by Joanne Ganci
“It wasn’t him. Not entirely. It’s...it’s complicated. Just ignore me. Go back to your wrenching and whatever it is you do,” I say with a wave of my hand, trying to brush over the issue.
He grits his teeth, but walks off and I look back down at the ground. I listen to the pounding of Parker’s boots as he goes back to whatever car fixing thing he was doing. When I hear the screech of metal against the concrete ground, my head snaps up. He’s dragging over a bench seat. When it’s right in front of me, he plops down, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, and stares at me. “Start talking.”
I’m so shocked all I can do is blink at him for a minute. When I catch my bearings, I tell him everything. From how I went over there planning on telling Max I love him, to the last words that slipped out of his mouth. Parker sits there, piercing blue eyes completely focused on me. “And that was three days ago. He said he was coming back after the festival…”
He nods, waiting on me to continue. When he seems to realize I don’t have anything else to say he straightens up. “You love him?”
“Of course, I do,” I tell him without hesitation.
“You trust him?”
“Ye—” I snap my hands to my mouth, and my eyes go wide. Whoa… “Shit. Fuck. Dammit. Yes. I do. I fucking trust him. Of course, I trust him. What have I done?”
Parker leans forward again, taking my hands in his. “Lydia. I’ll never forgive him for leaving you.” I go to interrupt him, but he just glares at me. Is that what I look like when I glare at people? Damn, it’s a little intimidating. “BUT...even I can admit how good he is for you, with you. I don’t think I’ve seen you more happy than I have this last month or so. If that asshat is the one that can put that kind of smile on your face, and you love and trust him…then I think it’s time to rip off that barbed wire you’ve got wrapped around your heart. You deserve to be happy, Lydia.”
A salty drop hits my lip and Parker releases my hands, so I can wipe away my tears.
I wrap my arms around my gruff, smartass, wise little brother. “Thank you, Parker.”
∞∞∞
I left Parker’s shop and drove around for a few hours. I needed to collect my thoughts and figure out exactly what to say to Max. Before I even consciously made the decision to come out here, I was already turning into his driveway.
As the dirt swirls around, kicked up from my tires, I’m hit with this sense of urgency. As soon as I get the car in park, I jump out, not even bothering to close the door behind me.
Running up the steps of the Weston’s front porch, I rapidly knock on the door, but there’s no answer. Looking over at the windows, I realize all the lights are off.
Shit. It’s really fucking late.
But I need to talk to him.
I slam my fist into the door. “MAX! Max, please open up.” Fucking shit. “Max, please. C’mon. I need to talk to you,” I shout, pleading. I need him to open this door. I need to apologize and tell him I love him. I don’t want to give him up. I fucking can’t. I fucking won’t.
When the lights click on, my heart speeds up, and my knocking becomes frantic. “Max, please.”
The door swings open and I’m stunned speechless.
It’s not Max.
Maggie’s staring back at me, standing there in her nightdress. “Wh-where is he?”
There is so much sadness in her eyes, but I refuse to believe I’m too late. That is, until the next words fall from her lips, crushing my heart with each syllable. “Darlin’, Max isn’t here.”
Max
43
July 1
“Just book it, Austin.” I slam my phone down onto the table.
“Max, you don’t have to leave,” Mama pleads again.
“I can’t just sit here, Mama. I already talked to Jesse and Tommy. They’re going to make sure everything is taken care of here. It’s just a couple more days than expected.”
“Exactly, you shouldn’t make any rash decisions. Y’all had a fight. Every couple fights. If you didn’t, I’d worry.” She looks at me with her brown soulful eyes. When she woke up this morning asking where Lydia was, I had to tell her about our fight and how I’m really not sure if she’s ever coming back. I had texted Jesse late last night, after I calmed down enough. When I walked away from her, I was shaking so bad I couldn’t do anything. I ended up walking, too agitated to realize I hadn’t even put boots on. With the need to just keep moving, I didn’t realize where I was going until there it was, right in front of me.
The big fucking oak tree that will always be our spot.
I traced my fingers over our initials and the crooked heart surrounding them. Then like the lovesick fool I am, I collapsed onto the ground. I sat with my head in my hands, mourning the loss of a future I’m not even sure I deserve.
“If I stay here, I’ll go to her. I know I will.” Mama purses her lips, nodding solemnly. “She needs some space, at the very least. I’ll be back after the weekend. I don’t know what will come of us, but I do know I can’t stay here right now.”
Reaching over, she rests her hand on mine. It’s then that I realize I’m still clutching my phone. I loosen my grip and look up at my mother. “I understand, baby. Just...don’t give up. I know everything is hazy right now, but…” She lets out a long sigh, and I hate the sadness in her eyes. I can’t help feeling like I let down every single person that’s important to me. “Just promise me you’re not tuckin’ tail and runnin’.”
I gape at her. What?! “No, Mama. Absolutely not. I will be back here on Monday. I made a fucking promise. This is my home. I always intended to come back after the festival, that hasn’t changed.” What I don’t tell her is, if Lydia decides she doesn’t want to be with me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay then…
Fuck. I can’t think like that. I gave myself the time to wallow last night. Things may be different, and I may not go chasing her if she doesn’t come back to me. But I’m not giving up.
Lydia Marie Lancaster is the love of my life.
And nothing can change that.
*
“You’re on, Maxy,” Austin says, coming up beside me and clapping me on the back. I blink up at him for a second, then shake myself out. I’m backstage at the festival, not at home with Mama.
“Right, thanks.” Putting my guitar pick in my mouth, I adjust my guitar strap. Then, I pull it from between my teeth and wait for my cue.
I run out onto the stage, straight to the microphone stand, front and center waiting for me. “How y’all doin’, Nashville?” The crowd explodes, screamin’ and whistlin’ with Nashville pride. Thousands of country music fans are spread out over the festival. There are multiple stages, featuring their own line-ups of amazingly talented artists. I’m blessed to be performing on the main stage. “How about we start it off with an old one? Sing along if y’all know the words.” Loud cheers burst from the audience, and I nod to my band. We start playing one of my first hits, about a blonde girl that got away.
We tear through our set, playing songs from all five of my albums. By now the sun is setting on the horizon, blanketing the festival in pinks and purples, and I’ve got sweat pourin’ down my back. A huge grin on my face. I’ve missed this, I’m not going to lie. As much as I love the music, the fans, the rush of playing for the crowd, it’s nowhere near how much I love her.
“Woooo! Nashville, it’s been a long nine years. I have loved every minute of my time in this industry. It pains me to make this announcement, but…” I pause, looking out over the sea of faces. My fans mean so much to me, without them I couldn’t have lived out this dream. But the one face I want to see isn’t out there. I look back over my shoulder and mouth the words I’m sorry to Austin who’s giving me a puzzled look. When I turn back to the mic, I can hear him throwing a fit backstage. In hindsight, I probably should have warned him about this. “This is going to be my last show.”
A collection of awws and boos are sent my way. “I know. I’m sorry y’all, and I want to thank yo
u from the bottom of my heart for the love and support y’all have given me over the last nine years. It’s because of you that I’ve been able to live out this dream. I will never regret any of this, but this dream of mine cost me a lot. And right now, I have a shot at a long life of happiness with the most beautiful woman in the world. Even if that shot is slim right now, I can’t let it go. I can’t let her go.”
I hear a couple hell yeahs, and a multitude of other sentiments from my fans. “Well...and let me take a minute to thank and apologize to my band here.” Grabbing the mic in its stand, I turn to the side and look out over the group of people that have become family to me over the years, each of them nodding in understanding. Honestly, they probably saw this coming. All of them knew how in love with Lydia I still was. “I don’t even have words to express how grateful I am to you for being with me on this journey. For us this isn’t a goodbye, because y’all are family. Everyone put their hands together for the best band and crew a man could ask for.” I turn back to the crowd, taking my hands off the mic and joining in on the applause. “Thank you guys. I’m gonna apologize again, because for this last song, I’ve got something that is totally raw and I didn’t tell a single one of you about. Hey Richey, you mind bringing me out a stool or something?”
A minute or so later, Richey comes running out onto the stage with a stool in his hand. He sets it down and claps me on the back. “Good on you, brother. I know I’d be lost without my woman. It’s time you finally went after yours.”
“Thanks, man.” I smile at him and take a seat on the stool. Adjusting the mic stand, I tell the crowd. “This is something I wrote on the plane ride over here, so forgive me if it’s shit.”
Everyone laughs, and I hear one woman scream, “We love you, Maxwell!”
Smiling, I give a wave in the direction of the scream and play the first chords to my new song. “This one’s called Blondie.”
Lydia
44
Twelve Hours Earlier
“I need a ticket for your next flight to Nashville, Tennessee,” I tell the pretty airline clerk, completely out of breath. She gives me a weird look, then looks down at her screen. I’m starting to think that running from the parking garage might have been unnecessary. Max doesn’t go on until around 5 o’clock tonight. With a 4-5 hour flight, I should have plenty of time to get there.
“The next flight leaves in thirty minutes, but I’m afraid you won’t have time to make that. Hmm…” She clicks her manicured nails that flawlessly match her uniform. I try my best not to scowl at her, but judging by the expression on her face when she looks back up at me, I’m doing a piss-poor job. “There’s another flight that leaves at 9:45.”
“Yeah, that! I’ll take that.”
I give her all the information she asks for and after a ridiculous amount of time and a feeling like I’ve just had to sign away my firstborn, she tells me in her perky little customer service voice, “Okay, ma’am. That will be $412.50.”
“Are you serious?!”
“Yes, there’s the price of the ticket plus the—”
“I don’t care, that’s fine. Just...yeah. That’s fine.” Wincing, I swipe my debit card.
Cowboy you’re gonna owe me for this one.
*
Eight Hours Earlier
It’s already 15 minutes past the time we were supposed to leave. Tossing my backpack over my shoulder, I move to ask the person at the desk next to the door I’ve been watching for hours. Okay, maybe I went and had some breakfast and stopped at a couple gift shops, but other than that I’ve just been sitting here, staring at that door. I’m too nervous to read or do anything else. Fine, I’ve been texting Rachael messages full of panic, but other than that…
Before I make it two steps, I hear the dreadful announcement. My flight has been delayed due to weather issues. Fucking Florida. Could you have just cooperated with me for one fucking day Florida? I flop back down in my seat.
Lydia: The flight has been delayed…
Lydia: Maybe this is a sign?
Lydia: No. Fuck that. I’m getting my ass on a plane, and I will fucking make it there to see him perform. I’m gonna do all the things, and we’re going to have a goddamn romcom moment.
Rachael: Are you going to jump up on the stage? OR you could flash your tits from the audience, when the stage lights reflect off of your pasty skin you’ll blind him, and he’ll LITERALLY fall for you ahahahhaa
Lydia: Why are we friends?
Rachael: Because I’m hilarious and you love me
Lydia: *eyeroll* I’m really not liking this whole role reversal thing. I’m supposed to be the one cracking jokes at your expense.
Rachael: I’m loving it! But seriously, everything is going to be fine. I’m sure you’ll be up in the air in no time. Then you can run and get your man.
Lydia: Thanks. Love you bitch.
Rachael: Love you more.
*
Six Hours Forty-seven Minutes Earlier
“Thank God.” We’re finally on the damn plane. I am at least. There was still quite a few people that needed to board after me. I pull out my book and try to start reading.
Yeah…
That’s not happening. For the next 15 minutes I fidget and look around the plane to see if everyone is finally seated. The elderly woman I’m sitting next to looks up at me and chuckles. “First time on an airplane, dear?”
“Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?”
“You look more nervous than a kid on their first day of high school. After they realize they showed up to school with no pants on.” She starts laughing hysterically at her own joke—it’s more like a wheezy cackle, ending in a coughing fit, but who really cares?
“Damn. That’s pretty bad. It’s just...we’re running so late and I’m trying to make it to my—” Wait, is Max still my boyfriend? I know we fought, but did we break up?
“You’re what, dear?”
“Uh, boyfriend? Yeah, uhm...my boyfriend. He’s playing a show at this big festival, and we had a fight and I should be there. I need to be there—” I’m interrupted by the announcements welcoming us to the flight.
Once the flight attendants are done with their safety show, I sit there a little disappointed that we don’t have someone like that hilarious guy from the video I saw on YouTube.
“Darlin’, mind if I give you some advice?”
“Sure.” I mean, what am I going to do, tell her no?
“Once you reach a certain age, you’ve just got all this knowledge. Some of it’s useless, but sometimes you find yourself in a situation where it just might come in handy. Maybe someone else can take something I learned in my, I won’t even mention how many years, and learn from it.” She shrugs and smiles to herself. “Breathe.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Just breathe, honey. Take a minute, slow down, and just breathe. I understand everything feels urgent right now and you’re worried about this and that. What if I don’t make it in time, what if, what if, what if…” I stare at this kind, little old lady, in her Sunday best—even though it’s Thursday—church hat and all. “Whatever it is you’re worrying about, it’s probably not nearly as urgent or serious as you’re thinking right now. The world ain’t gonna end if you’re a little late. Even if you miss your young man’s show entirely, if he loves you, he’ll understand that you tried to make it there. And honey, you’re trying your damnedest. You can’t control the weather, and if a man expects you to…” She pauses to look me straight in the eye before adding on, “tell him to fuck off.”
My eyes widen in surprise, and she lets out another one of those cackle-laughs.
“I like you…”
“Patricia,” she says, smiling and holding out her hand. “And you are, child?”
“I’m Lydia.”
“Well, Lydia, does this boyfriend of yours love you or are you gonna have to tell him to fuck off?” There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, and I hope I’m this fucking awesome when I get to be her age.
“He loves me. I wouldn’t be on this damn plane if he didn’t.”
“Good, baby. That’s good…” she trails off, looking up and down the aisle. I’m about to ask what she’s looking for when she flags over one of the flight attendants. The guy is probably somewhere around my age, and he looks like someone from an Orbit commercial or maybe a Ken doll.
“Is there something I can get you, ma’am?”
“Yeah. A gin and tonic.” She looks over to me, with a drawn on eyebrow raised. Smirking, I nod my head. “Why don’t you make that two, baby?”
He balks at the two of us, but clearly doesn’t know what the hell to say, so he just nods and heads off down the aisle.
“People never expect an old woman to curse and drink booze. I get such a kick out of it.”
“Oh, this is gonna be a reallllly fun flight, Patricia.”
*
Twenty Minutes Earlier
I look down at my phone. Shit. I’ve already missed at least half of Max’s set, but we’re finally at the park where the festival is being held. As soon as the Uber driver pulls up near the entrance, I jump out of the car, yelling a “Thank you,” behind me. I already paid on the app. Thank fuck for that.
After some finagling and maybe a little bit of bribing, I finally have my ticket and I’m running with everything I’ve got toward the main stage. I can see the massive crowd and I have no idea how in the hell I’m going to get through it, or how I’ll get backstage. I kind of start to panic when I hear Max’s voice ring out across the field.
“Thank you guys. I’m gonna apologize again, because for this last song, I’ve got something that is totally raw and I didn’t tell a single one of you about. Hey Richey, you mind bring me out a stool or something?”
I come to a stop near the edge of the crowd.
There he is.
He looks so at home with an acoustic guitar, standing on a big stage in front of a giant crowd. Tight navy shirt with an American Flag, worn blue jeans—with holes from actual hard work on a real fucking farm—and genuine cowboy boots. He looks just as perfect and sexy in this setting as he does back home.