away
The water keeps on rising
But it’s too late
It’s too late
As I sing, I sneak glances side stage but it’s too dark to read anyone’s expression or see any recognition. I don’t know if this song is about my mother or about Sparrow, but I’m sure it’s one of the two. Maybe now, since I’m singing their secrets to the entire Bridgestone Arena, someone will finally be honest with me.