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After our breakfast meeting, as everyone files back to the bus, Justine hangs back with me, not quite ready to dive back into the controlled madness of tour life.
“You okay with all this?” I ask her, gesturing vaguely around us, the security guards, the whole surreal situation.
She looks up at me, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression that makes my chest tighten. “Are you? This is way more attention than I’m used to. I mean, I wanted to make it in music, but I never really thought about what that would mean for my personal life.”
I stop walking and turn to face her fully. We’re standing next to the bus in a truck stop parking lot, having one of the most important conversations of our relationship. It’s not romantic, but it feels right somehow.
“Hey,” I say, cupping her face in my hands. “Look at me.”
She does, and I can see the uncertainty there, mixed with excitement and love and a dozen other emotions.
“I’m more than okay with it,” I tell her. “But if you’re not—if this is too much too fast—we can figure something else out.”
“No,” she says quickly. “I am okay with it. I want this. Us, the music, all of it. I just . . .” she pauses, looking down at her hands. “I’ve spent so long trying to prove myself as a musician. I don’t want people to think I’m with you for the wrong reasons.”
The vulnerability in her voice breaks my heart a little. I lift her chin so she’s looking at me again.
“Anyone who’s heard you sing would never think that,” I say firmly. “And anyone who matters knows that you were killing it long before we got together. Besides, I’m the one who got lucky here.”
She smiles, the worry fading from her eyes. “Pretty sure we both did.”
I lean down and kiss her. It’s soft and sweet and completely ours, despite the audience.
When we break apart, she grins. “I love that I can do that now. Just kiss you whenever I want.”
“Good,” I say, “because I plan on taking full advantage of that.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The lights go out just as we’re finishing sound check, and for a moment, I think it’s part of the show. Then I realize the emergency exit signs are the only things still glowing, casting everything in an eerie red wash.
Not just the stage lights. Everything. The entire arena plunges into darkness, the hum of amplifiers dies is quickly drowned out by the sound of the emergency exit telling us we need to leave.
“Well, that’s not good,” Ajay says from behind his drum kit, his voice echoing strangely in the sudden acoustic space.
“Power’s out citywide,” someone shouts from the back of the venue. “Grid failure. Could be hours.”
The arena manager appears with a flashlight, looking more frazzled than I’ve ever seen him. Earlier, his blond hair was gelled stylishly and now it’s a disheveled me, and he’s got his phone pressed to his ear while trying to coordinate with someone on the other end.
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cancel tonight’s show,” he announces to our small group. “Insurance won’t cover anything without proper lighting and security systems. The fire marshal’s already on his way to shut us down.”
My heart sinks like a stone. Canceling is always the last option. The logistics of rescheduling is a nightmare according to Elle. We got lucky when Elle went into labor, we were about to break for the holidays. It’s as if Elle timed it all perfectly.
“What about the fans?” Dana asks.
“Refunds will be processed within three to five business days,” the manager says, already scrolling through his phone. “Security’s making announcements now.”
“This sucks,” Hendrix says, unplugging his electric guitar from an amp that’s no longer working. “I can’t remember the last time we’ve had to cancel.”
“Actually,” I say, an idea forming that’s either brilliant or completely insane, “what if we don’t cancel?”
Everyone turns to look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Why does Elle have to be on leave?” Keane groans.
“Insurance, liability, crown control,” the manager says as he shakes his head.
“Here me out,” I say. “If there’s a grid out and no one knows when the lights will be on, isn’t it better the people out there stay here instead of driving? What if there’s an accident?” I ask. “The police are already outside and paid for, why not use them?”