Wishing in the Dark

by Colbie Kay

  I continue my set with another song.

  T he lights are practically blinding me, and the smoke makes me want to choke. The crowd is screaming “JP” over and over again. All of this was great when I was twenty and first starting my music career, but almost ten years later, it’s not fun anymore. I’m not that young kid any longer. In fact, I don’t even know who I am. I live in this persona created for me, complete with the glitz and glam. Fanservice. It’s all for them.

  I run through my set like a well-oiled machine. The fans sing along to every song word for word, and I love that part of my job, but I don’t want to be this fake person they idolize. I want them to understand the lyrics and where my words are coming from. I want them to know my struggles, pain, loss, and heartbreak. I want them to know who I am and where I come from. But all of that has been lost over the years.

  I think it’s time I took a break and went back to my roots, however, the thought of going back is terrifying. What if I run into her? How can I face her after all this time? How can I explain my stage name is JP Pierce? Explain the P is for her and that to this day, I still hold onto my last wish with her. My wish that night was never to kiss her, it was that she would be the girl I married someday. I don’t wish on fireflies anymore, but while in jail, I used to wish I could make it back to her someday. Although, I don’t even think I can face her after breaking her heart the way I did.

  Honestly, I don’t know why I continue to hold onto that wish because she hasn’t spoken to me since that night. I tried calling every day for months after we moved, but there was always an excuse as to why she couldn’t talk. As time went on, my calls began to dwindle until I stopped them completely. Now, it’s been almost fifteen years and not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what happened to Poppy Montgomery.

  Jumping off stage, Mitch, my manager, has an open bottle of beer waiting for me. I snatch it from his hand and take a long pull; the ice-cold liquid quenches my thirst as it slides down my throat.

  “They’re loving the new songs, JP!” His ten grand smile shines brightly. It’s almost blinding.

  “They might be loving it, but I sure as hell am not. What happened to the old-style country? The good music? I don’t want all the lights and smoke, and I sure as hell don’t want to be dancing around on stage to these upbeat pop-country crap songs you have me doing. Let me go back to my guitar and sitting on a stage. That’s it, none of the extra shit, just me and my guitar playing for a crowd that’ll drown in my voice.”

  He pulls me along as he rushes to get me to the backstage meet and greet. “I hear you, JP, but that’s not what sells. You need the younger audience because they’re what’s filling those seats every night.”

  I owe Mitch everything, but I think I’ve paid my dues over the last ten years. He made me who I am today. He made me into the country star I wanted to be, but I’m tired and exhausted. He gave me money and fed me. He gave me an apartment, water to shower, and a bed to sleep in. I owe him a lot, but haven’t I paid all of it back with the money he makes off of me? When did my voice get lost? When did my decisions become someone else’s? When did I let him take over my entire life?

  He pushes me down into the chair with a slap on the shoulder as the fans enter, and he disappears while I put on the act I’ve come to loathe. Don’t get me wrong, I love meeting my fans; however, I could do without all of the other shit that comes with it. I sign whatever they want with a smile on my face, and I listen to their stories until I have met the very last person.

  It’s been hours, I’m exhausted, but what I really need is a drink. With bodyguards surrounding me, I’m led to my bus, and as soon as I’m inside, I open the cabinet to find a new unopened bottle of whiskey. Twisting the cap off, I press the bottle to my lips and begin to swallow the poison.

  Within the hour, I drink the last swig and toss the bottle onto my bed. I feel numb, and I like when I’m numb. Liquor makes it all go away.

  Glancing around the room, I decide it’s too quiet. I stumble my way out into the front of the bus where no one is present. This is boring! Pushing the door of the bus open, I somehow manage to make it down the steps and onto the ground without falling face-first or injuring myself. My head lolls back as I look up at the dark sky. It’s a nice night for a stroll. I’m not actually sure how I am moving around the empty lot, too drunk to care, although it kind of feels like I’m floating until my foot hits something.

  The cement is coming fast, I’m going down when I hear, “Woah, there.” Hands grab my shoulders, and the person helps me back to an upright position.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” The female voice giggles, and a cloud of smoke rolls from her lips. I try to focus on her face, but she’s a little blurry. All I can really see is her blonde hair.

  Blonde hair. I squint my eyes and blow out a deep breath. “You wanna go back to my bus?” The words slurred, but by the grin lighting up her face, she knows what I’m saying.

  A burst of laughter escapes her. “You’re pretty forward, aren’t you?”

  “No reason to play games.”

  Her head tilts side to side. “Well then, let’s go.”

  We make the short walk back to my bus, and when we get into the bedroom, she pushes me down onto the mattress. My world begins to spin, but I blink my eyes as I try to focus on the woman taking her clothes off in front of me. She climbs on top of me and starts kissing the side of my neck and pulls my shirt up. I close my eyes to relax, but I’m falling into the blackness.

  “JP?” I hear her call my name, but I can’t pull myself out of the darkness that’s enveloping me. Her sigh is heavy and full of annoyance, I can’t open my eyes though. A second later, her weight shifts from me to the bed. I keep floating away. Far, far away until I am gone.

  "What did you wish for?" Her shining blue doll-like eyes stare at me with so much sadness, yet all I've ever seen in Poppy is her beauty.

  Some people may say fourteen-year-old kids don't know what love is, but I know what it is. It's the girl with the long blonde hair that flows down her back. It's the girl I rode bikes with at eight, who was also my best friend. It's the girl my friends teased me about because I stared at her while walking through the halls at school. It's the girl who kept her bedroom window open for me all the time so I could escape when my parents fought. It's the fourteen-year-old girl who sits here in front of me pregnant with no one on her side except for me and her mom. It's Poppy Montgomery, the girl I made a promise to, and I'm about to break that promise.

  "I wished to kiss you." I slowly move in, her lips barely touching mine at first, but it was enough to seal every broken piece inside of me. It will always be Poppy Montgomery. She’s the girl who at eight, I knew I wanted to marry someday.

  A hard throb bangs against the back of my already pounding head. I sit up straighter, my sunglasses resting in an odd sideways angle on the bridge of my nose. "What?"

  "Well, well...it's nice of you to wake up." My head drifts lazily in the direction of Mitch. His voice deepens to a warning level, "Meeting is over. You keep going like this, JP, and your career will be over."

  I get up from my chair. "Maybe I want it to be over."

  He stands beside me with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing another designer suit much like he did the first time I met him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means all these tour dates, the songs that aren’t mine, pushing albums, the stupid PR...all of it.” I lean in closer to his face, staring him down. “I. Don’t. Want. It."

  He sighs long and hard. "JP, you're the number one country artist right now. You've had twenty-five number one hits on the charts, you've won five CMAs, you've put out six platinum albums. What more could you want?"

  "How about what I don't want? I don't want Courtney Kingsley. I don't want cameras in my house for some stupid reality television show."

  "Courtney Kingsley is exactly what you need. She's hitting number one on the pop charts. She's young and beautiful.
"

  "You've had me in this damn fake relationship with her for months, and I'm over it. Find her a boy band because it’s not gonna be me anymore. I don't give a damn if she was number one in folk dancing. If I have to go to one more party...one more dinner with her..."

  His gaze challenges me as he spits out his next words, "Then what? What are you going to do?"

  Shaking my head, I snort and start to walk to the door. "Not all PR is good PR."

  "That’s not true. All PR is good PR even if it’s bad," He throws back. It’s pointless to keep arguing when he’s not going to listen. I grab the doorknob and hear him growl, "JP." My eyes cut to his. "You're almost thirty, get your life together."

  “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” A smirk makes my lips twitch. “Have a good fucking day, Mitch. You’re fired.” With those parting words, I slam the door closed and head up to my hotel room. He wasn’t lying, I am almost thirty, and my life sucks at the moment. Not nearly as bad as it has, but at that point in my life, I was at rock bottom. I’m not at rock bottom any longer, I just want me back. Being rich and famous, doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. I’ve been going downhill for a while now; it’s time I took a little rest and relaxation to figure out where I’m going. I’m ready to find that boy again, the boy who knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted in his life.

  A fter sobering up and taking a long hot shower, I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers through my wet sandy-blond hair. Sucking in a deep breath of air, I exhale slowly and make the decision that will either ruin me or give me back everything I need. I pick up my phone and call my accountant.

  “Hello?”

  “Paul, it’s Julien. I fired Mitch, and I’m about to spend a lot of money. You tell him, or anyone else for that matter, where the cash is being spent, you’re the next one fired. Got it?”

  I hear the gasp before he says, “Got it, but how much are we talking?”

  “Let’s just say enough for someone to start over.” I smile when the feeling of being weighed down is lifted.

  Hanging up, I bring up the Internet and search bar on my phone, immediately looking at houses in Wishing, Kansas. I’m taken aback when right there on the screen, my childhood home appears. I quickly write down the realtor’s number, my decision made.

  Over the next few hours, I get everything situated, and the last item to mark off my list is to book my flight.

  THE LAST FEW DAYS, I’ve been staying at the rinky-dink motel in Wishing. I thought this place would have shut down by now, it’s not like this town ever got any tourists, but it’s still here.

  I remember as teenagers, we all wanted out of the small-town life, to move onto something bigger. Well, me, not so much. I wanted to be wherever Poppy was.

  I put the key in the door to unlock it, and after stepping over the threshold, memories slam into me. It’s exactly as I remember, only now, it looks more used and abused. It’s definitely going to need some work. As I glide through the house, the yelling between my mom and dad screams in my head. I run my fingers over the holes in the walls and doors the size of his fists.

  Making my way down the hall, I enter my old room and smile. It still has the same blue painted walls with the same gray carpet. I step over to my window and open the dusty old curtain. Instinctively, my gaze travels to the window next door, Poppy’s bedroom. Those nights of sneaking into her room and sleeping next to her were the best nights of my life. She doesn’t know it, but most nights, I would lay there simply watching her long after she fell asleep. She was so peaceful and beautiful. Thinking of her makes me wonder yet again, what happened to Poppy Montgomery?

  Shutting the curtain, I go in search of the supplies I had delivered. Once I find them, the cleaning begins. Shit, I haven’t cleaned in...well, since I lived with mom and had to clean my room. After that, it was hotel maids and cleaning services.

  As I finish each room, I take measurements, writing them down along with the materials I’m going to need. When I’m finished, this house will be practically brand new.

  T he music pouring out of my earbuds drowns the grinding sound of the saw as I cut the new crown molding for the house to size. Over the last few weeks, a lot of progress has been made on the remodel, but I have to admit, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing so I hired a crew to help. This past week, I’ve started as soon as the sun rose to try and finish this project as quickly as possible. Out of my peripheral vision, I see a fuzzy cheetah-print slipper tapping in the grass. My eyes move up the smooth silky leg, over the white robe and fists clenching the material tightly around the body it hangs on, to the irate face of…

  I blink a few times to be certain my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, and I pull the earbuds out after shutting off the saw. “Poppy Montgomery?” Her name flows from my lips in shock. Complete and utter shock.

  Just as I say her name, angry words fall from her perfect, plump lips, "Do you know what time—" She abruptly halts as our gazes lock together.

  My heart gallops, and my pulse quickens. "Poppy?" I repeat her name, the word barely breaking free from the lump that has formed in my throat. I swallow hard and begin to wonder if I’m hallucinating.

  Her eyes narrow, her mouth gapes open. "Julien?" She says my name with such disdain. Breaking eye contact, she shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. "What are you doing here?"

  "What are you doing here?" I repeat her question and step around the saw table.

  Her gaze moves every which way as she takes in what’s happening, like a caged animal, and she refuses to meet my gaze any longer. "You bought the house? Why did you buy it? Why are you back?"

  The corner of my mouth lifts into a grin with each question she throws at me. "You're still next door? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

  Neither of us answers anything as we keep the battle of questions going. Maybe this is our way of catching up? At least until my last remark.

  She rears back as if I slapped her. Her eyes narrow hatefully, and her tone lowers to a hissing as her fists clench at her sides. Have you ever seen those scary movies where people are possessed? That’s what Poppy looks like right now, and it’s terrifying. "This back and forth is getting us nowhere. All I came to say is, be respectful of other people since some of us have day jobs and would like to sleep without the pounding and the sounds from that awful saw. Not all of us can be rich and famous. Welcome to the neighborhood, JP Pierce." She spins on her heels, throwing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and storms toward the gate she came through.

  Chasing after her, I yell, “So you’ve heard my music?”

  She stops suddenly in her yard, glaring at me over her shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself. I change it every time I hear your annoying voice.”

  My head drops to hide my grin and laugh. Narrowing my eyes playfully, I glance up. “You don’t know how good it is to see you, P.”

  “Don’t.” Spinning around, with one hand on her hip, she uses the other one to point at me. She’s furious. “Don’t call me that.” Her voice calms slightly. “This is a quiet town, don’t mess that up, got it? And don’t act like we’re going to be friends, that this is just some way of catching up.”

  Leaning against my fence, I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re the one who didn’t answer my calls remember?”

  “Not everything is about you!” She screams at me and runs into her house without letting me get another word in.

  Smiling, I shake my head and shut the gate. Sauntering back into my house to take a much-needed break until the crew gets here, I can’t get the sight of her out of my head. Fuck me. She’s more beautiful than I remember. She still has that long sun-kissed blonde hair and those blue doll-like eyes, although she’s curvier now than when we were younger. Maybe having her baby gave her more of that hourglass figure? Her olive-toned skin shined against that white robe. My dick twitches behind the zipper of my Wranglers. What the hell is wrong with me? One glimpse and my body reacts like I’m a teenage b
oy again.

  Taking a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, I take a long swallow, downing half of it. I always wondered what it would be like to see her again, unsure I’d be able to face her, but now that I have, I know I can win her over–especially discovering she is still next door. I grin. After all this time, she’s still the girl next door, only she’s not a girl anymore, she’s a woman, and one I want to get to know now. I want her to realize JP Pierce is a façade. I’m still Julien Pierce, still the boy who was her best friend, still the boy who loves her. I just need to figure out a way to get her to speak to me again.

  I close the front door and fall against it, covering my mouth as tears begin to fall. Why is he back? Why did he buy his old house? Out of all the places in the world…I never thought I would see him again, but isn’t he supposed to be on some big tour somewhere? He’s not on tour though, because he was there, staring at me with those piercing blue eyes I can vividly recall from my childhood. Oh God! And wearing that blue flannel with Wranglers…the muscles in his thighs were making those jeans hug him in all the right places, and even more muscles were being strangled by his shirt. He looks so stinking sexy, and I hate myself for thinking any good thoughts about him.

  Why am I supposed to hate him? Oh, that’s right because the evening of my grandfather’s funeral, he kissed me and told me he loved me only to shatter me. I lost both of my best friends. At fourteen, I blamed him for moving and never wanted to talk or see him again, but I realized, it hadn’t been his fault he had to move. It had been his parents’. He could have at least kept his feelings hidden like we had done for a long time. But oh no! He had to spill his guts, then break my heart.

  Drying my tears, I take in a deep breath and tell myself he's not Julien Pierce anymore, he’s JP Pierce, country’s number one artist. He’s not the boy next door, and he’s not the boy I loved. He’s not the boy I never forgot. Instead, he’s someone I don’t even know. And why did he say something about calls? He didn’t call me! Same old Julien nothing but a liar! Ugh! Why am I even letting him get to me? For God’s sake, it’s been fifteen years. After fifteen years of therapy, shouldn’t I be over it? Over him?