While I wait for a reply that might or might not come, I text my nan, too.
About to rock the fuck out of Arizona. Hope you and G are okay.
Milo slaps me on the back. “A watched phone never beeps.”
“She’s ignoring me.”
“She’s probably busy. Do you think all Tex is doing is sitting down, waiting for contact? She’ll be off with Jennifer, partying, and sleeping with—”
Fucker. I plant my fist in his arm. “You’re a dick.”
He laughs and rubs the spot where I hit. “Come on, mate, get your head together. We need you focused out there.”
My phone buzzes in my hand. “I’m all here, Milo.”
I look down and sigh. It’s from my nan. She can manage to reply early in the morning over there, but Tex can’t.
Watch your language. I can still put you over my knee. We’re fine. We love you, and we’re so proud. Grandad says rock on or rock hard or something to that effect. Stay safe.
They will always be there. No matter what happens, what I do, how often I manage to get in touch, they will always be at home, and I will always be welcome.
I love you guys.
After I reply, I hand my phone to Jodie.
Blowing out a breath, I close my eyes to regroup. When the band started getting recognised, I made a promise to myself and the band. We will never let the fans down. As heavily twisted up I am over Texas and our dwindling relationship, I have to do this.
No one will ever leave saying our performance was shit. No one will ever want their money back.
I rock back and forth on my feet as the crowd counts down from ten. Adrenaline pumps through my body, replacing blood, thought, and breath. I survive on the buzz, the performance, and the crowd alone.
Nodding as I’m handed my mic, I walk ahead of Milo and Cooper and raise my hand in the air. The first wave of screams shakes the arena as we make our appearance.
“Are you fucking ready, Arizona?” I shout.
The second wave is louder, always louder. I laugh and face the crowd. It’s packed to the rafters, every seat is taken, and every inch of space is inhabited. Flashes from cameras and stripes of colour from glow sticks attack my eyes.
“You can do better than that!” Cooper shouts. “Ladies, shirts up. Gentlemen…what the hell? Go for it!”
He lifts his shirt, too, and at least three women in the front row faint.
He’s such an exhibitionist.
“Milo,” I say, “‘Quick’!”
It’s the title of one of our most popular songs, and the crowd goes fucking wild.
This is my first love. Always will be.
TEXAS
MONDAY, JULY 20
NOTTING HILL, ENGLAND
It’s been eight days since I’ve spoken to Kitt. I know what life is like on the road, so I know he’s flat-out busy, but I’m still pissed off. Our talk-until-we-fall-asleep pact has been forgotten. Logically, I know better, but I feel like I’ve been forgotten.
We keep missing each other, and it’s not getting any easier.
I press Cancel after another failed call and grit my teeth.
You’re the one who left him and told him to live it up. You can’t be surprised that he is.
Kitt means the world to me, and I want this experience to be epic for him, but I don’t know how to keep our relationship solid when we never talk.
It’s terrifying.
I understand I’ve been foolish and centred so much around him, but I can’t change that. For the longest time, Kitt has been the grand ultimate prize, and he’s not something I want to lose.
But how would we cope if things fell apart like this every time he was away?
I can give him space to do his thing, but I can’t have radio silence, like we don’t exist. There is no time off our relationship. No matter how much I love him, we’re full-time or nothing at all. He has to make the effort to call at least every two days.
“Texas, darling,” Mother drawls, “are you ready?”
I sigh and rub my forehead.
I actually enjoyed watching her last shoot; it was enlightening. There’s much more to it than sitting still and looking pretty. So, I agreed to go again today, but after my failed attempt to get ahold of Kitt, I’m not feeling all that up to leaving the house. Human contact will not be good for me today.
“Sure,” I reply, rolling over just as she comes into my room.
“Oh, Texas,” she says, staring at me like I’m a hobo.
“What? Do I look that bad?” I look in the mirror. Yes, I do look that bad.
“We have to leave in ten minutes,” Jennifer says. “Sit down. I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
She’s going to make you into a mini her.
At least she knows what she wants and goes after it. I can’t even get my fucking boyfriend to have a conversation with me. Perhaps a mini Jennifer is exactly what I need to be for a while.
I get up, pad over the thick pile carpet to my vanity table, and sit down on the romantic, chic stool. Not only do I not look good, I also don’t look like me. Gone is the colour in my cheeks and the light from my eyes. I look lost and kind of like a scared child.
You weren’t brought up to pin everything on a man!