"Go, Ellie," Mason warns under his breath. He holds his blood-smeared knuckles to himself.
But I can't move. I can't leave Mason here. My feet are heavy as lead when I watch John roll over and slowly stand. He's not used to people defying him. Pressing my back against the fence to steady myself, I'm utterly terrified at his oncoming reaction that severely contrasts the folk-pop ballad by Isla Verde that's playing out in front of us.
“Well, brother,” John says, starting toward me again. He wipes the blood from the side of his face and bites at his bottom lip. “Looks like that was a mistake.”
Mason steps in John’s path to block him from me, and suddenly, all three of us are caught by the harsh beam of a flashlight.
“What’s the problem here?” an authoritative voice asks.
Before we can formulate our words, John speaks up with an arrogant, worried tone. "Glad you made it in time, sir. This guy is trying to cop a feel on my girlfriend."
"You're insane," Mason says plainly.
Stepping out from behind Mason, I study the security guard in the dark to see if it's someone I recognize, and it's not. But then looking over at John, he winks at me.
And suddenly, it's gone. All the feelings I'd ever felt for him, the sadness and pain he put me through, the memories I'd let build up, everything positive I ever associated with this man. They're all gone, and I feel lighter and more grounded than I ever have.
“You alright, miss?” the guard asks, eyeing me cowered behind Mason suspiciously.
“I will be once he’s gone,” I say, pointing at John whose busted face drops into an expression of bewilderment.
"What the fuck, Ellie. I just wanted to talk. What the fuck is your problem? This guy? Really? You're fucking nothing you dumb slut," he says swinging at me but is intercepted by the security guard who nearly tackles him.
"Alright. That's enough out of you. You're coming with me," the guard says, wrenching John's arm and pushing him toward the Howe Street exit. "You folks enjoy the rest of your night."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason
The pain in my hand is excruciating. I can't believe I socked that bastard in the face. The anger that's welled up inside me catches in my throat as I open my mouth to speak. But nothing comes out.
Standing there, Ellie and I both stare at each other. I can’t read her entirely in the dim light of darkness. But she still looks like she might be shaking. The way her ex went after her puts me at the height of a rage I’ve never felt before. He was like a goddamn wolf going after a bunny. Devoid of comprehension, she looks at me and swipes at her cheek. The terrified look on her face tells me she needs me right now.
Not sure if she wants physical contact yet, I continue fighting my initial instinct to rush her. Instead, I hold my arms out and motion for her. "Come here," I try to say over the music. But my voice is weak and wavers in the night between us. Reading me, she takes two steps in my direction. And this is all it takes for me to reach out and pull her into my chest, enveloping every inch of her. I'm never letting go of this girl.
Heat is radiating off of her body, and I feel her trembling. To ease her agony, I press three kisses into the top of her hair to let her know I'm here and that I won't be going anywhere. "Are you okay, Ellie?"
Under my contact, she tries to nod. But her face is pushed to my heart. I feel the irregular rise and fall of her body under my arms, her breaths chaotic and in pieces. I can't tell if she's crying, but it feels like she is. And her tears break my heart in the worst of ways.
"Ellie," I whisper, lowering my mouth to her small ear.
Clutching onto me tighter, she shakes her head against me, her face still hidden.
"Ellie, I'm so sorry. I had no idea how bad it was." Pushing her hair back, I press my lips to her temple. As I slowly speak, I can feel her strain easing as if she’s hearing the weight of every single word I say. "You were right. I can see why, after someone like that, you're not ready for a relationship. I should have trusted you."
It must be thirty seconds before she moves. Pulling her face up and away from my chest, she takes a step back to look at me. Her eyes are watery with tears brimming her eyelashes as she tries to blink them away. With a small, broken smile, she nods again. Her cheeks are red, blotchy, and stained with black streams of eye makeup. "It's okay." She swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand. "Everything's going to be fine now," she smirks, trying to rid herself of her emotion.
Pulling her back in, I press my lips to hers for the sweetest, most tender kiss I've ever experienced. Her lips crash back into mine like a wave, surging with relief, and I swear I can taste the salt from her tears. Completely losing myself, I put my busted hand on the back of her head. But when I draw her closer, I wince at the pain. She ends our kiss and pulls away from me.
"Let me see it," she says, slowly bringing my arm in front of her. Turning my hand over, she runs a light, shaky finger over my knuckles. They're dried with blood and sore as hell.
"I'll survive," I say, kissing her on the forehead. I can’t get enough of her. "But you know what I won't survive?"
With all the concern in the world, she looks up at me under the lift of her wet lashes, her brow furrowed in worry. "What?"
"Not having you in my life— in whatever way you need me."
Her lips tremble as she tries to smile again. "Why are you so good to me?"
Clenching my jaw to keep it from quivering at her question, I shake my head. How in the world could anyone not love this girl? The thought burns a thick hole in my chest. Through gritted teeth, I tell her the only thing I can put words to right now. “Because you are an amazing human being who is so full of life and light. And because fuck anything that doesn’t get your blood pumping.”
Throwing her arms around my neck, she tugs me down to her height and kisses me hard. I can feel the streaks of her tears on my cheeks now. But the way her soul yanks me into her like the gravitational pull of the moon moving tides. It causes my mind to go completely silent as she works her way deeper into my heart.
Seconds later, we’re interrupted by a high-pitched voice that resonates over the first verse of Isla Verde's final song. "Ellie! What happened? We just saw John being carted out and—" Brooke stops dead in her tracks as she sees Ellie turned away and wiping at her face. But noticing me by her side, Brooke’s face relaxes.
"Hey," I say, nodding toward Ellie. "She's alright. Just a little shaken."
The redhead scrambles for her and surrounds her in a hug.
Dennis follows a second later. Looking over at me, he furrows his brow. There's a sheet of sorrow plastered across his face as if he somehow already knows the details. "Everything alright?"
“She held her own,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my jaw.
“And you?” he asks, eyeing me in the dark.
Lifting my puffy, purplish hand in his direction, I shrug. "Little busted up but okay."
"Oh, shit, man."
Brooke hears Dennis' concern and turns back to me. "Oh, God. Mason, your hand."
"It's fine. Seriously. Looks worse than it is." Stepping away, I suddenly feel out of my element surrounded by Ellie’s tribe. I scratch the back of my head with my untouched hand. Feeling an emotion stirring at the back of my throat, I try to hold it in. But it spills out of me in a frustrated groan. "Just a little busted up, but should be fine tomorrow," I say, stepping further toward the crowd.
To my surprise, Ellie follows me. And she's the only person I want near me right now. "Come on, we'll get you some ice," she says, taking my good hand in hers. Her sudden contact alleviates my inability to cope, and I squeeze her fingers to let her know I’m grateful. "We’ll get you all fixed up," she says.
"You got one more set left in you?" I ask Ellie as the four of us walk to a small opening at the back of the crowd.
As Brooke and Dennis are preoccupied by the impending on-stage arrival of Cole and Holland, Ellie pulls me further back into the park where an empty folding ta
ble provides us the perfect spot to watch the last of the concert. "Sit with me?" Ellie asks. But it’s not even a question. Of course I’m sitting.
Though the daylight is gone, the moon hangs over the oak trees above us and casts an inky glow onto the swaying leaves, scattering us with moonlight. The stage lights illuminate Cole as he walks out with his acoustic guitar strapped to him. He carries two wooden stools at his side.
As he takes a seat, Holland follows him, flouncing her skirt for show in a real June Carter type of jest. Running a hand through her strawberry hair, she smiles at the crowd causing an uproar of applause. Sitting, she lowers her microphone stand to fit her height.
I watch the acoustic set with Ellie next to me, my arm draped over her. Holding the bag of ice to my busted knuckles, she flips it once every few minutes so it keeps cold. While this is a little reminiscent of our first shared concert, this is something new for us. Something different. But much more significant. A few songs in, she lays her head on my shoulder. I can’t tell if she’s sleepy or if she just wants to feel close to me. Either way, I can feel her mouth move against my shoulder as she whisper-sings the good lines. Just like she always does.
As the last song of the set approaches, Cole takes a swig from his water bottle. And I grow nervous as hell at what's about to come. Cole taps the microphone and clears his throat. "This last song," he says, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This one is dedicated to a very special woman with the most kick-ass name I've probably ever heard. Ellie? Ellie Stone? Is she around here somewhere?" he calls out to a whispering crowd.
Lifting her head, Ellie fidgets under my arm. As Cole speaks her name again, she tilts up from my shoulder. "What did you do?" she asks, her voice full of wonder.
And my heart stops from the sheer joy. Bringing my hand up to my mouth, I shout. "Over here!" When I point down at her, she ducks her head, covering her face with both hands. And I swear this is the very first time I've seen her so shy.
"Ellie Stone, there you are!" Cole takes another sip of his water and looks over at Holland. "Don't you love that name? No relation to The Rolling Stones. I already asked."
With an animated laugh, Holland shrugs.
"Ellie, someone reached out to me before the show. Was a strapping young fellow such as myself,” Cole says, drawing some laughs from the crowd. “Anyway, he happened to see me backstage before the last set earlier and asked if we take requests. Normally, it’s a hard no. We don’t. But this was a good one." He clears his throat. "I don't have my little canary to help me out with this. So this is the first time I'll be singing it without her. But Holland is here to help me turn it into a duet." Locking eyes with Holland, he nods and strums a chord on his guitar, the notes ringing out as he continues his commentary. "But as I've learned in life, the present is a time of newness. A time to revive ourselves and start over. To grow a little. Or a lot." He smiles at Holland as she takes a sip of her own water. "To open our hearts and minds to change and everything else that comes along with livin’ the good life. So I'm not sure this one will go down like it should,” he says, returning his eyes to the crowd. “Here with everyone underneath these stars of Southport. But all we can do is try."
The crowd ascends into a cheer as if they know exactly what's coming.
"Are you kidding me?" I hear Ellie whisper. "Did you do this?"
Shrugging, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. With my good arm still around her, I can't help but pull her closer to me as the quiet, acoustic opening notes of "Songbird" soar over the audience. Every single person grows quiet.
With my fingers laced through Ellie’s, I bring our collective hand up and kiss her wrist to let her know how much she means to me. Patterns of moonlight dance on our laps from the warm breeze in the treetops above us, and Ellie melts into me as we listen to what is and what will always be our song.
Epilogue
Ellie
I sit cross-legged on the barstool at Mason’s countertop. The granite is cool underneath my arms as the battery of my laptop hums in front of me. The tapping of my fingertips against plastic keys echoes out into his empty kitchen as I write.
“Hey,” Mason says, calling to me from the front door. He walks in and holds a white plastic bag up, setting it on the counter. “Is Chinese takeout alright?”
As he approaches me, I smile at his tight brown corduroys and the gray sweater he’s wearing. Not saying it… but with his glasses? Total hot nerd territory. “That’s perfect,” I say, shutting my laptop. When he bends down for a kiss, I can smell the dark sandalwood of his cologne, and I realize how much I’ve missed him today.
“How’s the writing going?” he asks, heading to the sink to wash his hands.
Popping up from the stool, I grab two white plates from his oak cabinets and two matching sets of silverware. I still can’t believe how sophisticated and put-together his place is. Especially compared to my empty apartment. Though he’d helped me furnish my place with a full-size couch and a television, it still doesn’t quite feel like home there unless he’s with me. “It’s good. I sent Chris my write-up for that pop-up shop opening over by The Fishery. He said it looked good. Only a few editorial corrections.”
Mason turns and smiles at me. Pouring us both a glass of Pinot noir, he takes a sip of his and sets mine on the counter in front of me. “You think you’ll like our online media gig?”
Ever since the Stars Over Southport Music Festival, The Anchor’s online media platforms had been surging with newcomers. To keep up the momentum and grow their online presence, they’d hired me to write pieces for their online audience. This newer, millennial audience, to no one’s surprise, is a little easier to please on the emotional content front, so it’s a perfect fit. Shrugging, I lift the four takeout boxes from the bag and set them by our plates. “Not sure yet. I can’t quite give up my shifts at the Bean for it, but I’m enjoying it.”
“We’ll get you there,” he says, walking up behind me. He plants his arms on either side of me and presses his soft lips to my neck sending a shiver down my spine.
“You’re being flirty,” I whisper, turning to face him still locked inside his arms.
He grins something adorable, the light in his chocolate eyes making me want him. Taking me by surprise, he ducks down and starts kissing me with a crash of his lips on mine. His mouth tastes of spiced cherries and licorice from the wine, and in a brief flash of passion, he slides his hands under my thighs, hoisting me up to sit on the counter next to our plates. This brings us nose-to-nose, and I withdraw from the kiss with a smirk. “I’m a lucky girl tonight. What’s the occasion?”
Mason bites his bottom lip and rubs the back of his neck. “No occasion. I’m just happy to spend quality time with my wonderful girlfriend.”
Shaking my head, I furrow my brow at his words knowing I probably don’t deserve them. They sound beautiful coming from his mouth, especially now that they’re not just an inside joke. Now that I am his actual girlfriend. “Nothing suspicious then?”
With a grin, he holds his hands up in defense. “Promise. Though,” he runs a hand through his dark hair, “that does remind me. I have a surprise for you.”
“What is it?” I ask, squinting at him. I’m still apprehensive, though I’m not sure if he can read it in me.
“You remember our trip to Raleigh?” Mason asks, popping open one of the takeout containers of chow mein. He spins a fork, wrapping noodles around the prongs and, lifting it to my lips, feeds it to me.
“Yes, but that was— four months ago,” I say between chews.
Mason nods, taking his own bite of noodles. “And what were we doing? Do you remember?“
I blink at him, not sure of where he’s taking this. “Going to Beth’s birthday party. And the Sweet Tennessee concert.“
Suppressing a grin, he hands me my glass of wine. “No, I mean on the actual drive up. Do you remember what we talked about?“
Cocking my head to the side, I sip from my wine and eye him. He seems like a lo
ose cannon tonight, and though I love it, I can’t quite figure out why. “Music, I think. Right?”
Finally letting his grin go, he takes my hand. “Come on.” Grabbing two boxes of takeout with some forks, he leads me to the couch. Settling in, he takes the remote and sets his huge television to a playlist of videos.
“What is this?” I ask, looking at him blankly.
“I compiled a playlist of our favorite music— the good and embarrassing.”
Scoffing in pure shock, I look up at the bright screen and see each song we’d nearly ever talked about in our first few months of getting to know each other. John Coltrane, the Boxley Brothers, Goo Goo Dolls, Spice Girls, James Taylor, Archie Bell and the Drells, Paul Simon, Sweet Tennessee, Iron & Wine. As we finish eating, we end up tangled in each other, me having climbed on top of Mason as we watch video after video of his thoughtfully curated playlist.
As I grow sleepy on his chest, Mason announces the last video to make sure I’m present for it. “It took me a while to find this one,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “But I thought you’d appreciate it.” He dons a goofy accent. “Brought to you by the letter—”
Before he can finish his introduction, I yelp in joy as the two-minute video of the Sesame Street version of “Jellyman Kelly” by James Taylor starts.
“Did you know he and his daughter wrote that song together on a car ride one afternoon?”
Shaking my head, I hum in pleasure. “And how would you know? Research?”
Laughing, he moves underneath me, so I sit up. “You know,” he says, standing from the couch. He heads back into the kitchen and returns within a few short seconds. “You can’t act like my research hasn’t ever come in handy. It’s saved the day on many occasions.”
“Saved the day? That’s a little much, Mason. But sure, it’s provided us with some great insight. I’ll at least give you that.”
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