Page 164 of Levi

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s been a long week.” I keep my eyes on the road, and hand him the smile that ends a conversation. “Where are you at with the wedding cake? Did Mickey agree to the second cake for photographs?”

He doesn’t believe me. But he’s kind enough, or maybe scared enough of the answer himself, to let it go.

“Oh, of course he agreed,” he says, the sparkle climbing right back in. “Mickey never refuses me anything.”

The grounds are a roar of light and bodies. The VIP passes tonight work better than the one I used before. A kid in a headset walks us past every line, through a gap in the barricade, down to the rail, front row and center, close enough to feel the bass come up through the dirt into my chest.

Benji grabs my arm with both hands and yells in my ear, most of it lost to the noise. He’s excited and happy for me.

I stand where Levi asked me to stand. The lanyards around our necks. Best spot in the field.

In a little while he walks out under those lights, and I get to watch him do it knowing exactly what the stage clothes are covering. It’s a sold-out crowd. Ten thousand people bought a ticket.

The house lights start to go down. The roar climbs up to meet them. Beside me Benji’s almost vibrating with energy, both hands locked on my arm. He reaches up and squares my collar, like I’m a groom getting ready to walk down an aisle, and turns to face the stage.

I put on the face I want Levi to see if he spots me.

And I brace myself for the morning he leaves.

Chapter 65: Levi

The Bash saved its biggest crowd for last. It runs back past the lights farther than I can see, and when they sing my choruses back at me the sound rolls up onto the stage like surf. Ten thousand of them, hats off, phones up, screaming a name.

And the man they’re screaming for isn’t even here.

I’ve played this set so many times my hands run it without me. The smile. The little laugh between numbers. The wave, the y’all have been too good to me. Lee Streeter at full wattage, while the man wearing him counts down songs.

Because Sunday’s still coming. The car at a quarter to five to pick me up. The plane. The studio. The years after.

Dante showed me the cage is mostly bluff and I believe him. But bluff takes a lawyer and a year of letters to prove. Here I am holding the winning hand with no time left to play it.

Two songs left. Then one. The band leans into the closer, the radio smash a committee wrote for a man who was never real, and out past the rail the crowd feels it coming and lifts.

I look down instead for the first time tonight.

I shouldn’t be able to find one face in a crowd this size. But I put Dante at the rail myself, told him where to stand, and my eyes go straight to him like they’ve been waiting all night for the excuse.

There he is.

Front and center. Not clapping, not singing. Not having a party like the rest of them.

Watching me, eyes steady, taking me in one more time before I go. Benji beside him, both hands pressed over his mouth.

And it comes up through me plain as the first clear note of the night.

I love him with everything I’ve got, and what I’ve got is one chance.

Only one.

I hear Sheila’s voice in my ear like she’s leaning close over the bar.

You’re not at the finish line yet, baby. Don’t take your foot off the gas.

Dante leaves his door open for me because I need him to. That’s the one mercy the dark I grew up in was built to make sure I’d never get, and it’s been standing open all this time, him leaning in it.

All I have to do is be brave enough, one damn time, to walk through it in front of everybody.