The last chorus gives way to a whole solo section for Fiona to rock out on her keys. The camera focuses on her. I see passion in her eyes when she shows us everything she’s got.
I sure hope Laina is watching this live stream.
In my heart, I want to believe it’s not just my love the four of us are fighting for.
Maybe we’re even fighting for Ian, too. His right to never miss another damned moment with his wife Hailey and their beautiful daughter. All the Ians out there. All the Fionas and Lainas.
All the Chase Holts and his secret TJs.
When Fiona’s last chord is struck, and Wily’s rich bass hangs in the air, and the hiss of Raj’s last crash of the cymbals linger, and Glorious hums his final chord of the song, our crowd explodes into cheers and screaming that surprises us all.
It’s surprising because the crowd is barely half the size of the ones we’ve been performing for.
I can’t help but crack a smile, amazed at their enthusiasm.
I take hold of the mic. “Now hold on a minute, hold on,” I say through my chuckles. “This just ain’t gonna do. All of you watchin’ this through your computer screens or phones or TVs or whatever need to know who’s here in person. Look out there, go ahead.” The frazzled cameraman slowly pans out tothe technicians, to people from all around Spruce who came in support, came to help, came dutifully at the calls of Cissy and Tim and TJ himself. “You see all these wonderful faces out there? A band ain’t nothin’ without the people that work tirelessly behind the scenes to put these shows together. And for puttin’ this together with such short notice? I’m for real, from the bottom of our hearts, my bandmates included, we thank you. Y’all deserve a round.” I start the applause and it carries on through Wily, Fiona, and Raj, too.
The camera slowly turns back to me as I start talking again. “I also want to thank you viewers out there—whether a diehard fan or casual listener—for your part in makin’ us what we are today. It ain’t lost on me that we wouldn’t have this privilege of sharin’ our music with the world if it weren’t for your support for us over the years.” I pull the mic off the stand and pace over the stage. “But I gotta say … despite as much as we try to give you guys in return … maybe I ain’t given you enough.” I take off my hat and fling it back at my stool. “I want you to stop seein’ me as a star. We ain’t stars. We’re simple-ass human beings who just want things. Y’know, like jellybeans and Pop-Tarts at 2 in the mornin’. And sometimes … our hearts want things, too. And just like you, I want to listen to mine and chase what it wants. Can you let me do that?”
Someone in the audience shouts, “Yes!!” Probably Cissy. But I can’t be sure. And then the rest of the audience chimes in with their shouts and cheers, eventually shattering into another wave of enthusiastic applause and whistling.
“I mean, if I’m gonna stand up here and sing about love,” I go on with half a laugh, “and sell y’all a hundred songs about what it feels like to want somebody … well, shoot, don’t I owe it to y’all to be honest about when it’s real?”
That same woman: “Hell yes!” And the audience goes nuts yet again.
And in that crowd of faces, TJ’s right in the center, beaming.
“You’ve probably heard a lot of things about me online. The stories n’ rumors keep changin’ every day. And the media’s tryin’ to spin it one way. My label’s spinnin’ it another. But none of it’s the truth—none of it’s the real story. I’m here to set it all straight. Don’t you wanna hear it from me? The truth?”
Another chorus of cheering and shouting yes.
I’m still looking right at TJ. “I met a guy. A really special guy from this beautiful town I’m in. Met him when I … when I was at an all-time low. I was lost. Couldn’t see myself through the noise.” I can’t help but smile, gazing out fondly at TJ, thinking of how it was when we first met. “This guy … he didn’t care about the shows or the charts. He wasn’t a fool for any of it. He just … sawme. For who I am. Not the version of me everyone else thinks they know.”
The audience has gone quiet. I can literally feel them leaning in, drinking in every word—like the world is right now, I hope.
“And somewhere along the way …” My smile brightens. “I fell in love with him.”
A murmur scatters over the crowd. Sighs of delight. Sniffles—are they crying? It doesn’t matter. TJ’s face is all I see, and it’s his face that keeps me from freaking out and flying off this stage.
It’s TJ who saves me every day.
“So don’t let anyone twist our story into somethin’ ugly. Don’t let ‘em turn it into a headline, pretending they know somethin’.” My voice grows stronger. “Ain’t none of ‘em know our story. And that’s my fault. Because I was told to hide it.Taughtto hide it. But how can I hide the man I love?” I swallow hard. “They said I wasn’t allowed to fall in love. But how can I sing all these songs aboutlovewithout being allowed to have it? This ain’t just a story anymore. This is my life.Ourlife. As real as real gets.”
“You betcha!” shouts that same woman, and the crowd erupts into cheers. TJ covers his mouth, eyes full of overwhelmed tears.
“This next song we’ve got for you … it ain’t about the life y’all have been led to believe I’m livin’. This song’s about the one Iamlivin’.” I give TJ a wink. “And I ain’t hidin’ it no more.”
Then I strike that familiar, bright, proud E-flat major chord, launching us into “No Fool For Love Songs”.
It’s funny to me, how this song sorta became an evolution of our relationship. It was in G-minor back then, reflective and dark the night I premiered it at the Horseshoe. Improvised, like little sewn-together pieces of thought that Wily, Fiona, and Raj fumbled their way through like a dark cluttered room. The song grew more confident the next time I played it, now in a brighter key, finding its footing the same way TJ and I started to find our own. The song gained familiarity. Became a part of me. I started trusting its lyrics and what it was saying.
I started trustingus.
You give me that look, love song.I’m on the floor.
You give me your sass, love song.I’m on my knees.
You give me a chance and I get it wrong…