By the time we arrive at the venue, sound check is already underway. We meet up with a group of other individuals contracted to provide security for the event, get our uniforms and badges and then are briefed on the duties while we familiarize ourselves with the facility.
“You’ll be at the front,” Blade instructs, showing me where I’ll be positioned for the night. “Dove’s request,” he says without another glance before he takes off in the opposite direction, weaving through tech support and other individuals working to make sure the venue is prepared and ready for tonight’s concert.
I’m eager to see Dove, having not seen her since this morning when we drove straight to the airport, but I respect her space as she navigates this world. Dove exits the stage, mouthing a few refrains of her lyrics playing over the speakers while effortlesslygoing through her dance movements. She’s stunning, her body moving gracefully to the beat in a shimmery black dress that falls just below her butt, fringed with red, swaying tassels, and paired with black combat boots. With her black diamond-encrusted microphone, she spots me in the sparse crowd and shoots me a wink, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She then stomps to the opposite end of the stage, dips low again, and mouths the lyrics.
I’ve heard her passion for singing in the words she’s written to me for years but seeing it in person is something entirely different. She’s made for this. And I swear, watching her rehearsal, I will never do anything to harm her dreams or her reputation.
After she wraps up her rehearsal—where I mostly admire how effortlessly she moves and sexy she looks—she heads backstage. Blade finds me again, giving me further instructions before the crowd begins to trickle in. I hate not being able to go back to see her, touch her, or be near her. But instead, I remain firmly at my post at the front of the stage, my back to the performers as the opening acts take the spotlight.
After two hours of lesser-known performers that I completely ignore, Dove & the Valor are finally announced, and the crowd in the stadium goes wild, sending me on high alert.
It’s been a while since I’ve put myself in a setting with this much noise and danger coupled with few easy-to-access exits. My eyes constantly scan the space, alert for any potential threats while becoming acutely aware of Dove’s intoxicating presence behind me. It’s the first time I’m hearing her voice live, and as it moves through the speakers to my ears, I can’t help but turn to watch. It’s even raspier and sultrier than I imagined. Her voice draws me in with an irresistible force.
She transitions into a slower ballad, taking a seat on a stool with her face calm and still. But the moment our eyes meet, she smiles, opening hers wider, and launches into the energeticrefrain—a fast, upbeat rock tune that electrifies the room.
She’s fucking incredible. A born performer, and along with the crowd, I find it torture to look away from her rapturing presence.
I stand with my back towards her, desperate to turn around and see the beauty I know everyone else is consuming. As another song begins, this one with a raw, angsty edge, I feel her voice draw closer, realizing she’s right behind me. Despite my instructions not to look, I can’t help but steal another glance. She smiles and winks, then lightly rubs my buzzed head with her fingers before moving to the other side of the stage. I bite down on my smile in case anyone is watching.
Hope Bex didn’t see that.
After four songs, as the thumping music reverberates around me, I finally feel the tension in my shoulders ease slightly while Dove and her band continue to rock out behind me. Her voice, the soundtrack to my dreams, brings me a sense of nirvana that I haven’t felt since before I joined the marines. That peace, however, is instantly shattered moments later, when an asshole in the crowd suddenly hurls a full water bottle at the stage, striking Dove squarely in the chest.
There are only seconds to process what’s happening, and normally I would have been on higher alert enough to stop him before the bottle even left his fingers, but I’d let my guard down. I kick myself for that lapse in vigilance as I leap over the barrier with ease and plunge into the crowd. I quickly locate the man, putting him in a tight chokehold, applying pressure to his vital points, and coming within a hair’s breadth of snapping his neck all without thinking about it.
“Dude!” Blade shouts, coming up beside me just in time to save the guys life, “Dude let him go. He's out of here.” His eyes are wide as he looks into my black, blown out pupils and I realize I’ve taken the attack on Dove way too personally.
I want to do it. I want to snap his neck so badly for hurting her.For hurting the woman that I care about more than my own life, but I know it’s the wrong thing to do forher.
I can barely hear anything over the rush of blood in my ears; Paloma’s stopped singing, but the band continues to cautiously play part of the refrain again while my hearing returns and my eyes regain focus. A circle of frightened attendees has formed around us as I reluctantly release the man from the chokehold. He turns to face me, clawing at his neck and coughing as a mixture of fear and anger fills his eyes.
Blade grabs the guy, twists his arm, and hauls him towards one of the exists while mumbling that he’s being banned from the venue for life and will need to meet with the cops for assault. Finally, Paloma recovers and starts singing again but I already know the damage has been done.
I resume my position at the front of the stage, now distracted, anxious and unable to think until Blade comes back to find me a few minutes later.
“You gotta bounce dude, Bex is pissed.”
Fuck, me. She would be.
I nod, accepting the loss for what it is—my emotions getting the better of me in a situation where my singular focus was protecting and avenging Paloma. I wouldn’t apologize for that. At least not to Bex. To Paloma, I would because I swore, I’d never do anything to hurt her or her reputation.
Hopefully, next time someone would think twice before hurling a hard water bottle at the stage, especially toward a small, innocent, and unsuspecting woman. A projectile like that, thrown with enough force, could have seriously injured her.
I head to an exit door and make my way outside of the arena, finally spotting the tour bus that Dove had mentioned she would be returning to after tonight's concert. I show my ID to the driver and slip inside, heading towards the back where I decide to wait. When I reach the bed, I collapse onto it and close my eyes.
What the hell am I doing here?
I was in a town I no longer felt a part of, almost killed a stranger who attempted to hurt a woman I’d cared about for over a decade, and putting myself in high stress, triggering situations that I wasn’t ready to be involved in.
I’d moved to Lonestar Junction for peace, solitude and quiet. A simpler life that didn’t demand much from me. Going on tour as Paloma’s body guard would be the opposite of those things where what happened tonight may occur again and next time, Blade might not be there to stop me.
I know I shouldn’t have agreed to a bodyguard gig in the first place, but the problem is that this is Paloma's dream, and her dreams now feel like my dreams. However, I also know that part of respecting and supporting her passions means I’ll do anything,anything, not to stand in the way of them.
Even if that means not continuing on tour with her.
I feel out of control, out of my skin, like I need more space than this overpopulated town, the Texan air, and to be back on my farm sitting by my quiet garden with crickets and the toads.
Another hour spent of staring at the padded tour bus roof and I finally hear the door open to the bedroom and then close gently.
