She looks sleepy. It's late. I brush the hair back from her cheek. I love that she doesn't give it a second thought when I touch her scars anymore. She's just an amazingly confident woman. I'm so proud of her.
"Scout?"
"Yeah, babe?" That's the first time she's called me by anything other than my name. I'm pretty sure I just caught fire. This woman fucking slays me.
"I love you." I mean it with everything that I am.
Her lips twitch and then she presses them together tightly. I'm afraid she's going to cry because her eyes are shiny, but as the first tear rolls down her cheek it's paired with the sweetest smile I've ever seen. "You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that. I love you, too. So much."
I can't help but kiss her. It's I love you. And thank you.
"I'm gonna miss you." We'll be gone for five months, US and European tours have been combined. We'll spend three months here before we fly over to Europe for two months. The shows are all at bigger venues than anything we've ever played before, except Grant auditorium. That one we insisted on returning to for Bright Side.
"I'm gonna miss you, too, but I'll visit. I know someone in the band. He's kind of a big deal." She shrugs. "He hooked me up with tickets." I already got her a ticket to every state-side Saturday night show. I gave them to her earlier tonight along with all of the flight reservations I made to get her there. "Thank you. I love that I get to be there to share this with you."
"That album wouldn't have happened without you sitting on the other side of my door."
"I think that's when I fell for you. I'd been falling for a long time, little by little. But that week ... listening to you pouring your soul out? I was yours. I was so yours."
"I honestly think you had me from the moment we met. It was such a goddamn battle with you, but looking back now, I think we were meant to be from the very beginning. Maybe it was all the fucking sticky notes."
"You love my sticky notes."
"I do. The tour bus won't be the same without you and your sticky notes."
Friday, April 6
(Gus)
This morning's already been perfect: pre-sunrise sex with Scout, sunrise surfing with some of the best waves I've seen in a long time, and breakfast with Scout, Ma, and Pax. It was a trifecta of serenity that put my head exactly where it needs to be for this journey.
I said good-bye to Scout, Ma, and Pax when they all left for work and school. It was sad, but not the type of sad I was anticipating. They were so excited for me, but more importantly, proud of me. It makes me feel like this time around I've earned it somehow. I've worked my ass off to make this album epic and I'm going to give this tour everything I've got. Every damn night.
I'm waiting with my gear in the driveway for the label car to pick me up to drive me to the airport. The sun's warm this morning and I'm soaking it up. When the driver shows up, Franco is already in the car. When he climbs out, he spreads his arms wide. It's a cheesy presentation, like a game show model. And then I see his shirt and I bust out laughing.
He's trying to keep a straight face but he's failing. "It's true, douche canoe. You do. So fucking moist."
His T-shirt reads: Gus makes me moist.
"Where in the hell did you get that?" I say as I help the driver put my gear in the trunk.
He shrugs and turns around. "New merch for the tour, dude." Rook's logo and our US tour schedule are on the back.
I can't stop laughing. "This isn't for real, right? This is a one-off?"
"Oh no, it's for real," he confirms.
"What the fuck? How did I not know about this?"
He shakes his head like it's obvious while he climbs back into the car. "Because you would've blocked the idea, Mr. Humble Ass. The chicks dig you. We're doing nothing more than stating the obvious. They know they're moist for you, big man. It's fucking genius. They'll sell like mad."
I climb in behind him. "I need one for Scout."
He rubs his hands together devilishly and grins. "Already on it. They should have hers at the merch table tonight for you. It was a special order, one of a kind. Hers says I make Gus moist.
I clap my hands and I'm laughing again. "That's fucking brilliant. And true. I'm making her wear that shit to every show."
We pound knuckles. I love this fuckhead.
Saturday, June 23
(Scout)
Paxton and I are standing on the sidewalk outside baggage claim. The local time is nine-thirty in the morning and the Minneapolis air is already hot and sticky.
I text Gus while we wait: Just landed in MN. Where are you?
His response is immediate: We'll be in Grant around noon. You might want to put your panties in your purse now. Just to save time.
ME: Already done. I'm efficient. ;)
GUS: And horny.
ME: Yes.
GUS: Moist?
ME: That too.
GUS: Me too. I love you.
ME: I love you too.
Paxton keeps adjusting the straps on his backpack. He's fidgety and I don't know if he's just excited to see Gus and Rook play tonight, or if he's nervous about seeing his dad again. They haven't talked in months. Paxton won't take his calls anymore.
I hear the labored roar of the engine before I see the old, battered green Suburban pull up to the curb. This must be Duncan. The car is exactly as Keller described it: rusty and beat-up, with one red door. I wave at him so he's knows it's us.
He waves back through the windshield and pulls up to the curb next to us. I ride in the front passenger seat and as I climb in about to introduce myself, Paxton calls out from the backseat, "Right On! Beanbags."
I know I didn't hear that right, so I continue. "You must be Duncan."
He smiles. "I am. And you must be the infamous Scout and Paxton." His shaggy hair and bushy beard are the same deep, vivid red as Stella's.
"We are." It's then that I turn and look at Paxton in the backseat. He hasn't heard a word that either of us has said. He's looking down with a smile on his face that I don't think I've seen since he was seven or eight. And he's not sitting on a seat.