50. Jace
JACE
Fans scream when we walk out onto the stage. The arena is packed. On autopilot, I smile and wave.
I should be walking on water, hyped over how well this tour is going. But all I can think about is the remoteness in Rory’s eyes when we talked this afternoon. She’s really leaving. She’s done with me.
I can’t blame her. If some asshole treated me the way I did her, I’d be done too. She was far too gracious with me.
Except I don’t know what to do with this gaping hole in my chest. I press my hand to the spot, sure it’s visible to the crowd. I attempt another smile as I lean toward the mic. “Hey, Oklahoma City! So happy to be here with you tonight.”
The stage, performing, being with my band—this is where I used to go to escape real life. Where I went to feel alive.
But now all I wanna do is break shit and kick over Cooper’s damn drum set. His bottom lip is swollen. Motherfucker deserves it.
Like always, I look for Rory in the crowd, but I already know she’s not there.
As I play the opening chords to “Dead Flowers,” I think about the first time I picked up a guitar. I was maybe eight or nine, and I’d found it in the barn, banged up and out of tune.
Rhett showed me three chords. I practiced until my fingers bled, convinced if I could write something good enough, my mother would hear it and come back. I thought maybe my music might reach her where my words couldn’t.
She never returned.
And now I’ve written the best song of my life for another woman who’s leaving too.
I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.
My eyes stray to the one open seat in the fifth row where Rory always sits. She told Frank she had a stomachache, and she and Layla stayed on the bus. The weather’s shit today, so I’m glad she’s staying safe.
Except without her, I feel like I’m a fish stranded on a hot beach, gasping for air. I suppose this is good practice for when she leaves for good.
I’ll have to find someone to help me with Layla and figure out how to get Niles to agree to a non-spouse traveling with the bus, but I’m not ready to do it yet. ’Cause then my breakup with Aurora is real.
We do our set, and when Marlowe struts on stage, I turn away and play to my side of the stage. She does whatever she does. At one point, her arm drapes across my shoulders, and I can’t take her shit any longer. I lean close to her ear so the mic doesn’t pick it up. “Get the fuck away from me.”
Her eyes widen, and she backs away, and we wrap up the song.
Is this what I’m gonna have to do for the rest of the tour?
After our set, Marlowe storms into the green room where we’re gearing up for our meet and greet. “Was that necessary, Jace?”
My bandmates slink out, and Frank glares at me as he follows them.
I wipe the sweat off my face and turn to Marlowe.
“I meant what I said out there. I don’t want you fucking near me on that stage when we perform.
We keep this professional or next time I won’t pull away from the mic when I tell you to fuck off. ”
“You don’t have to get so upset about this. Don’t screw up a good thing just because your little girlfriend doesn’t understand what we have to do.”
I grit my teeth. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it, Marlowe. Rory isn’t my girlfriend. She’s my fucking wife.”
She pales. “You married her? For real?”
Maybe Rory and I didn’t set out to have a legit marriage, but it’s real now.
“For real. I’m married. So stop flirting with me and touching me and acting like we’re together.
That’s not fair to my wife or to me. And I don’t give a shit if this means I sell fewer concert tickets.
” I’m not gonna compromise who I am anymore.
Marlowe shakes her head. “You disappoint me.”
Yeah, well, I disappoint myself. I somehow lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And I don’t know how to win Aurora back.