Page 47 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Dustin

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live

to be a hundred minus one day

so I never have to live without you.

~ A. A. Milne

“Dustin, that was more than we had hoped for,” a sound tech named Joel says with a kind smile.

The producer approaches me. “You've got real talent, Dustin.”

“Thanks,” I smile.

I’m packing up my guitar, ready to head back to the hotel for a shower before a car picks me up to go on this show. It’s been a long day.

Back home, when I had a gig, it was after a normal day. I’d get ready, go to the bar or club or restaurant, set up and play. Today has been a whirlwind between meetings and signing papers and then all the hours in the studio. And it won’t end until after midnight.

I’m sure the average day in the life of a musician isn’t this hectic.

But I imagine there may be many days like this.

In some ways, I’m used to an erratic, demanding, unpredictable schedule.

When I worked wildfires as a volunteer in California, we’d sleep near the fire.

We were round-the-clock with few breaks and little rest.

Is this the life I want?

Not that they’re fully offering it to me yet, but if they did …

Emberleigh crosses my mind. Not that she ever left it.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, snap a pic of me in the studio holding my packed guitar. I caption it, “Long day. I officially recorded your song for the world. But it’s still yours. Off to hotel and then talk show. Save two blueberry-lemon donuts for me.”

I pocket my phone. I’ve been pausing to send her quick photos of my experience throughout the day. I only sent four so far. It’s my way of letting her know she’s here with me even when she can’t be. I didn’t let her go or leave her. I just stepped away and I’ll be back.

In love, we inherit both the wreckage and the riches of the ones who came before us.

Emberleigh is strong and resilient. And she’s caring and thoughtful.

Those qualities developed with the help of significant people in her past. Her skittish nature when it comes to abandonment wasn’t caused by me.

But I’m here now and I can help her move past her presumption that people always leave.

And she can help me become the type of man someone leans on.

Back home, I’m the baby brother—the jokester, the one bringing a smile to everyone’s face.

No one turns to me for anything. They’ve got Stevens and Dad for that.

Emberleigh’s teaching me to be a man who stays and shows up. I want to be someone she can depend on.

My phone pings and she sends a photo of her living room television. The caption is, “I’ll be watching you tonight.” I don’t know if she’s smiling. She always adds an emoji. This time, she didn’t.

She’ll be watching. I’d love a photo of her right now. She sent a few throughout the day yesterday. But I’ll settle for knowing she’s going to be tuned in while I’m on Nashville Night Light.

I put a heart on her photo and type. “I’m glad. You’re the only one who matters.”

She puts a heart on my comment.

Something in my chest tugs. Is she okay?

I nearly turn my truck toward the highway, the pull to check in on her is so strong.

I don’t know what it is, but something feels off.

Is this what it would feel like to be on the road?

Wondering if she’s alright? Missing her like a lost limb?

Craving just a minute alone with her? Preoccupied instead of being fully present?

When I’m working in Waterford, I’m at the station for twenty-four hour shifts and I only see her for my donut run during that long stretch.

I never feel like this during those long stretches.

I’m eager to see her, but not desperate.

Not like something’s clawing out of me to get back to her.

There’s something to be said about being in the same town. If I had to get to her, I could.

I pull into the hotel parking lot and sit in the cab of my truck.

I could call Emberleigh.

Would she want me to?

We’ve been sending photos and little comments. Would a call push it too far? She’s still my girlfriend. We didn’t break up. We hit an impasse. One we can’t find our way around or through. But I still love her and I know she cares about me.

I pull my phone up and stare at it.

It rings.

I look at caller I.D. It’s my mom.

“Hey!” Her voice is loud, bright and full of excitement.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Everyone’s on the call. Say hi, everyone.”

My family’s voices all fill my ear and I smile. “Hey, guys.”

“How’s Nashville, superstar?” Mom asks.

“Not a superstar. It’s been a long day. It went well. I’m just going to clean up, then I go to the studio for that talk show.”

“So exciting!” Mom says.

“We’re proud of you, son,” Dad says.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I talk to my family for a little while. They ask me questions about my day.

I shift the subject to them after a bit, asking about life on Marbella.

When we hang up, I look at the clock. I’ve got to put a pedal to the metal now.

I head up the elevators to my room, shower, grab a couple protein bars from the vending machine, and meet the car out front with barely a minute to spare.

The crew at the talk show sets me up with a mic on a side stage. I’m going to sing a song, then I’ll go to the couch for an interview. The label wants me to get some initial exposure. All of this is testing the waters to see how the public responds to me and my music.

They haven’t predetermined what song they want me to sing, so I pick one.

We run through a sound check. I sing lines of the song. The crew shows me where I’ll stand, what cameras I’ll be looking into, and then I’m ushered into the greenroom to wait for the host to do his intro to the show.

All I can think of is Emberleigh. I’m grateful for this opportunity. But I’d be able to throw myself into it more wholeheartedly if we had some sort of resolution and unified plan. If I knew we could make this work, I’d throw myself into this experience with everything I have.

I can’t shake the thought that Emberleigh’s not okay. Something’s off and I don’t know what it is.

I take a photo of myself on the greenroom couch and caption it, “Thinking of you. My body’s here, but my heart’s in Waterford.”

She doesn’t text back.

I tuck the phone into my pocket, but the ache in my chest doesn’t ease. I can perform for the world—but if she’s slipping away, none of this matters.