Page 90 of Songbird
“Not my fate,” I tell her. “My heart. And yes, because I’m safe with Finn in a way I’ve never been safe before.”
A stage manager approaches and ducks his head politely. “We’re ready for you now.”
“Thank you,” I say before turning to Pia. I roll my shoulders back and shake out my hair. “How do I look?”
Pia smiles softly and something like pride lights up her pretty features. “You look perfect.”
“Thanks. Let’s go.”
We follow the stage manager back to the wings, and I’m about to step on stage when I notice someone is already out there. I hesitate, looking toward Pia for instruction, but she’s grinning like she knows something I don’t, and when she inclines her head back toward the stage, I look again at who’s taken my set.
It’s a man carefully perched on a chair so that his injured leg is propped and set for comfort. He’s wearing a tight white T-shirt over his tattooed arms, hair brushed back like he’s just run a hand through it, a familiar vintage Martin on his knee, and a look of anxious anticipation in his tender cognac eyes.
He watches me approach, and I float across the stage toward him like I’m walking on air, the crowd going mad with cheers and whistles. I barely have time to register the earpiece in his ear or the battery pack at his waist before he strums the first notes of a song I don’t know. And then he starts to sing.
The hush that falls over the stadium is absolute as Finn’s smooth, sexy baritone weaves its way around the enormous room. It trembles a little at first, and I’m stunned that someone who has never performed in any real capacity has chosen this moment to make his debut. The glow of a single spotlight falls on Finn and his guitar, and his voice reaches all the way to the rafters and to the depths of my soul, his lyrics speaking of adoration and devotion and taking chances. He sings to me about warm blankets and cool rivers, running through trees and red flannel shirts. He sings about courage and commitment and wanting a life of adventure more than what might have been. He sings about desire and trust and what’s meant to be. He sings about us.
I’m standing right there beside him when the final notes escape from beneath his fingers and the audience erupts in rapturous applause. Finn scans my face with nervous expectation, his brow furrowed and his manner more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen it.
“You wrote that?” I whisper. “For me?”
He nods as his throat bobs with a swallow. “Did you like it?”
My laugh is choked with emotion. “I loved it. And I love you.”
“I love you too,” he says, and when the audience breaks into ecstatic applause, he winces and covers his microphone with his large hand.
“How do you turn this thing off?” he asks, loudly enough that a stagehand swoops in to disconnect the mic from the sound system.
“What are you doing?” I ask in wonderment, glancing out at the thousands of people watching us with curious anticipation. “We can talk about this later offstage if you prefer.”
Finn shakes his head as he takes my hand. “What I have to say can’t wait. I’ve never been so scared as the moment I thought I was going to lose you, and it made me realize that I didn’t wantto live another day without letting the world know how much I love you.”
“Oh, Finn.” I start to cry, and he carefully brushes the tears from my cheeks. Around us, the stadium cheers, and I laugh. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to do it. You’ve given me so much, Songbird, including your trust. This was the only way I could think of to give you mine in return. To let you know I heard you when you said there’s strength in vulnerability, and I believe you. That it’s safe to step out of the shadows and be seen. And that no matter what happens next, if I have you, I’ve already got everything I want. Whether our life is on a stage in LA or a dusty cabin in the middle of nowhere, I’m up for all of it as long as we’re together.”
I lean in and kiss him, laugh-crying against his mouth as the crowd starts to whoop and whistle. “Will you sing with me, Finn?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “Anywhere. Anytime.”
I release him with a sigh, then wave to a crew member to let him know we’re ready to go back on. He switches on Finn’s equipment and hands me a mic.
“Hey, Los Angeles!” I call out to the audience. “Have y’all met my man?”
They clap and call out, and I laugh as Finn drops his head with an embarrassed shake.
“If it’s all right with you, we’re going to give you a brand-new song that we wrote together. How does that sound?”
The crowd roars, and someone rushes out to give me a seat and put my microphone on a stand. When I’m settled, Finn strums the first notes of our song, and I play with him, our voices rising with the lift of my heart as we give our love wings.
Epilogue: Finn
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Younervous?”Dylanasksas I adjust my light gray suit in the mirror in his bedroom.
“Nope,” I answer honestly.
