I bit my lip. How could I make this work, having my body in South Dakota at Iron Pipes and my heart with Rafe? But I supposed I’d have to figure it out sometime, wouldn’t I, if I was ever going to go on tour without him? And maybe… maybe being without him now wouldn’t feel like it had before, all hopeless yearning, because I’d know that we were okay.
“I’m just bummed I won’t get to be there for the concert to see this guy I have a crush on play his heart out.” Rafe flashed his killer smile.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’d better be talking aboutme, not Ari Friedrich.”
“Ari Friedrich?” He blinked guilelessly. “Never heard of him.”
“Correct answer,” I approved. I moved between his spread knees. Then, “I’ll see if I can get him to FaceTime you with me.”
“Yeah?” He grinned and licked his lips. “Wow. I’d be… incredibly appreciative. I bet I could brainstorm ways to show you that appreciation.”
I threaded both hands through his hair, swamped with affection.
“How many can you come up with before Debbie calls back?” I wondered.
He sank to his knees, losing his towel in the process, and smiled up at me. “Let’s find out.”
In the end, Debbie called two more times before I finally answered, but when I finally managed to croak out my acceptance, lying in Rafe’s arms, I knew things were gonna be just fine.
* * *
Correction: Things were fuckingterrible.
I was pacing the backstage area at Iron Pipes—which was to say, I was standing within the ring of tour busses and RVs parked in a grassy field behind the ramp to the main stage—listening to the Smoke Jumpers play to a surprisingly huge Friday afternoon crowd. The sky was pink and orange, the air smelled like grass and patchouli, and it seemed like every two minutes, a musician I admired came up and greeted me by name and told me how much they’d enjoyed my songs.
This wasn’t justamoment; it wasthemoment. The one I’d been working for my whole life. The one I was supposed to tell my grandkids about someday.
But when I closed my eyes, all I saw were white sand beaches and swaying palm trees, busybody residents toting spaghetti casseroles, and the broad, capable shoulders of the man I loved.
I was here at this show living the dream… except hadn’t Chet taught me that everyone had their own weird dreams? And I figured out, a day too late, that this one wasn’t mine. Not really. Not anymore.
Also, my cute, naive idea that it would beeasierto be away from Rafe now that we were together? Utter bullshit. I’d realized this about the time Debbie’s car service had arrived at the hotel to take me to a private airfield outside Denver. Kissing Rafe goodbye had been brutal.
All I could think was that it was too soon or something. That the ink on our relationship had barely dried. That for all that we’d talked over, and all we felt for each other, and as much as I trusted him when he said he didn’t mind, Rafe couldn’t possibly be happy long term if we were only together in secret. That he deserved to be my highest priority, and for me toactlike he was my highest priority.
I’d wanted to call him last night and tell him all this, but it had been way too late by the time I got back to the hotel, even given the time difference.
I’d called him this morning instead, as soon as I woke up, but he hadn’t answered.
I’d tortured myself all day, when Debbie didn’t have me scheduled for a haircut, or a meeting with a stylist, or a practice session with the band, imagining my boyfriend freaking out and bowing to the porcelain gods in the Wyoming airport… and then again in the Denver airport, and then once more in New Orleans, since of course there was no such thing as a direct flight from Laramie to Sarasota.
Rafe had texted me back a couple of times to see howIwas, but every time he texted, I was doing some stupid, less-important thing for Debbie. He’d sent a picture he’d taken above the cloud deck with the caption “Scenic Colorado,” so I knew he was en route, but when I’d asked how he was, he’d cracked jokes about Ari and avoided the question.
I really should have been with him.
My phone rang, and I hit Accept without looking at the screen.
“Rafe?”
“Dude, you’vegotto stop doing this.”
I winced. “Shit. Um. Heyyy, Oak.”
“Don’t you dare ‘Um. Heyyy’ me, Jay Don Rollins,” Oak said severely. “I just saw something on the freakin’ internet that you’re at Iron Pipes. This is how we are now? I get updates on my best friend from BlazeNewz?”
“Sorry! Sorry. It just happened yesterday.” I walked out beyond the far edge of an RV, trying to find an isolated spot. “I’ve literally had no time to chat.”
“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say. You might recall that I predicted this whole thing,” he reminded me. “’Cause I’m talented like that. I’m gonna start one of those 1-900 hotlines, but for gay dudes. ‘I can see your future, and he’s ripped and horny! If you want details, it’ll be $5.99 for the first minute.’”
