THE LAST SHOT: by

by Matayo, Amy

  Teddy hands her off, and I bury my face in hers. Man, babies smell good. The distraction works so well that I soon forget what had me so flustered. She smiles at me, and I smile back. Soon it becomes a game of who can make the most ridiculous noises. I become so absorbed in the baby that I barely hear Viper say, “Watch out Teddy, soon she’ll be wanting one, and you’ll find yourself as whipped as me.”

  I also barely notice the way Teddy doesn’t respond, just grins softly at me like he knows something I don’t.

  * * *

  Teddy

  We’re halfway back to the hotel when I think of it, the perfect way to describe everything I’ve felt the past two weeks, from fear to anxiety to paranoia to extreme gratefulness. I don’t voice it, though. I can’t. Maybe later, after I’ve had time to think.

  “Thank you for coming with me tonight. It helped.” I would reach for her hand, but I’m already holding it. It occurs to me then that I’ve never asked if it bothers her. “Do you mind that I’m always grabbing your hand? I hope it’s not too forward, it’s just that—”

  “No, I don’t,” she says, squeezing once before looking out the passenger window. “At this point, I might think something was wrong if you didn’t.” She sighs, long and slow. “It’s a bit surreal, though, if I really let myself think about it.”

  “What is?”

  “The idea that Teddy Hayes is holding my hand. It’s definitely not something I would have thought possible this time last month.”

  “Then don’t think about it. I am just a guy, you know. A lot like Steve and the guys back there. I’m a guy who likes music and figured out a way to make money doing it, same as them.”

  She breathes a laugh. “I still can’t believe you wrote some of those songs. They were screaming in a couple of them.”

  “What can I say, I’m a man of many hidden talents.” I don’t miss the way her face reddens, which was my goal in making that comment in the first place. Score one for me.

  “Who would have thought a country musician could write like that.”

  “Still not a fan of country, are you?”

  “Nope.” She shakes her head, and I try not to feel disappointed. Lucky for me her phone lights up with an incoming text, highlighting her screen. It isn’t the text I find interesting, however. It’s her temporary screen saver.

  “Then what is that?” I try to reach for the phone, but she jerks it away in a lightning-quick jolt.

  “Nothing,” she says, but her face is as red as my grandmother’s tomato plants.

  “That’s not nothing. Show me your phone.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Show me your phone, or I’ll pull the car over.”

  “Pull the car over, and what? Make me walk back to the hotel?”

  No, of course, I won’t. “Yes, of course, I will.”

  She gives me a long, impatient look. And then hands it over. And sweet Mary and Joseph, I’m looking at her Spotify account. And on her Spotify account, there’s a song pulled up. And on the song cover, there’s a big fat picture of me. For some people, winning the lottery or inheriting a large sum of money might be the best day of their lives.

  This just might be mine.

  “You’re listening to my songs.” It isn’t a question.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then how do you explain this?” I shove her phone in her face, giving her a close-up of the Spotify screen saver.

  “So what if I’m listening to your songs? It just means that—” she stops there, working on a retort but clearly having no luck.

  “You like my music?”

  She presses her lips together before opening them in a dramatic sigh. “Fine, maybe it’s growing on me.”

  The loud whoop I make might be a bit obnoxious, but hearing Jane’s laughter makes it worth it. I hand her back the phone as we pull into the hotel parking lot, and I maneuver into a space. For a man so good with words, I have no idea how to end this. It’s been a surprisingly great evening, one I’m not sure we’ll ever repeat.

  “Well, I’m off to New York in the morning. It’s a long drive, so we’re leaving early.”

  “How are you feeling about it? Do you think you’ll be able to perform?”

  I sigh because I honestly don’t know. “I’ll try. That’s about as good as I can promise right now.”

  She nods wordlessly, her throat constricting on a swallow. It’s one of those movements a person makes when they don’t know what to say, or when they have so much to say they aren’t sure where to start.

  Where she starts, however, sets me back a few steps.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  I blink in surprise, my chest vibrating as my heart beats against it violently. “To New York?”

  “I mean, I don’t have to. Just if you need me to. If you think it will help. I still have three days off work, but—”

  “Yes.” Sometimes you leap for what you want and think about it later. This is one of those times. “If you have time and don’t mind, I would love the company.”

  “I don’t mind.” She searches my face, looking for an answer that neither of us can find yet.

  “So…you broke up with Ben?” The timing of my question is odd, but it seems more important than anything.

  “Yes.” she nods. “A few days ago. It was time. Past time, actually. I realized I need to make some changes. They’ve been long overdue.”

  I nod and slide my hands up and down the steering wheel, then shift in place.

  “Maybe you can tell me about them on the bus.” I take a deep breath to keep myself from begging. “Okay, I’ll pick you up at nine the morning. You’re sure?”

  “More than sure,” she whispers, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Wait,” I blurt before she steps out of the car. Without second-guessing myself, I reach for her hand and pull her toward me, embracing her across the seat, sliding as close as I can to her with the console between us. When hugging isn’t enough, I kiss her on the forehead and hug her again. “Thank you so much for coming. You have no idea…”

  She doesn’t, because I haven’t found a way to communicate it to her.

  Yet.

  “You’re welcome.” I feel her smile against my neck just before she pulls back and greets me with that smile face to face. She reaches up to push my hair off my forehead, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. Playfully, she lets it fall into my face and tugs on a strand.

  “I’ll see you at nine.”

  “See you at nine.”

  I watch her walk inside before I pull out of the lot.

  I need to pack.

  And then I need to give a voice to the idea that latched on a few hours ago and hasn’t let go since. The worst part: I only have tonight to do it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jane

  I barely paid attention to Teddy’s concert a few weeks ago, too focused on staying in position and checking my surrounding area for anything suspicious. Clearly, I should have been more thorough, something I’ve thought about approximately every few seconds or so since we walked out of that arena in Seattle. True, the shooter didn’t originate from my particular area, but the fact that he made it inside at all is at least a partial failure on my part. Tonight I’m on the lookout even though I’m not on the clock. Habits don’t change just because circumstances do.

  Or venues.

  Madison Square Garden is more than a little intimidating. Teddy attempting to tackle his fear at this particular arena has me more than slightly worried, mostly because this place is overwhelming in size and number. I peek out at the growing crowd once again, something I’ve done three times in the last ten minutes. I’m nervous, not for Teddy’s safety, but for his state of mind. Despite the unfortunate outcome of his last few shows, this place is sold out and quickly filling up. Forty thousand spectators all here for him. Even I feel nauseous at that number, and I have nothing to do but listen.r />
  The opening act—a fifteen-year-old up-and-comer people are speculating might be the next Taylor Swift—has already taken the stage. She’s pretty good, if you like country music, cowboy boots, and songs about heartbreak, which I do not despite what Teddy saw on my phone a couple days ago. I mean, I might slightly enjoy a song or two of his, but that’s it. Maybe three, tops. I have had one stuck in my head all afternoon. I knock on the door and open it slowly, just in case he’s not quite ready.

  “Come in,” he says, and it’s all the permission I need.

  “It’s almost full out there. How are you doing?” I step inside his dressing room, trying to be encouraging while attempting to act like the professional I am. It’s a front; inside, I’m jittery and nervous that things won’t end well. That feeling that took root when I glanced at the crowd now multiplies when I see him sitting in a chair across the room. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clenched together in a kneading fist, his head bowed low in what looks like prayer. He might actually be praying—who knows?—but I would feel better about it if anxiety didn’t waft up and outward from his shoulders like the grim reaper rising from a nap.

  “Not great,” he says without looking up. “I keep thinking about the gunman, about the girl he shot before I even knew what was happening. I thought a firework malfunctioned.” He looks up. “Did you know that? A firework, so I kept singing on the lift, thinking someone else would check on it. I remember it rising and then being lowered, and for a second, I was annoyed. I thought someone was screwing up the routine, and I was angry because I thought it might make me look unprofessional. Someone lay bleeding on the floor, and I was worried about my image. It was the main thing on my mind until you grabbed me.”

  “Teddy, there was no way you could have known.”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t know because I was too self-absorbed to know. The only thing I was thinking about was how bad that one mistake made me look. As if a lowering crane mattered more than anything else. Who does that? What kind of person thinks of himself more than anyone else at the same time people around him are getting shot? Fame changes you, and not in a good way…”

  I kneel in front of him and reach for his hands. “Stop. Everyone does this, not just famous people. I was there, remember? Fireworks were going off, and everyone was screaming your name. It was so loud. You had no way of knowing anything was amiss. At the very beginning, I didn’t know it, and it’s my job to know. So what, you’re self-absorbed sometimes. But so is everyone else.”

  The look in his eye changes from canceling shows? To punish yourself?” He shrugs, and my insides collapse with the knowledge. “Don’t do that, Teddy. Don’t walk off tonight because you think you need to be punished for what happened in Seattle. You don’t. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

  “Other people were punished more. Some permanently.”

  “First of all, people buy tickets to concerts all the time, Teddy. They go to movies and grocery stores and churches and schools, never thinking today might be the day they get gunned down. As far as punishment goes, you didn’t punish anyone. You were doing your best to entertain them…to give them two hours to have a good time and not think about whatever problems were going on in their lives. It’s called talent Teddy, not ego.”

  I take a deep breath to calm myself down. When I get passionate about things, sometimes I can get carried away. Now isn’t the time to get carried away.

  “The shooter hurt those people, not you. He deserves to be punished, you don’t. So the way I see it is this: You can let those shots he fired in Seattle be the end of your career, or you can march out there on stage, pick up a microphone, and fire a proverbial last shot at the crowd in the form of your music. Gunmen like to put fear in people, Teddy; don’t let him do that to you. All these people showed up tonight to hear you sing, so give them what they came for. Starting tonight, let the last shot and the first shot and all the in-between shots be yours, not his. Move your life and career forward on your terms. Don’t make any decisions based on his.”

  He stares at me wide-eyed, which makes me think I may have gotten a little passionate there at the end. But I meant every word. It’s happening more and more, people cowering to other people’s wrath. Other people’s judgment. Other people’s awful, awful decisions. God didn’t put us on this earth to live in fear of the next what if, but it seems like that’s what people are doing more and more these days.

  Haven’t I spent the last decade doing the same thing myself?

  I’m tired of it.

  It’s time we all stand up and begin to take our lives back.

  This is what I’m thinking when I realize I’m still staring at him.

  “You should be a motivational speaker, did anyone ever tell you that?” He slowly grins, and I win the billion-dollar lottery.

  I smile back and bite my lip. “Only everyone I know. Get out there on stage, and I’ll consider it.”

  He sits another minute just staring at me, that grin on his face that I can’t quite read. It’s funny, Teddy in the darkness is easier to decipher than Teddy in the daylight. I’ll have to work on it.

  “What?” I say when I can’t take it any longer. Having a superstar grin at you isn’t an easy thing to handle even if you don’t much like his particular brand of stardom.

  Which I don’t.

  For some reason, I have to keep reminding myself of this.

  He reaches up and chucks me on the chin, and my teeth tap lightly together. “I’m just glad you pulled me into that closet. You saved my life, maybe in more ways than one.” He slides forward, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me on the forehead.

  Is there any more romantic kiss than that?

  I don’t think there is.

  “Still no boyfriend, huh?” he half-whispers, his voice husky and thick.

  I press my lips together and work at keeping my composure. “Nope. We’re broken up for good.”

  He stands up and stretches, then rolls his head a couple times before looking back at me with a wink. “Good, because after this show I’m going to kiss you for real. Be ready for it.”

  I watch as he pulls his phone from his pocket and sets it on the dressing table, reaches for a water bottle, and walks out of the room without looking back. A good thing, because I’m still staring with a lovesick grin that makes even me nauseous.

  He’s only a couple steps out of the room when he yells. “Go stand at the edge of the stage and watch! I’ll be looking for you!”

  “Okay!” I yell back, then turn to grab my own water, pausing when his phone lights up on the glass table in front of me. Unable to resist, I look down at the screen. It’s an incoming text from his cousin Dillon.

  Fine, forget the purple dress. But if you don’t call me back after the show and give me an update, then I’ll make you wear a purple suit, got it? Purple? What happened to red?

  I laugh, then walk out of the room to join Teddy stage-side. Sure, I’m excited to see him perform. But right now, more than anything else, I really hope he invites me to this very bizarre wedding.

  Something tells me seeing Teddy in purple might be even better than seeing him dance.

  * * *

  Teddy

  Fear is my enemy as I tuck myself onto the lift that will carry me up to the stage, just like that night two weeks ago. Fourteen days can pass in a blur or alter the trajectory of your life, depending on what happens in the span of those three-hundred hours. In my case, it’s changed everything. I’ve aged a decade and grown weary with anxiety and developed a new life-plan. From now on, I’m in control—aside from God, of course. With His help, starting now, I say how I perform and what to be worried about and whether fear gets to have a say in any of it.

  I’ve also developed a new philosophy: no matter what happens, I have the last word. Not some crazed shooter who was hell-bent on wreaking havoc on me and everyone in that Seattle arena. Not even the fans with their wavering level of support. Me, and only me.

&nbs
p; And also maybe a knock-out blonde chick currently waiting in the wings, who gifted me with that philosophy only a few short minutes ago. She might run a couple things too one day.

  The lift stops in front of me, and adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream, fear mixing in to make things interesting. Am I afraid? Of course, I’m afraid. Am I worried when the lights blind me, and I can’t see danger if it strikes again tonight? Of course, I’m worried. Do I flinch when the fireworks blast and opening drumbeats multiply? Of course, I flinch. Do I hesitate when the lift door opens, and it’s time to step inside? Of course, I hesitate. Do I remember that night two weeks ago when it lowered, and a woman grabbed me from behind and pulled me over the side? Of course, I remember.

  Once I’m in, I turn around to look at her. I smile, thrilled at the way she smiles back. She’s safe, and so am I. And she was right: facing a fear makes that fear smaller. It grew in my mind, and now I’m watching it shrivel. It won’t go away completely, but it will fade. Time always heals what wounds try to destroy, this is no exception. I’m sure of it. Of course, I’m sure about something else, too.

  I am going to kiss Jane later, so hard she’ll never forget it.

  On the ascent, I look out over the crowd and suck in a breath. I knew this place was big, but nothing prepared me for this view. They’re all looking up, watching the lift take me higher and higher just like it’s supposed to. I told the band I had a new song, so they wait for me to play. When I begin, I sing the song I penned on the bus. I sing it loud, alone, because the band hasn’t heard it before. Ninety Minutes in November is the title. I sing it for Jane. I sing it for every minute of the night we spent in the closet. I sing it for the night that changed my life. I look down to see her wiping her eyes. And all I can think about is one single thing:

  I’m performing at freaking Madison Square Garden, and forty thousand people are listening to every word. Even better, the girl I care about more than everyone combined is hearing them with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. The moment is nearly perfect.