If there are things left unsaid, pain swimming in your heart and head
Go to her.
Peace washes over me and suddenly I know exactly what I’m going to do. I reach into my pocket for my phone and search for Sandro René tour dates, scouringthe list for cities not listed as sold out. Go figure, there’s only one. In Phoenix, in two days. Worse, there’s only one ticket left, a frighteningly expensive front row seat for an artist I can’t stand. I buy the thing before it disappears, cringing at the price, but smiling bigger than I have since she left.
“What’s gotten into you?” Bennett asks.
“I know what I’m going to do.”
“Care to share it with the class?”
“Exactly what the song says. I’m gonna go to her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Lucy
My heart’s not in it tonight. I’ve barely heard from Nash in the last two days. I’m tired. I’m lonely. And, I never thought I’d say it, but Sandro René just isn’t that great. His music all sounds the same. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great performer and when you’re in need of a pick me up, he’s great. But there’s no depth to his lyrics. It’s just sounds, rhythms, and vague ideas.
Or maybe I’m just grumpy.
“Dancers! We’re at places in ten!”
A ripple of pre-show excitement rolls through my compatriots, skipping over me completely. Not a good sign. I stretch my arms overhead, breathing deeply, then jog in place, shaking my hands. This show’s hard when I’m amped. It’ll be brutal if this is all the energy I can muster.
“Come on, Lu. Dig deep. Humble perseverance,” I murmur, smiling sadly as I think back to the day Nash said that. Back when I was determined to rehab this damn ankle no matter the cost, so I could be exactly where I am now. It’s only been a couple months since then, but so much has happened, so much has changed, I can’t believe I’m the same woman in the memory.
Dani McGee, the dancer who sleeps in the bunk across from me, skips by and smacks my hip. “Tonight’s gonna slap. Callin’ it now.”
Her grin is annoyingly infectious. “Yeah?”
“You don’t feel it? The vibes are immaculate. Something big’s gonna happen.” She tugs at the high-necked, always too tight collar made from the scratchiest material ever invented, a costume choice we all decided was a ploy by Sandro to keep us in our place. A seam audibly snaps and the entire top sags off her shoulders as Dani’s eyes go wide.
“Okay, well, that’s not gonna work,” she squeaks. “Do I have time to hit wardrobe?”
“Final check,” someone calls. “Five minutes to show. Places, dancers!”
Dani freezes, a deer in the wild catching the hunter’s scent. “I don’t have time.”
“You also don’t have a functioning top. You can’t dance like that.” I motion frantically toward the hallway. “Run, babe, run! Manifest a miracle!”
Dani squeaks again, then scampers off, clutching her costume in place. Hopefully whatever they do will be secure enough to hold until the first costume change. Imake my way to the wings and find my place, still lacking enthusiasm. The crowd sounds wound up. Maybe I’ll be able to feed off them.
“Standby for blackout. Sandro to wings. Dancers, standby.”
I close my eyes and picture Nash’s face, sitting in the front row, staring up at me with pride and love and thatsomethingthat always made me feel seen and understood and wanted. It’s a ritual I started at my first show, when I was so nervous I didn’t think I could go on. Somehow, seeing his face helped me find the courage I needed. Since then, it’s been my calming ritual. My prayer, if you will. It brings me peace.
And tonight? That peace comes with a glimmer of expectation that grows and grows until I have to open my eyes and remind myself Nash won’t actually be out there. Which is a shame, because the more time I spend on tour, the more I know that wherever he is, that’s where I want to be.
Dani skids to a stop beside me, eyes wide, energy frazzled. “If this seam pops, we’re going viral for the wrong reasons.” She lifts her chin to reveal a franken-stitch holding the torn seam together. “They didn’t even have time to yell at me.”
“Blackout in five, four, three…”
We mentally finish the count and the lights blink out for us, then on for the audience. Screams erupt as the opening rhythm to Sandro’s latest hit thunders over the speakers, then triple in force when his spotlight flicks on, revealing him coming up from beneath thestage on aerial rigging, singing his heart out. It’s always a relief to see him pull it off without a hitch. For one, I’d hate to see him hurt. For two? I get hooked into the lines during one of the songs at the end of the set. If he’s safe, I will be too. I have just enough time to finish the thought and then, I step onstage.
Sandro’s in rare form again, though I’m starting to think the man’s just made to perform. The crowd is enthused. I smile out to them as I cross from stage right to center and…
What the hell?
