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When the shadow finally appears, the ivory-toned man, free of tattoos, and certainly free of my heart, makes himself known. Even knowing he wouldn’t show, my stomach still falls to my ass.
I wish he was here.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I know I’m nothing close to the dapper Captain Parker, but he had some things come up that needed his attention. I’m Captain Childs, and I’ll be directing your travels for the next couple of flights.”
When I open the message back up to see if he responded, it’s the next best thing, and suddenly, Seattle doesn’t feel so bad after all.
DAD
Mom and I just landed in Seattle. See you soon, honey.
Getting back on stage is uneventful, which I expected. The first two nights in Seattle were spent teaching the rest of the dancers Haven’s single and spending each evening with my parents.
Tonight is our final show here, and the first night everyone’s performing “Redemption” together.
“Got your granola bar, Fia,” Dan, my sweet buddy, cheers from under the stage.
“No thanks, Dan. I’m not too hungry tonight.”
Aside from the gutted feeling of not having Jett in the audience, I think if I shoved anything in my face right now, I’d blow chunks all over the front row before the first number was even finished.
“Everything okay?” His sweet dad disposition warms me up just briefly, though the cold comes back almost immediately.
“Just a little worn down, I guess.”
“Still have to fuel even when you’re tired, hun.”
What about when you’re sad? Before Jett, taking care of myself was the last thing I thought of, but knowing that he’s the one who needs it, I can’t help but force myself to the wayside once again.
I shake my head slightly. “I had some food back in the dressing room. Really, I’m just tired.”
Tired doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. Gutted, unmotivated, lost. I want to talk to Jett, want to feel his fingers rub against my legs, defy him just to hear that snarky humor of his put me back in my place.
“Well, you’re near the finish line, kid.”
I smile and let the thump from the crowd take over my mind as best as it can.
If by finish line, he means halfway through the first leg of the tour, his and my definition of finish lines are vastly different.
This is our last night in Seattle, and tonight, we take a red eye to Toronto.
The red timer counts down at the corner of the stage.
Five.
Four.
Three.
“Get ready in two,” a stage manager whisper-shouts.
Pyro sparkles, fans go wild, and the light flashes one.
Whispering to myself, I set for position. “I can do this.”
CHAPTER 62
JETT
