Page 19 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

I could barely comprehend what had just happened. One moment, I’d been sure that Trace was going to end us all, and now…now it was over. He was gone—permanently.

The door to the trailer burst open again, this time with police officers flooding in, their guns drawn, their eyes sweeping over the scene. Miles immediately began explaining what had happened, his voice steady despite the horror he’d just endured. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Trace again, couldn’t let myself process what had just occurred. All I could do was cling to Bowie, grateful beyond words that he’d come for me, that he’d saved us.

Bowie’s arms tightened around me, and he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m here, Angie,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again.”

I believed him. In that moment, as I stood there in his embrace, I believed him with every fiber of my being. The nightmare was finally over. As the police led us out of the trailer, away from the chaos and into the cool night air, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Trace was gone, and with him, the fear that had haunted me for so long. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew that I wasn’t alone anymore. Bowie had proven himself to be the man I could trust, the man I could rely on, and as we walked away from the scene together, I knew that whatever came next, we’d face it together.

The crowd outside had no idea what had just transpired, the festival still in full swing, the music pounding through the night air as if nothing had happened. But for me, everything had changed. The danger was gone, and in its place was the flicker of hope for a new beginning.

As we moved away from the flashing lights and the commotion, Bowie kept his arm around me, guiding me through the throngs of people, protecting me from the world that had suddenly become so much brighter. I leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, knowing that in this moment, I was safe. For the first time in a long time, I was truly safe, and I could finally leave the past behind.

Chapter Ten

Bowie

Backstage was alive with energy. The thrum of anticipation rippled through the air as final preparations for the concert were underway. But inside Angie’s trailer, the atmosphere was different—tense yet oddly serene. She sat in front of a large vanity mirror, surrounded by her team of makeup artists and stylists. They worked in quiet concentration, carefully applying the finishing touches to her look for the night. The soft glow of the vanity lights cast a warm, flattering light on Angie’s face, but her eyes held a flicker of nerves beneath the surface.

I stood just outside the trailer, leaning against the doorframe, and watched through the small window. The bustle inside contrasted sharply with the solitude I felt waiting out here, knowing what was to come. Angie was preparing for more than just a performance—tonight would be a turning point in her life, and I wasn’t sure how it would unfold. But I believed in her.

Miles arrived a few minutes later, his face a mix of relief and lingering tension. He gave me a nod as he approached, then hesitated before stepping inside the trailer. The makeup artists briefly paused to acknowledge him with respectful nods before resuming their work. Miles waited until the final touches were done before stepping outside to join me.

He looked older in the fading light, the lines on his face deeper, etched by years of worry and responsibility. His eyes met mine, and he extended his hand, shaking mine firmly. “Thank you, Bowie,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. You saved Angie’s life. And mine too, I might add.”

I shook my head slightly. “She’s strong, Miles. She’s stronger than she knows. But I’m glad I was there. I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”

Miles released my hand and sighed, glancing back at the trailer door. “I’ve always been worried about this moment, you know,” he admitted, his voice low. “When Trace would get out…I knew it would stir everything back up. Angie never talked about him much, but I could see it in her eyes. The scars he left go deeper than just her face.”

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “You’ve been there for her, Miles. She’s had someone to count on, and that’s made all the difference. She deserves to live without fear, and I’m glad she has the chance to do so now.”

Miles smiled, a tired but genuine expression. “She’s like a daughter to me. I never got to be the father I wanted to be for my own child, but with Angie…I tried to do right by her.” He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “I hope you’ll stick around, Bowie. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I’d like that too,” I replied, feeling the sincerity in the moment. There was a sense of camaraderie between us, born from the shared understanding of how much Angie meant to both of us.

Inside the trailer, she was almost ready. The team was packing up their supplies, giving her final words of encouragement. I could hear the distant roar of the crowd, growing louder as the start of the concert drew near. Miles and I stepped back as she emerged as Angel from the trailer, looking every bit the star she was. But I caught something different in her eyes tonight—something determined, almost defiant.

As she made her way toward the stage, Miles and I followed at a respectful distance, not wanting to intrude on this pivotal moment. The crowd erupted into cheers as the lights dimmed, and her band took their positions. Angie stood at the edge of the stage, her silhouette illuminated by the spotlight. She took a deep breath, then stepped forward, microphone in hand.

The band started to play, but she raised her hand, signaling them to stop. The crowd quieted, confused murmurs rippling through the audience. She brought the microphone to her lips and spoke, her voice clear and steady.

“I owe you all an apology,” she began, her voice carrying over the sea of faces. “I missed my performance last night because I was dealing with something personal—something I’ve kept hidden for far too long.”

The audience fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. I felt my heart pound in my chest, sensing what she was about to do.

“For years, I’ve hidden behind this mask,” Angie continued, her voice growing stronger. “Not just this one,” she gestured to the black wig and mask she wore, “but the mask I’ve worn to hide my fear, my shame.”

She paused, the tension in the air almost tangible. Then, in a moment that felt suspended in time, she reached up and pulled off her wig and mask, letting them fall to the stage floor. The crowd gasped, the shock of seeing her true face—scar and all—rippling through the audience.

“I used to think I deserved this scar,” Angie said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I thought I deserved what my ex-boyfriend, my abuser, did to me. But recently, I met someone who showed me differently. Someone who taught me what it means to be cared for, to be seen, and he encouraged me to be who I really am.”

Her eyes found mine, and in that moment, everything else faded away. Tears streamed down her face as she turned back to the crowd and continued, “I don’t need to hide anymore. This is who I am—Angie Bennett, a woman and a survivor. Thank you for accepting me as Angel, but I’m happy now to show you my true self.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, louder than I’d ever heard before. Angie turned away from the audience again and met my gaze. She mouthed the words “Thank you,” her eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper—something I felt in the core of my being.

She lifted the microphone once more. “Now, I’d like to share something new with you all,” she announced, her voice strong and clear. “This is the debut of my new album, and this song is for all of you.”

The band began to play again, and Angie started to sing, her voice powerful and filled with emotion. The performance was electric, every note charged with the intensity of the moment. The crowd was on their feet, completely captivated by the woman standing before them.

Beside me, Miles had tears in his eyes. We exchanged a glance, a shared understanding passing between us. This was Angie’s moment, her victory, and it was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

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