Arizona Heat (19 page)

“ICANNOTBELIEVEWEAREGOINGTOATAKEAWAYSCONCERT!
”
Francesca screams as we approach Madison Square Garden. She’s been freaking out ever since I told her we were being personally escorted to the front row on the floor. Reagan insisted we have a bouncer personally escort us since I refused his pleas of watching from backstage or in the sound booth.

A large man in a black jacket holds a sign with my name on it. “Come on Reagan, this isn't an airport,
”
I mutter to myself as we approach the man. He’s well over six feet tall and solid muscle. His fake tan and well-manicured facial hair makes him very pretty, even gorgeous. A few weeks ago I would have found myself attracted to him but he’s got nothing on Reagan’s natural tan and man scruff. Francesca doesn't seem to mind as she squeezes his bicep, pretending they’re the largest she’s ever seen. He looks satisfied as he walks us around the crowds of people through vacant hallways. Francesca wraps her arm around mine, forcing me to skip down the hallway with her. She knows exactly how to help me loosen up when I’m feeling nervous.

“Are you okay?
”
she asks. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m afraid that seeing him like this is going to change everything,
”
I admit. “Is that weird?”

“Why do you think it will change anything?”

“I don’t picture him like this,
”
I say, gesturing toward the arena filling with people. “Reagan is just a guy I fell in love with on a road trip. Not a wildly successful musician or a dream guy on posters for preteens to swoon over in their bedrooms. I don’t want seeing him like this to change the way
I
see him.”

“You have to remember that you know the real person behind the bright lights and screaming fans. Your image of him won’t change because you see him onstage. If anything it’ll make him way hotter.
”
She flashes me a devilish grin and I roll my eyes.

“You were almost inspiring there for a minute,
”
I tease.

Greg, the bouncer, leads us to two seats right in front of the stage. He and Francesca exchange numbers before he takes a few steps away and leans on the base of the stage.

“He even got us a hot babysitter,
”
Francesca squeals, clapping her hands.

“Glad you’re happy,
”
I mumble.

“Josie, seriously, cheer up,
”
she says, rubbing my arm.

“I’m just so worried about him,
”
I say with a sigh.

“He’ll be okay. Reagan wouldn't do anything he wasn't ready for.”

I nod somberly, crossing my arms in silent protest. He proved when he let himself get dehydrated to the point of hospitalization that he doesn't know his limits.

“I can’t believe this many people showed up on such short notice,
”
Francesca observes as she scans the hundreds of people filling in the seats.

“They posted it on Twitter and people went nuts. Fans love impromptu concerts I guess.”

“They have a dedicated fan base,
”
Francesca says.

Before I can agree with her the lights go down and the crowd bursts into a deafening scream. Francesca looks over at me with the widest smile. I can’t help myself and the energy in the room is infectious so I smile back. My eyes turn toward the stage and I can vaguely make out the shadows of four dark figures emerging from behind the curtain. It’s difficult to see but I would recognize Reagan’s body anywhere. He stands in the middle of the stage, positioning himself in front of a microphone. Someone from behind the curtain walks up to him and hands him a guitar that he shrugs over his shoulders.

A rhythm fills the room from the bass guitar and the crowd gets quiet. The bassist repeats the riff and the drummer joins in, triggering the spotlights to illuminate the stage. The room emits a roar and I stare at Reagan in complete awe. I didn't know exactly what to expect when I first saw him onstage, but it wasn't this.

He looks like a completely different person and yet exactly the same as I picture him in my head. I smile at his black t-shirt and watch as he nods his head in concentration with the music. His masterful hands move over the guitar strings like nothing in the world comes more naturally to him.

Reagan lifts his head and his voice echoes against the walls of the arena. A chill sends shivers down my spine as I watch his mouth move over the microphone. Even if I didn't know the abilities of that mouth, I would be aroused at the way he commands every word. It’s not as if I haven't gotten very familiar with the sound of his voice and the image of him holding a guitar, but seeing him onstage surprises me.

“He’s so good,
”
Francesca yells over the music.

“Yeah,
”
I agree, smiling full of pride.

Since it is a shortened concert, all of the songs they play are really popular and therefore easy for Francesca and I to sing along to. As a relatively new fan, I’m thankful for that. Reagan walks over to the edge of the stage every so often for guitar solos and flashes me a smile. I wave shyly, feeling a little embarrassed as the people around us eye me curiously. Half of them look shocked and the other half look like they want to decapitate me.

I glance down at my phone and sigh with relief as I realize the show is almost over. Reagan had to sit for two songs and I can see him struggling up there. He plays it off really well so I’m sure the crowd can’t tell, but I know better.

“We only have time for one more song,
”
Reagan says through the microphone. The crowd boos and I see a smile dance across his face. “If you guys are okay with it, we want to play a new song.
”
The crowd cheers with approval and Francesca looks over at me curiously. I shrug, signaling I’m as clueless as she is.

“This is a song I wrote for my girl.”

My eyes get really wide and I can hear my heartbeat through my ears. Francesca starts shaking me and the people around us look as confused as I feel. Reagan walks to the edge of the stage and bends down to whisper something in Greg’s ear. He nods in agreement and starts walking toward me.
What’s happening?
Greg moves behind me and starts to push me toward the stage. I glance back at Francesca who gives me two thumbs up.

Before I know it, Greg is lifting me up onto the stage and Reagan is helping me to my feet. I try to focus on deep breaths as I process the reality that I am onstage at Madison Square Garden.

“Hi,
”
Reagan says as he leads me over to the microphone. A stagehand brings out a stool and Reagan helps me onto it since my legs have apparently stopped working.

“What are you doing?
”
I whisper in his ear.

“Singing to you,
”
he says with a big dopey smile.

I look out at the crowd and am surprised at how difficult it is to see. All the people look like dark, screaming figures and I don’t know if it’s my nerves or the lights but I’m sweating.

The song starts and I immediately recognize the tune. Reagan has been playing it for two weeks.

I’ve only just met her

But she's been here the entire time

If I could have opened my eyes

She was there for my entire life

He doesn't see what I see

Her beauty is inspiring

She’s driving me crazy

Josie my blissful insanity

I’ll never deserve her time

Yet somehow she's becoming mine

The way she looks in my eyes

I’ll never need anything but her in my life

She doesn't know I’m dying

Dying for her to be by my side

I couldn't bear for her to let me go

Hold on to me Josie, don't let me go

I’m trying to deserve her time

And somehow she's becoming mine

The way she looks in my eyes

I’ll need nothing but her in my life

Listen to me Josie

Come back to the canyon

To Italy

Trust me

The cornfields

The back roads

Inside the waterfall

Come with me

I don’t know how I came to deserve her time

Somehow she became mine

When I get lost in her blue eyes

She is all that I need in my life

All of the writing in his notebook and the mumbling to himself was a song. Not just any song but a song for me and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Reagan walks over to the stool and I try to hide the tears in my eyes with my hands. He pulls them away and smiles down at me. I reach my hands up to his cheeks and he leans down to place a lingering kiss on my lips. My mind returns to my body and I snap back to reality. The crowd screams at us and I remember we aren't alone, quite the opposite actually. Blush covers my face and I place a hand over my mouth.

The stage goes dark and we walk down a set of stairs. I’m overwhelmed with adrenaline so I barely hear him as Reagan introduces me to his band mates. After introductions, they give us some space and he turns to me, covered in sweat and looking overjoyed.

“Did you like the song?
”
he asks, eagerness in his eyes.

“I loved the song,
”
I say breathlessly, absorbing the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Really?
”
He looks at me and I realize he’s desperate for my approval.

“I
loved
the song,
”
I say again. “I love the guy who wrote it too.”

“I love the girl I wrote it for,
”
he says, wrapping me in his arms.

It is hot as hell as we all huddle beneath an awning in the backyard, desperately in need of some shade. My dad and Holly insisted we have a barbecue even though it’s over a hundred degrees. I spent all morning setting up bocce ball and cornhole for Paul and Tina but now it’s almost too hot to breathe. Even Chiquita is lounging under a shady bush instead of standing by the grill for table scraps.

Francesca doesn't seem to care as she lounges on the hammock in daisy dukes and a bikini top with CJ, Reagan’s drummer. She’s taken a liking to him ever since they met backstage at the concert. I believe her exact words were, “He’s got to be good in bed, we saw he knows how to hit it.
”
Francesca has always been comfortable sleeping around but I think she’s looking to settle down ever since Reagan and I got together. I don’t have the heart to tell her that CJ isn’t boyfriend material but she’s having fun so I let her enjoy her ignorant bliss for now.

“Josie, can you help me flip the burgers?
”
my dad asks.

“Of course,
”
I say gleefully, walking over to the grill.

“How is everything in New York?
”
he asks.

“Great,
”
I say with a genuine smile.

Reagan relocated to New York and after a few weeks of going back and forth between spending every night together in his hotel room or my new apartment, we decided to move in together. His label loves having him at their beck and call and we get to spend every day together so it’s a win-win. He has basically been living in the recording studio but I’m allowed to stop by whenever I can and the people at the front desk greet me like I’ve been around forever. Plus they have free snacks.

“Any chance you're coming back to the West Coast?
”
my dad asks, trying to be coy.

“Two more years of med school and I’m looking at internships in LA.”

“I suppose I can wait two more years,
”
he says with a smile.

He’s been waiting six years for me to come home, or, at least closer to home. I admitted to Reagan that I wanted to go back to the West Coast after my undergrad but Simon held me back. Ever since, he’s been encouraging me to consider a residency in Arizona but I found a few internships in LA that I figured would be a good compromise.

“Francesca is a hoot,
”
my dad says, gesturing toward the hammock.

“She’s a really good friend.”

“She’s taken care of my little girl more than that douche ever did,
”
my dad mutters.

“Douche?
”
I laugh.

“Reagan is a hundred times the man he ever was.”

I don’t say anything because I can’t disagree with him but I smile that he approves of Reagan so much. Mr. Lewis and my dad have always been friends but my getting together with Reagan has brought them even closer. Now Mr. Lewis has a family, something that he lost so many years ago when his wife passed. Reagan’s grandparents check up on him but Holly has really stepped in to make sure he stays well fed and has people to spend time with.

“Speaking of that man, I’m going to see what he’s up to,
”
I say, flipping the last burger and giving my dad a quick squeeze. Scanning the crowd outside, I realize Reagan is nowhere to be found. As I push through the screen door, a large gust of cold air cools my face. The air conditioning feels like heaven against my bare legs and the nape of my neck. I hear some funny noises coming from the living room and as I turn the corner, I discover Reagan and Paul playing Space Invaders.

“Excuse me but I think that’s mine,
”
I say, leaning against the door frame. Reagan looks up at me with a smirk but Paul appears to have tunnel vision, ignoring me completely. I walk over to couch and slide into Reagan’s lap. He continues clicking on the controller but becomes distracted as I place soft kisses on his neck. Pretty soon he drops the controller and grabs my face, entwining our mouths. Paul shouts an exclamation at his victory and scoffs when he looks over at us kissing.

“Gross,
”
he mutters with a slight laugh before exiting the living room and leaving us alone.

“How are you feeling?
”
I ask, nuzzling my face into Reagan’s chest.

“Great,
”
he answers honestly, taking a deep breath of my hair.

“You’re sure?
”
I ask.

“Yes, Josie,
”
he says with a sigh. “The doctor said there’s a good chance I’m out of the woods. I haven't shown any signs in two weeks and I feel better than I have in months.”

“For now,
”
I mutter, cynicism filling my thoughts.

“Babe, I’ve never been better.”

I smile, despite my negative thoughts, and kiss his cheek. “I worry about you.”

“I know you do, I love you for that, but they caught it early, I’m young, and I’ve got something worth fighting for.
”
His sweet words are enough to make me melt and convince me he will be okay. Every moment with Reagan makes me believe that what we have will stand the test of time. Neither of us knows how long that will be. Reagan’s cancer could get worse at any moment or he could heal for a few years and get sick all over again. He might go on tour and I’m left at med school, or I might get so busy that I don’t have time to spend every day with him.

Life is full of uncertainties, that’s the only thing that is certain. The deep, innate connection we have for each other is something that turns extraordinary challenges into the details that compose the story of our life together. Reagan taught me how to believe in something more than a life full of convenient mediocrity. He taught me to love myself and showed me that no matter what struggles life throws at you, happiness is as close as believing in everything that you are and everything that you can be.