“I know. But you’re right.” I shrug. “I can’t stop living my life. Then he wins.”
Her grin is a mile wide. “The fireworks don’t go off for another hour or so. If we hurry, we can still make it in time to see a couple of the bands on the stage at Riverfront Park. Grab that blanket, we can sit on it if we find a spot! ”
I grab the navy wool blanket off the couch, Carly grabs her keys, and then, we’re off.
It’s still warm outside, though the sun is beginning to sink toward the horizon as dusk approaches. The crowd grows denser the closer we get to the river. Boats at anchor dot the water’s surface, lit up festively with multicolored lights strung along their bows. Thousands of people have staked out spots on the grass, marking their territory with coolers and picnic blankets in anticipation of the firework show.
There’s a kind of exhilarating energy coming off the city in waves tonight. Everyone is in high sprits to celebrate America’s birthday, from teetering toddlers to grandparents in wheelchairs. I find myself smiling at everything and everyone, caught up with the flow of the crowd as we head toward the Shelby Street pedestrian bridge that spans the river. Carly links her arm with mine so we don’t lose each other in the fray.
It’s the first time I’ve felt happy since Ryder left.
I can’t help wishing he were here. I would’ve loved to see him play for a crowd of this magnitude. Then again, I’m sure he’ll soon be playing at much bigger venues with Lacey, out in Los Angeles and all over the world. My smile wavers a bit, at the thought.
Carly tried to pry details from me earlier, but I wasn’t in a sharing mood. Those memories I made with Ryder are precious to me. Something to be guarded closely beside my heart, not tossed around as casual dinner conversation.
He’s still mine.
Even though he’s not.
“This is insane!” I yell to Carly as we approach one of the stages, taking in the scope of the crowd.
“Way better than hiding in my apartment, right?”
So, so right.
At least twenty thousand people are crushed in on the terraced lawn that leads down to the river, watching the group onstage. I recognize them from a set they played at The Nightingale two weeks ago. The lead singer has a voice like silk, and she plays her fiddle so fast it makes me dizzy if I watch too long.
Initially, I figure we’ll be stuck in the very back row since we got here so late. I should know by now not to doubt Carly. She walks straight up to one of the guys working sound check, gives him a flirty kiss on the cheek, and somehow manages to snag us a spot at the very front, in the roped-off VIP pit section.
“He’s terrible in bed, but the perks are undeniable,” she informs me lowly, winking as her beau ushers us past the velvet ropes. We’re so close to the front of the stage, I have to crane my neck back to keep the performers in sight. We find a small patch of grass to spread out our blanket. Tucking my sundress around my thighs, I kick off my sandals and let the grass tickle my toes as the sun slinks lower and lower on the horizon. It’s almost fully dark. Just over an hour until the fireworks start.
Carly wanders to the makeshift bar a few dozen yards away to grab herself a beer while I reserve our spot. There’s a brief lull in the music between bands. I watch roadies dressed in all black moving equipment around the stage and wonder absently who’s playing next, the last opening act before the headliner takes the stage.
The lights go dark, singling the start of their set, and the crowd lets out a cheer. I squint, trying to make out the musicians’ faces, but I can’t see a thing except the vague shape of a drum set. There’s a sudden blast of sound from all sides as the first guitar riff the pours out the massive speakers. It’s so loud it shakes the earth under my feet, but that’s not the reason I find my breath catching inside my throat, my body going still.
“Hey.”
One word.
It strikes me like a bolt of lightning — zipping along my nerve endings, lighting me up from the inside out. Even before the stage lights illuminate to bring him into view, I know the man standing there is going to take my breath away.
“Nashville… I have to tell you, you guys look amazing tonight!” he yells into the mic as the lights come up.
The crowd cheers and whistles their appreciation, but I find I can’t make a single sound. My throat is lodged with something. I’m pretty sure it’s my heart.
“We’re so excited to be out here, celebrating the Fourth of July with y’all!” He gives his best grin, the one that makes the girls go crazy. The one that makesmego crazy. “I’m Ryder, that’s Aiden on bass, Lincoln on drums… and we’re here to give America an unforgettable birthday. Think you can help us with that? Make some noise if you’re ready, Nashville!”
The response is thunderous.
I wait breathlessly for the moment those incredible blue-brown eyes sweep this direction, for Ryder to spot me in the crowd… but I’m a single, silent drop in a sea of screaming people. Invisible amongst the masses.
The boys launch into a rollicking version of ‘Hard Luck.’ It used to be one of Lacey’s songs, but she’s nowhere to be seen, tonight. I sit transfixed, never looking away from Ryder as he owns the stage. He’s so natural up there, captivating the crowd with seemingly no effort at all. I can see the way their calls and cheers energize him, the way his eyes light up and his limbs loosen as the song unfurls. He’s just as confident in front of thousands as he is playing his guitar for a group of dementia patients at a nursing home.
I’m struck by the same thought I had the first night I watched him perform: Ryder Woods was born to be a star.
So… why is he back here?My heart is pounding.What — who — did he come back for?
“Holy shit!” Carly hisses, plopping down beside me on the blanket. She hands me a bottled water as she sips her beer. “Is that…”