Page 151 of Fire and Icing

She puts a heart on my comment.

Something in my chest tugs. Is she okay? I nearly turn my truck toward the highway, the pull to check in on her is so strong. I don’t know what it is, but something feels off. Is this what it would feel like to be on the road? Wondering if she’s alright? Missing her like a lost limb? Craving just a minute alone with her? Preoccupied instead of being fully present?

When I’m working in Waterford, I’m at the station for twenty-four hour shifts and I only see her for my donut run during that long stretch. I never feel like this during those long stretches. I’m eager to see her, but not desperate. Not like something’s clawing out of me to get back to her. There’s something to be said about being in the same town. If I had to get to her, I could.

I pull into the hotel parking lot and sit in the cab of my truck.

I could call Emberleigh.

Would she want me to?

We’ve been sending photos and little comments. Would a call push it too far? She’s still my girlfriend. We didn’t break up. We hit an impasse. One we can’t find our way around or through. But I still love her and I know she cares about me.

I pull my phone up and stare at it.

It rings.

I look at caller I.D. It’s my mom.

“Hey!” Her voice is loud, bright and full of excitement.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Everyone’s on the call. Say hi, everyone.”

My family’s voices all fill my ear and I smile. “Hey, guys.”

“How’s Nashville, superstar?” Mom asks.

“Not a superstar. It’s been a long day. It went well. I’m just going to clean up, then I go to the studio for that talk show.”

“So exciting!” Mom says.

“We’re proud of you, son,” Dad says.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I talk to my family for a little while. They ask me questions about my day. I shift the subject to them after a bit, asking about life on Marbella. When we hang up, I look at the clock. I’ve got to put a pedal to the metal now. I head up the elevators to my room, shower, grab a couple protein bars from the vending machine, and meet the car out front with barely a minute to spare.

The crew at the talk show sets me up with a mic on a side stage. I’m going to sing a song, then I’ll go to the couch for an interview. The label wants me to get some initial exposure. All of this is testing the waters to see how the public responds to me and my music.

They haven’t predetermined what song they want me to sing, so I pick one.

We run through a sound check. I sing lines of the song. The crew shows me where I’ll stand, what cameras I’ll be looking into, and then I’m ushered into the greenroom to wait for the host to do his intro to the show.

All I can think of is Emberleigh. I’m grateful for this opportunity. But I’d be able to throw myself into it more wholeheartedly if we had some sort of resolution and unified plan. If I knew we could make this work, I’d throw myself into this experience with everything I have.

I can’t shake the thought that Emberleigh’s not okay. Something’s off and I don’t know what it is.

I take a photo of myself on the greenroom couch and caption it, “Thinking of you. My body’s here, but my heart’s in Waterford.”

She doesn’t text back.

I tuck the phone into my pocket, but the ache in my chest doesn’t ease. I can perform for the world—but if she’s slipping away, none of this matters.

Chapter 33

Emberleigh

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