Page 31 of Rock the Chardonnay

Yes. This is it. Isn’t she as good as saying she chooses me? Only years of stoicism prevent me from storming the stage, wrapping her in my arms, and showing the entire Rock and Wine Festival exactly who this song is about.

Alex pumps his fist in the air. “Dad, this song is amazing!”

I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral while inwardly, I’m dancing right along with him. It’s amazing. She’s amazing. I can put my doubts aside.

Ciaran nudges me in the side. “You know, she wrote this song when we were together.”

I spin on him so quickly Ciaran takes a step back. “What are you talking about?” Maybe it’s more of an accusation. I can’t really say.

“This song. I remember her writing it in her old notebook. She used to carry that thing everywhere. It had a rainbow on the cover, and I bought her a unicorn sticker for it.” Ciaran shrugs. “She always told me the odds of making it in the music industry were the same as seeing a unicorn in the wild.”

I’m hyperventilating. This can’t be good. I remember that notebook, too. It was on the table the night I made her pancakes. Is it true? Are all of her songs about Ciaran?

Of course it’s possible. Not just possible, but probable. If one looks at the scientific definition of accuracy vs precision, it’s both precise and accurate to assume the songs are about Ciaran.

Fuck my life.

He shrugs. “I went to see her last night, after I got home. She looked so fucking cute in her pajamas. I think we might get back together.”

He saw her last night? After she and I had sex? Why wouldn’t she have told me today?

I know the answer, as much as I don’t want to admit it.

I’m nothing to her. A fling. A two-time experience that might get lauded as a brief mention on her next album, but more than likely will fade to obscurity in the back of her mind. I’ll always be second to my little brother, and a distant hum to her.

The music onstage turns into a torrent of tuneless sound.

“I have to go,” I say.

Alex glances at me like I’ve completely lost my mind, and he’s right. I have. “You can stay, Alex. If Ciaran can bring you home.”

Alex looks between me and my brother, who merely shrugs like it’s an everyday occurrence that I have a major life crisis. “No, it’s okay. I’m tired. I’ll go home with you, Dad.”

Without looking at the stage one more time—I’m not strong enough for that—I loop my arm around Alex’s shoulders and we head for the parking lot.

CHAPTER 16

Daughtry

Where did they go?

One minute Alex and Declan were there, the next there’s only Ciaran, who keeps waving at me.

I don’t want it to throw me off. I don’t need that.

I finish my set to more applause than I have the right to expect. Citing a fictional stomach ache, I evade Louise’s questions and head back to my cottage at Foster Family Vineyards.

Have I done something wrong?

Ugh, no. This is exactly the spiral my mom goes down every time she breaks up with one of her husbands or boyfriends. I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t made or broken any promises. There’s no way I’m going down that mental pathway to a hell of my own creation.

I’m not the type to mourn lovers. At best, I write a song about the experience. At worst, I forget them.

So I do all the usual things I do after an emotional performance.

I take a shower and only cry once. Soap gets in my eyes.

I put on my cozy leggings and oversized denim shirt. If I picture Declan peeling it open, that’s my business.

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