Page 178 of The Comedown

The amount of cameras aimed at us doubles as more photographers sprint over, wanting to capture the moment, and we hold each other at arm’s length like two best friends reuniting at long last while ignoring the screamed, desperate pleas for each of us—any of us—to look directly into a lens—any lens.

With his eyebrows raised, he bows his head just so to make his lips less readable. “Just a bit of unexpected turbulence.”

Julian and Holter separate, then I’m wrapped in a bear hug as well from my teen son who just might’ve grown taller since I last saw him.

“Hey, you.”

His body relaxes against mine as he breathes, “Hey, Mom.”

My eyes fill with tears all over again, and the words “I’m sorry” sneak out like a whisper in the night—pointless yet monumental. While they probably mean nothing to him, they mean everything to me because I am sorry. I’m as sorry now as I am any other time I’m away from him for long stretches of time. I’m also sorry he has a father I don’t trust to be alone with him. Most of all, I’m sorry I can’t figure out a way to fix any of it.

We’re just pulling apart when Bodee brushes past me, saying quietly, “You will be,” before summoning someone official looking over to him to whisper something in the woman’s ear.

“Let’s all get some pictures together,” Julian suggests with a cunning smirk toward Bodee.

My ex doesn’t bat an eye, saying, “Great idea,” his arms out wide in invitation because make no mistake, this is his world. He’s only allowing us to visit it.

Together, we awkwardly shift into a pose comprised of all four of us, but I don’t bother with a smile as I stare ahead, letting my eyes unfocus to the tumult around me and on me and in me. Is this what a dog chasing its own tail feels like?

Maybe Bodee was the one that had it right all along.

Julian

“There must be a mistake,” Collette tells the usher even though the paper on the seat clearly reads “Bodee Keys.”

Collette and I were here last night until eleven o’clock practicing, and these same seats were for Collette, Holter, and me. Now though, they’re labeled for Collette, Holter, and Bodee.

Apparently, the three of them will be sitting together in the front row while I’m…

I mentally count the rows to where my name’s now posted.

Twelve. Twelve rows back.

I’m performing on the main stage tonight, and they decided to seat me twelve rows back—otherwise known as the fucking nosebleeds of these types of award shows—at the last minute.

That motherfucker.

Bodee comes up, asking like he didn’t have a hand in this, “Is something wrong, Collette?”

“We’re just waiting for Julian’s seat—”

“Julez?” Bodee cuts her off while giving me a look that shows me he forgot I beat his ass once before. “Need help finding the way back to your seat?”

Back.

See, I had to search around to know where my seat was, but Bodee walked up already knowing.

This is his payback for my little stunt outside. That’s fine, good even. I want him rattled, just not near Collette and Holter, especially if I’m not around.

He already got a little too close to Collette when greeting her. I don’t care if it was for the cameras, Bodee shouldn’t be allowed to touch her ever again. Or any woman. If he encourages rape of others, there’s no way he’s honorable enough not to do it himself, too. Dude don’t have honor; he’s got a death wish, and I can’t wait to fucking fulfill it.

I eye his jawline, then temple. Only two hits and I’d end this cockroach disguised as a country star. I wanna throw down with him right now so fucking bad, but I can’t. That’s anger trying to take over, and I gotta be smart about this.

How am I supposed to keep Collette and Holter safe from twelve rows away though?

“I’m not sitting without you,” Collette says to me before checking around my newly assigned seat, looking for someone to trade spots with.

She ain’t sitting in the nosebleeds though, not because of me, and sure as fuck not because of Bodee Keys. His reign over her ends tonight.