Chapter Six

 

Adam

 

March, and the tour’s finally coming to an end. After a long year, we’re about to give our second-to-last show and it’s in Madison, Wisconsin. I guess the planets have aligned or something because not only is the show not far from Max’s hometown, but his mom’s birthday is in a couple of days. The only reason I know is because he’s said so repeatedly when she calls his phone, beaming excitedly about seeing her son.

Max and I are better. It’s been three months since Christmas, and we’ve finally hit a stride where we’re both comfortable. There’s still some underlining weirdness, but playing every night helps. The whole tour’s helped us move past the fight, actually.

I haven’t talked to Chris, though … not once. And it physically hurts my heart every time I think about it. Honestly, it actually hurts. I thought heartbreak was bullshit. Seriously, how can someone feel something so strongly that it breaks their heart when it’s taken away? The concept seemed so ridiculous to me, at first. Now, I’m not so sure.

Every once in a while, I scroll through my phone and read our old conversations. It’s so fucking stupid, but I can’t help it. I’m acting like a teenager who’s lost his first love, revisiting all previous contact and memory. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? It’s like we broke up, which I know is bullshit because we never actually dated. And yet, that’s how this feels… I feel like I just ended a years-long relationship. And the worst part? We didn’t end it by choice. It was ended for us.

 

The show’s going to start in a couple of hours and according to Max, his mom’s on the way to say hi. It kind of makes me smile thinking about Cynthia swooning over her son in front of everyone because somehow, I know that’s exactly what she’ll do.

I’m sitting off to the side backstage, tuning one of the guitars I plan to use tonight when I hear it. That same loud shriek of joy his mom let out when we showed up at her house echoes in the backroom, and draws everyone’s attention immediately. When I look up, I see Cynthia wrapped around Max, squeezing him tightly and swaying from side to side as she hugs him. I don’t bother hiding my smile, and neither do Tommy and Jason. Max’ll never live this down. But as I’m sitting there toying with my guitar and watching the display, I see Chris emerge through the door a moment later and my fingers stop moving. I feel every muscle tense and my blood chill. She looks like she always did: dressed in casual attire, with her dark hair down. But it stops me dead in my tracks anyway. Shit, I forgot how beautiful she is.

The three of them talk to each other and the guys go up to say hi, but I don’t move. Truth is, I’m not entirely certain I’m allowed to. I don’t know if Max wants me anywhere near his family and until I do, I’m not going anywhere.

Thankfully, after a couple minutes, Max turns and waves me over. I guess he’s realized how weird it’d be if I was excluded somehow. Even though Tommy and Jason haven’t said anything, I’m sure they’ve noticed the tension between us in the last couple of months.

 

I set my guitar down and head over, flashing my regular smile as I do. I notice Chris barely meeting my eye the whole way over and it kills me. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, ashamed, or what. All I know is it twists me up inside, but I can’t show it. I have to keep my damn smirk plastered on, and act like everything’s okay.

“Mrs. Price.” I’m not about to assume she’ll let me call her anything else given the hell I brought down on her house over Christmas.

“Cynthia, please,” she chastises lightly.

I breathe an internal sigh of relief and my eyes drift to Chris. She looks up at me through her lashes with those emerald green eyes of hers and it takes everything in me not to at least reach for her.

“Hey, Chris.”

She gives me a nod, but she says nothing. I haven’t heard her voice in months … and I miss it.

Conversation moves on regardless of my internal hell. I participate in it, but admittedly, I couldn’t tell anyone what we talked about if they asked me. It all goes in one ear and out the other, fading from memory almost immediately amid my inability to stop thinking about how badly I just want to reach out and touch Chris.

After probably fifteen minutes, Chris and Cynthia head out. I guess they plan to grab some food before the show. It makes sense––the concert won’t start for a while. For the first time in years, I’m actually nervous about performing.

 

****

 

The roadies are on stage setting up our equipment while the guys and I stand backstage. Our set’s about to begin in a couple of minutes and my fingers are tingling. I’m anxious.

 

I feel someone walk up beside me and I glance over to see Max. His eyes are on the stage, but I know he has something to say. Given what I told him I planned to do, how could he not?

“You sure about this?” he asks. My heart’s beating faster than normal, but I know my answer.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I think so.”

Max glances up at me briefly and gives a short nod. That’s all he has to say about my plans and it’s both reassuring, and at the same time, unnerving. As my eyes drift back to the stage, I have to take in a few steadying breaths.

Right after Christmas when Max came back to the bus, we talked. Jason and Tommy were back home seeing family, so we knew we’d at least have privacy given the subject matter. I couldn’t tell you how long we talked, but I know it was a long ass time. Max was full of questions and I did my best to answer them, despite how fucking awkward it was. I guess, in my guilt, I felt like he had the right to know.

I remember what seemed to finally make Max realize I didn’t mean to break the code. Up until that point, he thought I’d been fucking Chris just because I was an asshole … and admittedly, I can be. But that wasn’t it. When he asked why I picked her, why I gave her the ring, and why the hell it went on for so long, I finally had to say it out loud: “Because I think I love her.”

The ‘think’ in that sentence didn’t help my cause, but as I told Max I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not entirely sure what it feels like. But given the past few months, I can’t really classify it as anything else.

The lights on stage suddenly cut off and the crowd erupts with applause. That’s our cue to head out, so together the four of us take the stage. We each grab our instruments and take our places a second before the lights blink back on. The crowd again screams and applauds. I feel the familiar rush of being on stage and it helps me relax just a little.

The theater we’re playing in has the main floor in front of the stage like all the others, but also a little raised section just behind it and beneath the balcony where people can sit at tables. As my eyes dance over the crowd, I see Chris and Cynthia sitting at one of those tables. Cynthia’s beaming wide, smiling like any proud mom would be, but Chris is stoic. She’s leaning forward onto her propped-up arm with her lips buried in her hand while her eyes glide over all of us. Every time they come close to me, she does her best not to linger. I’ll have to change that.

“How you guys doing?” I call out into the microphone. They cheer louder than before and it brings a smile to my face. “Good to hear. How ‘bout we get this party started, hmm?”

Glancing to the set list taped to the stage at my feet, I begin to play the first song and the guys join in immediately. We fall easily into the action. We’ve been singing the same songs for years and even our new stuff for a few months. We know how to play off each other, how we perform in front of people, and the like. ‘Going through the motions’ actually makes it easier for me because my mind’s a little divided at the moment.

“Okay!” I call out when the final note of our previous song ends. “Now, I’ve got a confession for you guys.” There is a chorus of ‘ooos’ that makes me smile. “I wrote a song a couple months ago and we haven’t played it for an audience yet, so it might be shit. I won’t lie.” I hear a few laughs in the crowd. “I was just wondering if you guys wanted to hear it first?” The cheers are nearly deafening, like a tidal wave of excitement, and my smile widens. “Awesome.” I chuckle. “Then let’s get it started.”

The song I start to play is a little slower than our others, but it’s not exactly a ballad so it fits pretty well with our set list. My fingers glide easily along my strings and instinctively, my eyes drift to Chris. She’s staring right at me for the first time since the concert began, and I’m both relieved and freaked out because I wrote it for her.

When I make it to the chorus and the stage lights flash on the audience, I can see her flinch.

 

I want to hold you closer,

‘Cause I just can’t let you go.

How could we already be over?

Please, just let me know.

 

She’s shifting in her seat. I can tell she’s becoming uncomfortable, but I don’t know why. I guess she’s just beginning to realize this isn’t some random-ass song about some equally random chick.

 

I should have told you how I felt,

Should have told you the truth,

But I was scared of what you’d say,

I was scared of losing you.

 

When the song eventually ends, the audience cheers, but I’m only looking at one person. I know she knows it was about her. Even if the lyrics were a little generic as far as love songs go, I didn’t look away from her once. Chris has to know.

My ears start to buzz with the sounds around me. I’m only waiting for one reaction, though, and it’s not coming. I can’t see for shit past the lights now, but I can tell she’s staring at me blankly. With half her face hidden behind her hand still, I can only see her eyes and they’re not telling me anything.

I want something to happen. I want her to do anything that will––

Chris suddenly shoves her seat back and stands, walking briskly away from the table without bothering to look back at the stage. It feels like someone has reached into my chest, wrapped their cold, steely fingers around my heart, and squeezed.

The entire ordeal lasts maybe two minutes, not long enough for the audience to realize something’s wrong, but Max does. His clearing throat brings me back and whether I want to or not, I have a show to finish. We still have four songs to sing and as the old saying goes: the show must go on. Plastering a fake smile on my face feels wrong, but I have to do it. I have to pretend like everything’s fine even though every fiber of my being aches to follow after Chris.