“I’ve been faithful.” I grip his T-shirt in my fist, hot agony sliding down my face as his warmth surrounds me. “Easton, I—”
“Shhhh, Beauty, go back to sleep,” he whispers, completely dismissing my every word while lowering his thumb and aggressively smearing the lipstick across my jaw, a blatant attempt to erase Tye’s kiss. As he does it, I see his eyes flit with a thousand emotions. With one last swipe of his thumb, he leans in, his kiss feeling every bit the kiss of death he intends it to be. A pained grunt leaves him as he releases my hands from his T-shirt before ripping away from me abruptly.
I keep my eyes closed, voice breaking as I repeat the truth. “I’ve been faithful.”
Drive
Sixx:AM
Natalie
Twelve to fifteen minutes. That’s the length of the average halftime show. Though my hopes are that the Sergeants will take the former as the Cowboys retreat from the field with a fourteen-point lead.
Twelve minutes of hell is what awaits my father and me as the stadium staff scrambles below to set the stage for the halftime show. Thankful for the Dutch courage flowing through me and the slight ease it brings, I decline to sip my newly refilled beer. Though buzzed, I’m still painfully present. There’s no remedy for the grief currently running through me in any form.
“You were a temporary high.”
If Easton hadn’t annihilated me with his vicious retaliation in that bathroom—if we hadn’t run into each other, I’d be somewhere near the vicinity of okay. But as the teams disappear from the field and the stadium begins to shake with renewed energy for what’s to come, I know the true test of the night lies in the grueling minutes ahead.
Twelve to fifteen minutes.
Please, God, let it be twelve minutes because a minute more might break me. Dad and I sit in unspoken agreement to stand our ground, glancing over at the other every few seconds as historic friction fills the air.
It’s while the stadium crew begins to set up the stage and the spectators start to roar with excitement that Dad wordlessly takes my hand in silent support. My concern isn’t so much for myself anymore as I’m a lost cause, but for how he might be feeling.
He’s here because of me—for me, and I want to be just as much a silent strength for him. Dad catches me studying his profile and quickly tries to quash my rapidly building anxiety.
“I’m fine,” he assures, and I nod, doing my best to believe him—hoping that his current state and relaxed posture will be an eventual possibility for me. “We can leave if you want to. I’m fine with that, too.”
“Maybe we should, but we aren’t going to,” I declare vehemently. “We have just as much of a right to be here as anyone else. We aren’t second-class citizens, Dad.”
His reply gets drowned out as the stadium goes dark, and the first notes of “Tyrant”—an early Sergeants’ hit—begin to fill the air. Sparks of light fly stage-side toward the open roof as I settle in.
Within minutes of the Sergeants taking the stage, the roar of the crowd nearly overpowers the volume of the music. The buzz they’re creating consumes every inch of space as Ben bellows out every lyric with expertise—the rest of the band in sync, a clear demonstration of the legendary band they are. Relentless in their execution, they play a mind-blowing compilation of their greatest hits, spanning decades of a legacy they’ve built together—easily blowing away the expectations of everyone present, including me.
Despite his reassurances, every few minutes, I turn to weigh Dad’s expression. Not once has he wavered. As he confessed in Chicago, he’s had decades to get over any hurt regarding their breakup and has years of memories he made with my mother to wash away the sting of those he had with Stella Emerson Crowne. Even without the recognition of shaping Stella into the powerful journalist she became, my father humbly and gracefully took a back seat to any claim of his part. He selflessly loved her enough to want her to thrive—to want her happiness.
Only the six of us know the details of the more complex story behind the woman who put the legendary band ruling the stage on the map, but only three people lived it.
Dad let Stella go to finish the rest of her chapters with another man and, in turn, found his unwritten chapters with my mother—showering the two of us with all the love in his heart. A fact that only reiterates why my father remains my hero. In embracing that, I look over at him with all the love I hold.
As I do, I sense a little tension building as the AT&T stadium is blanketed in darkness while Rye’s guitar screeches out, ending the last song. I look up to see Stella on the jumbotron, wiping a tear away before gripping Lexi’s hand that rests on her shoulder. Seconds later, a lone spotlight shines on Reid behind his drumkit.