But she didn’t yell. She grabbed him and pulled him in, laying his head on her shoulder and running her fingers through his hair. He lost it. All of the anger he felt over the "what ifs" of his drunken excursion; all of the guilt he felt for lying to Alaina; all of the fear he held for Ben’s future; and all of the sadness he felt over the loss of his first love came spilling out, all in one rush.
He tried to speak, to somehow find a way to explain why he was acting like such a sissy, when his mother had never seen him so much as shed a tear since the age of five, but only three words came out.
“I’m sorry mom.”
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Ethan had no one left to talk to. No one left to seek guidance from, so he told his mother everything. He admitted to all of the bad stuff that he’d been getting into before the accident. He told her all about how he’d acted toward Ted and Ben and Granny Mae when he first arrived in Fairhope. He told her about Alaina—every little detail down to the scent of her shampoo. He told her about Ben. And he told her about God and how He’d found him in the little quiet town on the beach.
Finally, when Ethan had nothing left to tell, he gathered his things and headed for his bedroom. When he got there, he closed his door, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Despite his honesty session, he still felt something plaguing his mind. He felt better about admitting everything to his mom. She’d hugged him about a thousand times and told him how much she loved him and how she was sorry it took such drastic measures for him to realize how special he was. And it had all been great . . . but something was missing.
That’s when he thought of Granny Mae. She said that when he needed answers, all he had to do was go to the book. It had all the answers he would ever need.
Feeling he had nothing left to lose, Ethan retrieved his grandfather’s old Bible from his duffel bag and opened it to the page bookmarked about three-quarters of the way through.
The top right corner of the page read Colossians 1. And about midways down the page, highlighted in bright yellow was one tiny passage. Verse 21. Ethan read.
"Once you were alienated from God, enemies in your mind because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, free from blemish, and without accusation."
It was at that moment that Ethan first felt it. He finally got it.
God loved him.
He’d felt it for the last couple of weeks and had ignored it, not wanting to admit to himself that it could be possible after everything he’d done. But it was possible. He, Ethan Carter, could be holy, without blemish, and without accusation despite all the things he’d messed up and done wrong. Despite all of the bad decisions. Despite all of the times he’d denied Him. Because of Jesus’ sacrifice, God still loved him.
All of the emotions Ethan felt he’d already finished releasing resurfaced, but this time in a different way entirely. This time they were emotions of gratitude and astonishment. And Ethan did the only thing that felt right—and it would be the first time of many to come.
He hit his knees and prayed.
Part Two
To Forget Would Be To Die
“I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. Where, O death are your plagues? Where, O grave is your destruction?"
Hosea 13:14
Chapter 25
Ethan
Six months and forty-nine concerts down—only one to go.
It had been a long and life-changing journey, but Ethan had done it. And now, it all came down to this night. The last show on his tour, taking place in New York City. Home at last.
Sound checks were over, the stage was built. The voice coach had just exited the dressing room. All there was for Ethan to do now was to sit back and relish the fact that he was finally finished with singing the same songs and performing the same dance routines three nights a week, week in and week out. Not that he didn’t love it. He did. And he loved the fans, but eventually, even he got tired of hearing his own voice.
Ethan was different now. These past few months had changed him in ways he’d never expected. After his moment of surrender upon arriving home from Fairhope, Ethan had never looked back. He’d talked to his mom about his decision and she supported him whole heartedly. In fact, after time, she eventually gave up on the ghosts and pains of her past and jumped onboard with Ethan. Their relationship was better than ever. They spent daily time together in God’s word, learning and growing stronger together, and Ethan couldn’t be happier with his new life. He felt as if he finally had things figured out.
But there was still a gaping hole that Ethan couldn’t quite figure out how to fill. He missed Alaina. He’d tried to forget her—to focus on his music and his new relationship with God and just forget about ever having met her in the first place. But that was a completely useless attempt from the very beginning. He couldn’t forget her. She was a part of him and he hadn’t even so much as gotten a text from her since he’d left Fairhope. It was as if he loved this thought of a person that he’d never truly met. As if his entire time spent with her was just some sick dream that continued to haunt his sleep over and over.
Ethan had thought about calling her. Probably more times than he could physically count, in fact. If nothing more, just to find out how Ben was doing. But something always stopped him. Things with he and Ali had ended badly and he wanted to be one hundred percent certain that if he ever had the opportunity to see her again, he would be everything he knew she deserved. He just hoped that if ever given the opportunity, it wouldn’t be too late.
Ethan glanced up at the clock that hung above the mirrored vanity table in his white walled dressing room. Fifteen minutes to show time. Normally, everyone would’ve been running around, frantically trying to make sure everything was ready to go for the show, but they’d done this so many times by now that the routines ran like clockwork. All Ethan had to do was meet up with the tour crew in the narrow hallway beneath the stage, say a quick prayer (a tradition he’d also started upon his return from Fairhope), and then hit the stage. He was rising from the black leather couch when Bruce came bustling through the door, decked out in Armani from head to toe, glasses firmly in place over his eyes, and grasping his iPad.
“There’s my rock star!” he said. “I just needed to go over a couple of things with you before the show because it’s probably going to get pretty crazy when it’s over.”
“What kind of things?” Ethan asked.
“Well, first of all, I’ve scheduled you a press conference directly after the show. The entertainment magazines all want to get quotes from you in person on your opinion of the tour’s success. A conference is the easiest way to get it over with all at one time.”
Ethan nodded. “Good idea.”
“Also,” Bruce went on, never once looking up from the digital datebook screen, “we hit the studio day after tomorrow to start recording rehearsal sessions on your new album. We’re looking at possibly upping the release date by a couple of months. We don’t want too much time to pass between the tour and the album.” He smirked. “Can’t let you become old news can we, kid.”
Ethan had actually been putting a lot of thought into his new album recently and figured there was no better time than the present to tell Bruce exactly what was on his mind.
“Actually, Bruce, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the new album.”
Bruce’s eyes stilled never veered. “Oh yeah, you got ideas?”
“Uh yeah,” Ethan paused. “I don’t think I want to do it.”
Bruce's finger froze in place on the iPad screen. His eyes bolted up from the rim of his dark sunglasses. “Excuse me?”
Ethan quickly tried to explain. “It’s not that I don’t want to do the album, it’s just that I don’t think I want to do those songs. They’re not really . . . for me . . . I don’t think.”
“Hmm.” Bruce didn’t look cooperative. “And what exactly is . . . for yo
u?”
Ethan turned and grabbed the little black notebook off of the table beside the couch. “Well, I know we’ve talked about this before, but I’ve written some new songs and I’d like to maybe replace a few of the songs on the album with some of these. If you’ll just look at them, they’re pretty good, I think.”
Bruce’s left brow raised. “I’m sure they are,” he muttered. Ethan eyed him with hopeful eyes and finally he broke. “Okay, fine, show me what you got.”
Ethan handed over the notebook and Bruce flipped through the pages so quickly there’s no way he could have possibly read more than a few words on each page. After about thirty seconds, he passed the book back to Ethan.
“No can do, kid.”
“Why not?” Ethan stood firm. He’d had his own songs rejected before, but he knew he had talent and his songs deserved to be played. The problem was that his lyrics didn’t match up with the perfect haired girl-heartthrob pop star they’d turned him into. He awaited an explanation.
“We can’t record these. They’ll never sell.”
“Again . . . why not?”
Bruce gave an impatient sigh and removed his glasses, looking Ethan directly in the eye. “Look kid, I know you’ve been on this new religious kick ever since your near death experience, but it’s just not you, okay. I can handle the prayers before the shows, but I’m afraid that’s as far as it’s going to go. There’s no way I can take America’s hottest boy toy and let him sing songs with the words 'God' and 'Jesus' in them. Who are you trying to fool, superstar? It’ll be the end of your career.”
“But Bruce,” Ethan stammered, “I know I can make these songs work for me. I know that’s not the platform I started with, but I think we can incorporate it in. My fans will respond positively.” Ethan didn’t want to say that he knew that if he followed his heart and was obedient to God in his music, then his career would be blessed. He knew Bruce would never understand that one.
“Listen, kid.” Bruce wrapped his arm around Ethan’s shoulders like a big brother, opened the door to the dressing room, and led him into the long deserted hall. “Your buddy Bruce here has your best interest at heart. I’ve told you that before.” Bruce’s voice was like butter, but Ethan had long ago learned how convincing Bruce could be when he truly wanted. “I wouldn’t tell you no if I didn’t care about you. You’re like the little brother I never had. Now take my advice and give up on this whole Jesus-freak bit and go back to how you used to be. I promise, things will be so much easier on you.”
Ethan sighed, giving up on convincing Bruce of anything. “Yeah, okay.”
Bruce ruffled the back of Ethan’s hair playfully. “That's my superstar. You just stick with ole’ Bruce and I’ll rock your world. Mark my words, Ethan Carter. You think you’re big now, you just wait and see what I can turn you into.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Ethan muttered it under his breath as Bruce led him around the corner. In the midst of the hall stood a group of Ethan’s tour crew, with Ted eyeing the halls up and down like a good bodyguard, and his mom wiping tears from beside him.
Bruce returned the glasses to his head, adjusted the collar on his shirt, and murmured in Ethan’s ear as they approached the group. “Okay, do your thing, Bible boy. We’ve got a show to put on.”
The concert was a complete success. Ethan, the band, the dancers, the stage crew, and the wardrobe crew flowed like a smooth running machine from one song to another, until finally, after all of the lights were down and the stadium roared with deafening screams from the satisfied fans, Ethan walked back out and delivered his encore performance.
Now, he stood backstage in the midst of a whooping victory celebration with his entire crew. Trays with elaborate fruit sculptures were being passed around the room. Some drank frosted bottles of Fugi water while others clinked together sparkling flutes of champagne. They’d done it. Seventy venues in eight months. The moment was bittersweet for everyone.
Ethan brushed aside a strand of sweaty hair, still fully decked out in his stage clothes, and took a deep breath. He glanced forward to find his mother pushing her way through the crowd. She approached him with a triumphant grin and embraced him in a tight hug.
“Congratulations, baby,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”
Ethan smiled. “Thanks, mom. I love you.”
She put a hand to his cheek and held back tears. “I love you, too.”
“Superstar!” Their moment was interrupted as Bruce slid past two of the dancers who were jumping up and down and doing some sort of made-up handshake thing. “That was phenomenal, kid! Your best performance ever!”
Ethan plastered on a fake smile. “Thanks, Bruce.”
Bruce turned to his mother. “Sorry, mom, but I’m going to have to steal your kiddo for a minute. We’ve got a big time press conference to get to.”
Ethan gave his mom an apologetic shrug and turned to follow Bruce down one of the long underground corridors of the arena. Ted, as always, followed silently from behind. After a couple of right turns and one to the left, Bruce pulled Ethan through a doorway into a moderately sized banquet hall of sorts. A brightly lit stage, matching the color scheme of his tour, with a podium in the middle, was placed at one end of the room. In front of it were multiple rows of chairs that were completely occupied by one person after another either holding a pen and pad of paper or balancing a camera on their shoulder. As Bruce entered the room, cameras flashed like wild, lighting the room up like a strobe light. Ethan held back in the doorway with Ted, awaiting his introduction.
When Bruce reached the podium, he flashed a salesman like smile and went into an obviously rehearsed spill about how fulfilling it’d been to work with Ethan, how close they’d become over the past few months, and how much fun this tour had been. Blah blah blah. Now that Ethan’s rock star blindfold had been removed, he saw Bruce for what he really was. Just a young guy living the city life, trying to make as much money as he could off of anything and everything involving Ethan’s label. Bruce didn’t have Ethan’s best interest at heart. The only “best thing” Bruce wanted for Ethan was the thing that would be best for Bruce’s wallet. Ethan couldn’t believe it’d taken him so long to realize it. And as Bruce went on and on about the big plans that were being put into motion for Ethan’s upcoming year—the album, talk show appearances, clothing lines, and colognes—Ethan began to realize that his life would be one giant chess game in which he was just a pawn being shuffled around the board. He had no control of his life or his career. He would never be able to perform his own songs. He would never be able to call his own shots. He would never be able to make the decisions that he knew were right because those decisions would not be the ones that would yield the most money for the people that were controlling his success. This was it for him. This or nothing.
“So, ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for your time and now I am very proud to present to you . . . Ethan Carter!”
Bruce’s introduction snapped Ethan’s attention back to reality and he stepped hesitantly onto the stage. Bruce gave him a brotherly slap on the back, flashed one last grin to the cameras, and murmured near Ethan’s ear. “Drive it home, kid.”
Ethan approached the podium, and gave a slight wave. The cameras went wild. Ethan didn’t even realize it was possible for one camera to snap that many photos in a single second—and the room was full of them. After the buzz of photos finally settled and he raised a single hand to hush the onslaught of questions, the crowd slowly quieted and he chose his first reporter for inquiry.
From there he answered one question right after another. He told the media sharks where the ideas for his stage setup came from. He let them in on some behind the scenes stories that he thought were humorous. He talked about the hours his band and crew had spent in dance rehearsals and sound checks. He thanked his choreographers and dancers and wardrobe team, not to mention the lighting guys and stage crew. All in all, the conference went quite smoothly. But as he was wrapping up his time on stage
, one final question was asked that silenced Ethan for the first time all night.
“Mr. Carter!” The young female reporter in the back had been jumping up and down throughout the entire interview trying desperately to get his attention. “Mr. Carter, back here please!”
Ethan pointed to her and the room fell silent . . . sort of. “Uh, yeah, you in the back,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Carter, I just have one question. Word has it you were forced to postpone several shows in the midst of your tour. Can you give us a few more details on the cause for those postponements?”
Ethan’s stomach tightened and he opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
“I . . . I’m not quite sure I understand the question,” he said.
Truth be known, Ethan understood the question perfectly. Problem be known, Bruce had already told them a story and now they were checking to see if his would match up. Reporters never took a story that’s only skin deep. He should have known they’d press for more details about his sudden absence. And the second Ethan stalled the question the reporters knew they had him. The room went silent and all eyes focused on the audacious journalist in the back.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. Maybe I should have explained myself more clearly. Reports were made that you suffered from a rather serious case of laryngitis. Can you give us some details of what that experience was like for you? Maybe even the name of the doctor you saw for treatment?”
“Right . . . laryngitis . . .”
Ethan’s mind reeled. He was stuck. He could go along with Bruce’s lie or he could fess up and let the world know that he’d messed up. Ethan stared blankly as the hungry eyes zoned in on him from every angle. He turned to where Bruce and Ted stood in the doorway. Bruce, eyes practically bugging out of his head, was pointing over and over again to his throat, signaling for Ethan to hurry up and elaborate some fake details toward the laryngitis story. Ethan ignored him and focused on Ted. Ted was a rock, but when he was sure Bruce wouldn’t notice, he offered a slight smile and a wink.
Redemption Song Page 20