It’s raining when we land in Denver. Gray clouds hang low over the mountains, and the city feels quieter than I remember but maybe it’s just me. The world feels muted lately, like someone’s turned the color down.
Tish, ever the optimist, tightens her jacket around her and says with a grin, “Hey, at least the venue’s indoors. We won’t melt.”
I force a laugh, but the truth is, I’m already unraveling. The nausea hits hard as we get to the hotel, like the storm outside settled in my stomach. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m sick.
When I emerge, pale and trembling, the guilt creeps in. I can hear the muffled sounds through the hotel wall as other guests get ready and groups head out.
I spin, rushing back into the bathroom, where I stay for the next two hours.
Somewhere across town, Sam is on stage. Somewhere across town, he's singing about me.
“I think the show’s almost over,” Tish says gently fromthe edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. “Do you want to try to go or just call it?”
I sit beside her, then lean back, pressing a hand to my stomach as I close my eyes. I’m exhausted, and not just physically. My heart feels like it’s been dragging behind me for weeks.
“I think we just regroup,” I whisper. “Wait for Broken Heart Creek. That’s the one where I have the best chance to see him.”
Tish climbs into bed beside me and pulls me into a hug, her arms warm and solid, grounding me when I feel like I might float away.
“You’re going to talk to him,” she murmurs against my hair. “You’re going to look him in the eye, and he’s going to see you. All of you. And it’s going to be okay.”
I nod, but tears push forward anyway. I blink fast, trying to force them back, but a few slip down my cheeks and hit the blanket.
“I’m scared,” I admit, voice cracking. “What do I do if I can’t get to him? If I never get the chance to say anything?”
She’s quiet for a long beat. “Well, I guess it comes down to one thing.”
I look at her.
“Do you want this baby even if you don’t have Sam?”
My answer is immediate. “Yes.”
“Then you’re going to be okay,” she says firmly. “Because you’ll make this work. With or without him. But I still believe it’s going to be with him.”
I close my eyes again and wrap a hand over my stomach. Please let her be right.
There are three long days between the Denver show and the one in Broken Heart Creek, so Tish and I make the most of the time. The next morning, we set out to explore the city,the sky stretched wide and blue above us like it’s trying to convince me everything’s okay.
We visit the old news station where, once upon a time, I thought my career would take off like wildfire. I stare up at the building and feel a strange nostalgia. It’s not fond, not bitter, just distant. Like I’m looking at someone else’s dream.
Later, we grab lunch at a famous Tex-Mex restaurant Tish insists we try. We laugh over chips and salsa, tears in our eyes from too much hot sauce and the server’s terrible puns. For a little while, I feel light again, like maybe I’m still capable of joy.
In the evening, we kill time shopping in downtown boutiques. Tish tries on outrageous boots she has no intention of buying and talks me into a soft denim jacket that she says makes me look “very small-town heartbreaker chic.”
But then night falls.
Back at the hotel, we retreat to our separate beds, and the silence that settles around me is deafening. I lie still, wrapped in unfamiliar sheets, and let the quiet crawl into all the cracks I tried to ignore during the day.
I press my face into the pillow, and the tears come before I can stop them. Hot. Silent. Endless.
I miss Sam so much it physically hurts. Like half my heart is somewhere else walking stages, writing songs, maybe dreaming of me. Or maybe not.
Without him, I feel like a song stuck on the edge of a note that’s unresolved and aching for something that might never come.
The next morning the sunlight through the hotel curtains is too bright. I blink, head pounding from the crying, stomach twisting with morning sickness that’s becoming an all-too-familiar rhythm.
Tish walks in with a cup of ginger tea and a soft look in her eyes. “One more stop, babe. Then it’s showtime.”
