Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
“Right,” Julia said as Piper stepped away, her phone to her ear.
But it didn’t make sense. If Nicolas was outside the arena, why hadn’t he kept two of the tickets so that he and his friend could get in?
Besides, seats that good had to be worth thousands, and who knew how much the VIP passes were?
How could he have afforded them? But if not from him, where did they come from?
Piper returned a moment later, looking puzzled. “He swears they’re not from him,” she said. “But he and Bastien managed to buy some nosebleed seats, so they just got inside. I told them to join us.”
“Okay,” Julia said, completely confused. A few moments later, Nicolas and Bastien hurried up, and after a quick series of hugs, they all headed for the seats; the opening act had ended, and Jackson Quick was due to take the stage at any moment.
Sure enough, an usher showed them to the front row, where they settled into the four empty seats beside a white-haired woman who looked far too old to be a Jackson Quick fan. Maybe she was the singer’s grandmother.
“These seats are amazing,” Piper gushed, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve never sat so close to a stage before. We’re going to be able to see right up Jackson Quick’s nose.”
Nicolas laughed and put an arm around her, and Julia settled back in her seat, perplexed.
The lights dimmed, and the screams of the crowd drowned out any opportunity Julia had to lean over and ask Piper where on earth she thought the tickets had come from.
The stage was still dark when a piano began to play, a beautiful, piercing melody. Then, a single spotlight came on, illuminating a baby grand, and behind it sat an elderly man in thick glasses, wearing a suit. The old woman beside Julia sat up straighter, staring at the pianist.
At that moment, Jackson Quick’s voice dropped in, and though he still hadn’t emerged onto the stage, the crowd went wild.
“Today, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to start with a new song, one that I wrote in just the past few days,” said the rock star, and then he emerged from the wings of the stage in a beam of light, and the screaming escalated, but suddenly Julia couldn’t breathe, because what she was seeing made no sense.
The man standing in the spotlight looked just like Sam.
“This one,” the singer continued, looking down at the front row and locking eyes with Julia, “is for Julia, who I hope can forgive me.”
Her mouth fell open. What on earth was happening? Sam was Jackson Quick?
Beside her, as she gaped, Piper grabbed her arm. “Mom?” Piper shouted over the din of the crowd. “Is Jackson Quick talking about you? How do you know Jackson Quick?”
“I have no idea,” Julia said weakly, completely confused and flustered now. She hadn’t recognized him, of course, because she’d never been a Jackson Quick fan in the first place. But why had he told her his name was Sam? None of this made sense.
Still looking right at her, Jackson began to sing along, the old man’s fingers still flying across the piano keys in a beautiful melody.
“I’m sorry,” the singer sang, looking right at Julia, “that I wasn’t better.
That I wasn’t what you needed when you shared with me your heart.
I’m sorry I couldn’t find the words to say.
The truth is, I failed you from the start. ”
Julia felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. How was this happening?
“I’m not a perfect man, which I’m sure you know by now. What you don’t know is that I want a chance to love you, anyhow.”
The crowd roared and the rocker stepped closer to the edge of the stage, gazing down at Julia, who could do nothing but stare back, dumbstruck.
I’m sorry, he mouthed to Julia, and she could see in his eyes how much he meant it, but she was still completely frozen.
Her brain didn’t seem to be catching up; she was still in disbelief that this was really happening.
But then Sam—Jackson Quick?—turned to Piper and mouthed, You must be Piper, before grinning and waving hi to Julia’s suddenly starstruck daughter, and something in Julia cracked open.
As Jackson—it was still so weird to think of him that way—backed away, heading to the middle of the stage for the next verse, she had the weirdest urge to call after him, to beg him to come back, because he was already too far away from her.
“Mom!” Piper shrieked over the screams. “Jackson Quick knows my name? How does he know my name?”
“He’s the guy I met this week. I just—I didn’t know he was Jackson Quick.”
Piper’s eyes shimmered. “But aren’t you a huge Jackson Quick fan? How did you not recognize him?”
“The real truth?” Julia hesitated, giving her daughter a guilty smile. “The thing is, I’m not exactly a Jackson Quick fan.”
“What?” Piper looked stunned.
“You were so excited to surprise me with tickets, honey. And I didn’t not like him.”
Piper stared at her. “Oh my God. Who did you like, then?”
“Jon Bon Jovi. Several years before Jackson Quick ever recorded a song.” Julia grinned just as, up onstage, Jackson dove into the next lines. “You trusted me with your story; you gave me the gift of your time. You shared your truth, your heart, your life, and I didn’t know how to share mine.
“You make me want to be a better man! A better man. You make me want to be a better version of myself. And I sure as hell hope I can.” It was the chorus to the song, apparently, and as Jackson repeated the lines once more, the crowd joined in, singing “Better man” right back to him.
The song went on for two more verses, and two more repetitions of the chorus, ending with Jackson singing the chorus a capella, looking straight at Julia, as the crowd clapped along.
“You make me want to be a better man! A better man. You make me want to be a better version of myself. And I sure as hell hope I can.”
He finished the song, holding Julia’s gaze for one more second, before waving an arm at the piano player and saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, Henry McGee on the piano!” The crowd cheered, and beside Julia, the old woman went still.
“You all may be interested to know that it was Henry who wrote ‘City of Light.’ And Henry’s going to join me and my band now in playing it for a very special woman in the audience. Henry?”
The old man leaned into the mic atop his piano and said, “This is for you, Celeste. They’ve all been for you.”
And then, Jackson plunged into his biggest hit and Julia stood, shell-shocked, as the rest of the fans in the arena rose to their feet and sang along with every word of the first verse of “City of Light.”
She was in love with Jackson Quick. And, it seemed, he was in love with her. And maybe, just maybe, even in the face of the overwhelming sadness she knew was coming, Julia would get her happily ever after, after all.