Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
PATTY
“ I s everything fixed with the bus?” Alicia asks Jimmy after the Country Soul Sisters leave and we’re all back on board.
“No, we need to run some diagnostics,” Jimmy says. “It'll take another few hours, but considering we don't need to be in Kansas City until 10 AM tomorrow, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Perfect,” Alicia says. “Then I have an outing planned. Manny agrees it’ll make for great PR, too.”
Lou’s eyes jump between Alicia’s, mine, and Jimmy’s. “What is it?”
“Are any of y'all claustrophobic?” Alicia asks.
An hour later, we learn the reason for Alicia’s question when we stand outside a tour bus for Fantastic Caverns … along with a group of elementary school kids.
There is so much crying.
Lou hugs each and every girl and boy and takes picture after picture, beaming all the while. Alicia managed to hire extra security for the event, and since the cavern tour was already closed to public tours for the field trip, we don’t have to worry about fans—just the chaperones.
One of the dads has on a wedding ring, and I see him casually slip it into his pocket before heading toward Lou. I block his path before he can get a word out.
“Put your ring back on,” I say, low and firm. “Save your family the heartache and yourself the embarrassment.”
The guy’s nostrils flare, like he’s debating denyin’ it. But then his daughter runs over, throwing her arms around his waist, her voice high with excitement as she gushes about how amazing Lou is. His shoulders drop. He gives me a quick nod and walks away.
The way I want to knock that guy’s teeth in is almost unbearable …
This is the kind of thing Lou hasn’t experienced yet. She’s created a tour environment that’s as sheltered as possible, but she won’t always be so lucky. One day, she’ll have record execs, fellow musicians, and industry types making moves on her. And sure, she’ll handle it. But no matter what she thinks, it’ll wear her down.
And I think I want to be there to build her back up when it does.
Soon, we’re on the large open-air bus, Lou sitting in the middle, flanked by me and another security guard, otherwise surrounded by kids. I worry they’ll spend the whole tour gaping at her, but once the bus drives into the cavern and sunlight disappears, their wide eyes shift to take everything in.
The walls glisten with mineral deposits, reflecting the dim glow of lanterns that cast golden light onto the limestone formations. Stalactites hang like jagged chandeliers from the high ceiling, some stretching down to meet rising stalagmites, forming columns older than civilization itself. As the bus rumbles forward, the cavern opens into a vast chamber, where underground pools reflect the rippling formations above.
Drips of mineral water fall from the ceiling, splashing on our heads and faces. The kids either laugh or shriek when it happens, and when a drop hits Lou, she squeals and then laughs against my side.
The guide’s voice echoes as he explains the history—how the cave was discovered in the 1800s by a farmer’s dog, how it was a speakeasy during Prohibition. But it’s the enormous, impossibly vast cavern itself that makes a hush fall over the group.
We drive through a constantly shifting landscape of rock and time, and Lou looks mesmerized. For most of the hour-long tour, it’s just us and the cave. No flashing cameras. No fandoms. No expectations or legacies.
This is so much bigger. So much older.
Over and over, Lou and I marvel at a sight, then look at each other, eyes reflecting the same awe.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel lighter.
In this cavern, I’m tempted to leave the past in the dark, where it belongs. The mistakes, the baggage I’ve been dragging around … they aren’t as heavy here, where it takes a hundred years to grow an inch of stone. A hundred years from now, who’ll remember anything I’m chasing? What will matter?
My eyes dart to Lou, to her round, rosebud mouth, her wide, enchanted gaze. To the way she leans closer to the child across from her, pointing things out with an excitement that’s pure, unfiltered.
When the bus rolls into a chamber with an enormous formation, she gasps, her knee pressing into mine. As if we’re the only two people in this entire cave.
Could a moment like this span into something bigger … if I just let it?
My mind jumps to my dad and brother—to the way they’ve always sacrificed for the people they love. To the way I want to be like them.
I pat the token in my pocket—the one I’ve carried for two and a half months—but its weight is hardly noticeable now. It’s like it no longer has the power to fix me firmly on one goal. Instead, it drifts, irrelevant, next to the gravity of this moment.
The truth I’ve been too scared to admit feels almost silly now.
These rocks don’t care who I am.
They won’t remember me.
But will Lou?
The possibility of fading away from her is a sword plunging through me, splitting me open.
I can’t handle it. I won’t allow it.
I haven’t let myself care about someone in so long that feeling as deeply as I do feels like stepping off a cliff.
I take her hand and thread my fingers through hers. She leans in. And I’m already free-falling.
After Lou signs the last autograph and takes the last selfie, we climb into the town car Alicia arranged for us, and Lou lets out a satisfied sigh. “That was incredible. Wasn’t it?”
In his suit and hat, the driver is listening quietly to the radio. He’s a professional, which means he signed an NDA, and that gives us the freedom to be more casual than we would otherwise.
Lou puts her hand on the seat between us, and I don’t hesitate to cover it with mine. If anything, after only a day, it feels more natural to be holding her than not.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say. “Nature has a way of making your problems seem small.”
Her head is up against the backrest, but she rolls it toward me. “You think? Do your problems seem smaller?”
“Yeah, they do.” I look down at our clasped hands. “Being inside that cavern hit me with perspective. It’s hard to see my past as this huge specter when a formation back there the size of my hand is a thousand years old.”
She smiles at me, her head still resting on the seat behind her. “I like introspective Patty.”
I sniff. “Don’t get used to it. This guy comes out once every thousand years, too.”
“Then I should keep him around as long as I can,” she says with a teasing laugh. The sound settles into the spot in my chest that I thought had been hollowed out long ago.
Does she actually mean it?
Does she want me to stay?
Could I?
Until recently, I never would have thought it possible.
But now …
Over the radio, a DJ lists events happening in Springfield that night, and I sit up when I hear one event in particular.
“Tonight, the Springfield Yetis are set to battle the red-hot Mullet Ridge Blue Collars, who’ve been on fire this season thanks to their powerhouse scorer, Anton Volkov, and the rock-solid goaltending of their captain, Sean O’Shannan. With Volkov lighting up the scoreboard and O’Shannan shutting down opponents, the Yetis will have their work cut out for them in what’s shaping up to be a high-intensity showdown!"
I feel Lou’s eyes on me for a beat before I look at her. We both start smiling at the same time.
“Are we going?” Lou asks excitedly.
I can’t help the grin on my face. “I’ll call Alicia.”
PATTY
You’d better play smart tonight, because Lou and I are coming to your game.
SEAN
What? How?
PATTY
Bus broke down. It’ll be ready in time for us to get to KC tomorrow.
SEAN
So you two are playing hooky?
PATTY
We’re adults. We don’t play hooky.
SEAN
Uh huh. You want to play something with that girl.
PATTY
Funny guy. Catch up after the game?
SEAN
You know where to find me.
PATTY
Good luck bro.
The SUV pulls into the VIP entrance at Ozark Ice Arena, rolling to a slow stop behind a set of doors marked “Private Access.” I step out first and escort Lou out, and two security guards in Yetis-branded jackets lead us through a back hallway. The chilly air smells like concrete and barbecue, and pregame warm-up music vibrates through the walls.
We slip through one back hallway and then another, past catering carts stacked with barbecue sliders and trays of nachos, until we reach the lower-level VIP section. Our section is right above the glass, close enough to feel the boards rattle when a hit lands. We take a couple of wide leather seats, smiling at some of the other VIPs who also got here early to avoid prying eyes.
I recognize a few pro athletes—two linemen for the Chiefs and a pitcher for the Royals, each with their families—as well as a popular folk band from before I was born that’s probably performing in Branson. They make small talk with Lou, and a couple of the kids in the box get pictures with her, and as much as I appreciate how relaxed the environment is, I just wish we were alone.
Soon, the players are taking the ice, the announcers are calling out the starting six for each team, and the national anthems for both Canada and America are being sung.
Then the puck drops, the centers face off, and the game is on.
Lou leans toward me. Her big blue puffer coat rides up around her chin. “What is he doing?”
I get close enough to kiss her and point to a player. “Volkov plays left wing, so he’s trying?—”
“No, I mean Sean. Why is he tapping the side of the goal? The goalposts? What do you call ‘em in hockey?”
“He always taps the posts when we win a face-off. It’s superstition.”
She nods, and while I’m watching the action on the ice, Lou’s eyes are fixed on Sean. “Why is he moving back and forth like that?”
“He’s trying to keep warm so he can stay loose. You get stiff quick on the ice, and Sean’s got bad knees.”
“Did you ever play?”
“No. I was always on the piano or picking up a new instrument.”
I can feel Lou’s gaze on me. “So I guess this means we won’t have one of those romcom moments post-game where you take me out on the ice and teach me how to skate, and when I fall, you catch me.”
“Sorry to disappoint. But I can teach you how to play a didgeridoo.”
She laughs as one of the Yetis smashes our right wing into the boards right in front of us. “Even better.”
We watch as gloves hit the ground, fists start flying, and the crowd erupts. One of our guys gets a handful of the Yeti’s jersey, yanking him forward as he swings. The ref blows the whistle, but no one’s steppin’ in yet.
Lou grips my arm. “Are they just gonna let ‘em keep going?”
“For a bit,” I say, my eyes on the fight. “As long as they stay on their feet.”
Another punch lands, snapping the Yeti’s head back, but he stays upright. They grapple, turning in a slow, brutal circle, each looking for an opening. Then, with one final shove, our guy sends him sprawling to the ice. The crowd roars as the refs rush in, peeling them apart.
Lou exhales, wide-eyed. “And that’s … normal?”
“Pretty much.” I chuckle. “Welcome to hockey.”
Lou watches the game intently, asking questions and giving me the opportunity to stay close.
During a TV timeout, the iconic first line of Heartbreak Hustle starts playing. Then, the entire crowd shouts Winona’s first line in unison, “‘Hustle up!’”
The people in our box all laugh as Lou drops her head into my shoulder.
“I will never escape this song,” she says with a laugh.
But I’m not thinking about the song now or Winona’s legacy and the way it follows Lou like a shadow.
I’m thinking that we’re in a private box with a dozen famous, connected people we don’t know, and she leaned her head on me.
I’m thinking that there are cameras that could be broadcasting us right now, and she leaned her head on me.
And when she threads her fingers through mine, I’m thinking—no, I know —I’m falling in love. And I don’t care who sees.
A couple of the kids run over to Lou, grabbing her away from me, and for a second, I think she might stay.
But then, with a soft, regretful smile, she lets a kid take her. Soon, she’s line dancing alongside a half dozen VIPs, including one of the Chiefs’ players and his whole family. Lou dances with a grin on her face, and a few of the kids—tweens, mostly—run over and join her. They’re all laughing as they slap their heels, spin, and throw a hand in the air. And then one of the kids yells that their dance is on the Jumbotron.
And the crowd outside of the box goes crazy .
The fervor in the stands is so intense, it shakes our box. Fans around us start slamming on the plexiglass, and I hop up and stand next to Lou. A security guard is already posted inside the box with us. I give him a questioning look.
“It’s fine. Unless someone brought a tank, they ain’t getting through,” the guard says.
I nod, but I keep standing with Lou as she talks to a few of the other people in the box. But by the way she’s standing, stick straight, I think the fan frenzy shook her.
When the fans start screaming again, I step toward Lou instinctively, but then I hear someone in the box yell about the game.
I whip around and see that one of our defensemen is in the penalty box, giving the Yetis a power play. They’re cycling the puck quickly, and our team is scrambling. Sean is locked in, tracking the play as the Yetis’ forward winds up for a hard slap shot from the top of the face-off circle.
The puck rockets toward the net, but before it can get to Sean, one of the Yetis players parked in the crease gets a piece of the puck with his stick, changing the trajectory at the last second. Instead of coming straight at Sean, now it’s veering toward the bottom corner, inches from the post.
Sean has no time to adjust. He drops into a butterfly, but his pad isn’t covering enough of the net, and at the last possible second, he kicks his left leg out, forcing himself into a deep split to get his skate to the post.
And he makes the save!
The puck ricochets off his pad, and Lou and I whoop while the crowd groans. Lou throws herself into my arms, unfazed by the box full of people or the stadium full of fans who could see us.
Relief and excitement rise in me. Dad said Sean is on NHL scouts’ watchlist, and if anyone is watching this game, that save has to have moved Sean to the top of the list.
I spin Lou around, keeping my hand on her lower back as we both cheer and look at the ice.
Where Sean has shifted … but isn’t up yet.
Lou’s head turns to mine. “That doesn’t look good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say.
But the play moves up the ice, and the trainers aren’t coming out, and after another few seconds, Sean pushes himself up. But it’s slow. Slower than I’d like. He taps the post once—his old sign that he’s okay—but I know my brother. He’d say he’s okay, even if he weren’t.
I exhale, but not all the nerves go with it. “He says he’s all right.”
“Is he?” she mutters.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”
We return to our seats through the rest of the first period. One of the young girls Lou was dancing with sits next to her and shares her popcorn, and Lou and she become fast friends. Her dad is a Royals pitcher, so it’s clear she’s used to famous people. But she keeps giving me the stink eye.
When the second period starts, Lou can’t help laughing at the girl’s looks. “You don’t seem happy with my friend,” she says.
“He’s a homewrecker,” the young girl says.
Lou chokes on a laugh, turning her wide eyes to me. Mine are wider than normal, too. I lean past Lou to talk to the girl. “How do you figure?”
“Lucy Jane and Connor Nash are dating!”
Lou whips back around to the girl. “No! We’re just friends, sweetie.”
“Who? You and Connor? Or you and … this guy?” she asks, eyeing me.
Lou swallows a chuckle. “Connor and I are just friends. I promise I’m not breaking his heart.”
She points between Lou and me with a look of distaste. “Does that mean you and your bodyguard are a thing?”
I press my hand into Lou’s back, knowing the girl can’t see.
“No comment,” Lou says.
The little girl’s mouth drops, and she calls out to her mom. “It worked, Momma!” the girl cries. “She admitted she’s datin’ the bodyguard!”
I can’t see Lou’s face, but judging by the shaking of her shoulders, she’s laughing. “I didn’t say that! And you set me up!”
The girl’s mom laughs and gives Lou a wink. “Your secret is safe with us.”
I drop my head and laugh. But it dies on my lips as the memory of Sean not getting up makes a pit form in my stomach.
Earlier, it felt so easy to imagine that all of the drama and secrets were meaningless, but that was in a place where time itself meant something different. It was easy to feel certain about wanting a future with Lou, about abandoning my goals in favor of something lasting.
But Sean’s knees won’t last forever. Even if he gets drafted, he might only play a single season—a single game—and then we’ll be right back where we are now.
My dad still needs surgery.
I need money for that surgery.
And convincing Nash to listen to my songs on this old flash drive might be my only shot.
I watch Lou talk comfortably with the others in the box, and the steadiness I felt earlier curdles like sour milk in my gut.
I turn back to the game.
And when the Blue Collars beat the Yetis two to zero, the worry in my throat makes it impossible to smile.