It was one o'clock in the morning when I kicked everyone out of my room so I could get some sleep. We always made sure to reserve multi-bedroom suites so that Denise and Trevor could have their own bedrooms. Denise was tired and went into her room right after we finished the show. It was quiet in the suite once everybody left, but I was still so amped from the show that it took me a while to fall asleep.
My eyes opened at 3am.
I was sweating and out of breath, and my heart was racing like mad in spite of the fact that I was laying in bed. A wave of nausea hit me as I focused on the clock, realizing I had only been asleep for an hour. I laid my head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, begging myself to calm down and go back to sleep.
I threw the covers off. I was hot and sweaty and breathing heavily. It wasn't the first time I had experienced this—waking up in the middle of an anxiety attack or whatever it was. It was something that happened to me on a somewhat regular basis—and it definitely became more frequent while I was on tour. Sometimes I was able to make myself calm down and go back to sleep within a few minutes, and other times it would take me an hour or two.
I took deep breaths in and then out as I stared at the ceiling. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't dying and this was something that had happened a hundred times before. I did my best to get my nerves under control, but in moments like this, my brain seemed to overthink without my permission.
Tonight my thoughts turned to Daniel.
I thought about his brother and imagined the accident. I could see it in my mind's eye. I felt pain in my heart for Daniel and for his little brother and wanted to somehow comfort them both. Thinking about Daniel made me mad that he was planning on leaving me the following day. I had truly done my best to be nice to him, and I thought for sure he would fill in until Trevor got better.
As I lay there, I found myself wishing that Daniel would just take Trevor's place for good, and that's when I knew I was being irrational. I rolled over in an effort to comfort my aching stomach and distract myself from the ridiculous thoughts.
I stayed there for about half an hour, trying my best not to think of Daniel or any other stressful subjects before I finally broke down and reached out to him. If I needed company so bad, I probably should have just asked Denise to come crawl into bed with me. It was something I had done several times in the past, and she never gave me grief about it.
I didn't text Denise, though.
It was Daniel that I contacted.
I typed out a text to the number Denise had given me earlier.
Me: "Can you come to my room?"
Not even a minute had passed when I heard him come into the main door of the suite. I saw a light come on in the living room, and I squinted even though barely any of it was filtering into my bedroom.
Seconds later, my bedroom door opened and Daniel switched on the light. I closed my eyes and put my hand over my face, feeling shocked by the sudden brightness.
"Courtney?" He was speaking quietly, but his deep voice cut through the silent room.
"I'm fine," I assured him. "Can you please turn off the light?"
He turned off the light and started to cross to my bedside. "Can you turn off the living room light, too, so we don't wake Denise up?"
Daniel disappeared into the other room, turning off the light before coming to stand in my doorway again. There was still some light in the living room, and my eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, so I could see him standing there. He had on sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes."
He stood there as if waiting for me to explain why I had beckoned him.
"I just woke up feeling really anxious, and I wanted you to come in here."
My voice came out vulnerably, and this caused Daniel to walk toward me, stopping at my bedside. I scooted over and patted the bed, inviting him to sit down. In one motion, he took something from his backside, and set it securely on the bedside table as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"You brought a gun?" I asked.
"I wasn't planning on using it, but I figured I should have it just in case. I didn't know why you called."
He shifted and stared down at me. He was right next to me, and it still didn't feel close enough. I wanted to touch him—just reach out and rub his back or something crazy like that.
"Can you please just stay in here for a minute?" I asked. "Just lay here on top of the covers while I try to fall back asleep?"
"Is that what Trevor does?"
"No," I said defensively. "I mean I guess he has a couple of times, but nothing happens between us. The way you asked it makes me feel like you think I'm…" I hesitated. "I just wanted you to lay in here with me for a minute, that's all."
Daniel turned and stretched out onto the edge of my bed. I knew by the way he conducted himself that he thought it was his professional duty to do what I asked. Honestly, I really didn't care what compelled him to stay, I only cared that he was staying. He propped himself on the very edge of my bed, stiffly resting his head on the pillow.
I took a long, shaky breath.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Super nauseous," I whispered. "And cold sweats. I wake up like this sometimes—mostly when I'm on tour. It's a stomach ulcer that acts up when I'm on the road. Basically, I've been having a pending stomachache for the past seven years."
"I know the feeling," he said.
"You have pending stomachaches, too?"
"Yes," he said with no hesitation whatsoever. "All the time. I started putting a drop of peppermint oil in my water a few years ago, and that helps a little."
"Why do you get stomachaches?" I asked.
"Why do you?"
"Because I hate touring. I love my fans and everything, but touring tears me up physically. It's not just the bodily strain of being on the road, either. I just don't think I handle the pressure very well."
"Yes you do," he said. "Not many people could do what you do."
We stayed there in silence for what must have been at least two minutes before I spoke again.
"Why are you leaving," I asked.
"I'm not," he answered, thinking I was referring to leaving the bed.
"Why are you leaving the tour? Why are you going back to Memphis? Your sister told me you were leaving."
Daniel took a deep breath. "I talked to Gray earlier this evening. We've got a great guy lined up for you. Eric. He'll be here tomorrow, and I'll give him the rundown on everything before I head home."
"Why can't you do it?" I asked.
He was quiet for a moment as if contemplating how to answer my question. "It's like you said. I'm just not cut out for life on the road."
"It seems like you are doing a good job to me," I said, still resting my head on the pillow next to him.
"Well, thank you, but I'm better suited to work at the training center. I'm not really cut out for reassuring people and laughing at their jokes."
"You laughed at a couple of my jokes," I said.
"Only the ones that were funny," he said.
I thought back to our interactions during the course of the day. We had lots of time together while I was running around Miami doing interviews. We had several lengthy conversations, but I always felt like I had to drag information out of him. Ivy was right. He was a man of few words, and I could understand how some people might be offended by that. I thought about what she had told me and wondered how much of his quiet personality was a result of the accident.
I liked him so much. Truly identified with him and felt desperate to make him stay.
"I don't want a substitute. I want you to stay with me. I want you to come to New Orleans with us."
"I am a substitute," he said. "Anybody but Trevor is a substitute. You'll like Eric better than me, I promise."
"No, I won't. I don't want anyone else. I'll pay more if I have to."
Daniel breathed a little laugh. I was so close to him that I could feel his chest shake. I picked up my head and looked at him. There was enough light in the room that I could clearly see his face.
"I'm serious," I said, staring straight at him. "I'll pay whatever it takes to make you stay. I don't want you to leave."
He stared at me as if wondering if he could possibly be hearing me right. "You'll really like Eric," he said. "He's a good looking guy. Smart too. He was an Army Ranger. I have a picture of him on my phone if you want to see what he looks like."
"Why do you think I'll care what he looks like? Do you think I'm attracted to you or something?" I probably sounded a little offended because the truth was, I was.
"No," he said. "I'm just saying, you'll really like Eric. He's a good guy."
"I don't want Eric, though. I want you, Daniel."
He rubbed my shoulder in a comforting manner. "You just need to get some sleep," he said.
It sounded like he thought I was delirious, which was frustrating.
"Can you just think about staying, please?"
"Would it make you feel better if I say I'll think about it?" he asked.
"It will if you'll really think about it."
"Okay, I'll think about it, then," he said.
I knew he was just saying that to get me to quit asking. "I love your little sister," I said. "She's a sweetheart, and so cute."
"I really appreciate you being so nice to her. She loves your music and was really excited when I got the call to come down here."
"Let her come with us to New Orleans, then."
"No," he said instantly. "Even if I would decide to fill in for Trevor, there's no way I would take her. It's too much for me to try to protect both of you at the same time. That's out of the question. I can't even believe I let her talk me into coming here."
"It worked out fine," I said. "Nina and Jack loved her, and I think she helped them out backstage."
"Yeah, but it's not gonna happen again. I had to double up on peppermint oil worrying about both of you."
I let out a little laugh at his statement, figuring it was probably the truth. "Do you really have stomach problems?" I asked sincerely.
"Yes, I do."
"Me too."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I'm sorry for you, too."
"It's fine," he said. "You learn to ignore it after about ten years."
"What in the world gave you a stomachache for that long, Daniel?"
"Nothing," he said. "I think you need to get some sleep."
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"I have been talking to you. I've been talking to you way more than I talk to most people."
"Please don't leave me," I whispered.
He rubbed my arm but didn't say anything.
"Please," I said, feeling like it was necessary to make him promise before I could possibly fall asleep.
"I really think you'll like Eric," he said. "How about we just let you meet him tomorrow, and we'll see how it goes from there?"
"And what if I meet him and say I still want you to stay? Will you stay?"
"Sure," he said.
I knew it wasn't an empty promise, but I also knew he was convinced I would like Eric.
"So if I still feel the same way tomorrow, you'll stay with me?"
"Yes," he said. "Until Trevor gets better."
That was a good enough for me. I smiled peacefully, feeling safe and secure and anxiety free for a change.