Page 104 of Grave Misgivings
“Maybe it was, but I’m not really sure it is anymore,” I admit.
Mateo’s voice softens. “What do you want, Geo?”
I think about his question, but the words I want to say are stuck in my throat.
“I don’t know,” I reply, watching the lighting crew plug in and unplug wires, spreading them across the floor, getting ready for Mateo’s sound check.
“Yes, you do.”
“Mateo...”
“You’ve always knownexactlywhat you wanted. Ever since the day you signed with Casualty, and I suspect you knew before you left being Geo Graves.”
I look at him as my chest tightens.
“This…” He motions around the stadium. “It doesn’tfeelright for you. It never has. Because you never wanted to do this alone. It didn’t feel right doing itwithout him.”
I wring my hands together as the knot forms in my stomach.
“You’ve just never said itout loud,” he says.
“Maybe, but it’s still my life,” I state, gazing out at the empty seats. “I chose it.”
Mateo’s voice is smooth, serious. “This life isn’t for everyone, you know. A lot of people never make it to the other side.” He looks at me with the same kindness he did all those years ago when I was the new kid on the label. When I was a twenty-nine year old, blond, boy next door who had no idea what he was doing, or how he was going to do it.
He could have been an asshole to me, but he wasn’t. He took me under his wing, and he helped me becomeGravedigger, and I will always thank God for his guidance and friendship.
“I know.” My voice is tinged with melancholy.
“But you don’t have to stay, you know,” he breathes the words with sincerity.
I turn to look at him, my eyes widening. “What?”
Mateo’s eyebrows furrow. “Your heart hasn’t been in this for awhile, Geo. We both know that.”
I want to respond, to say no, he’s wrong, but...
He’s not.
Mateo is a lot of things, and an astute observer is one of them.
“Passion is what inspires people like us, Geo. Not sales numbers anddemographics,” he says, flashing me with a smirk.
“You, me, Felix... even fucking Dare...” He huffs, but I don’t miss the way his lips smile when he says his boyfriend’s name. “We all need tofeelthat passion, that spark. Not just in themusic, but in our fucking soul.”
I settle my palms on the black stage floor, my fingers leaving prints on the acrylic.
“Yeah.” I nod, rubbing my hands along the smooth, chilled surface. “I get it.”
I can feel the tears threatening to form in my eyes.
I feel it, the spark.
The passion.
But I don’t feel ithere, in this stadium.
I don’t feel it in LA in my too big house, or even in the recording studio, anymore.
