3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Willow

I bet this is what flying feels like. I practically float back to my dressing room, no longer heavily guarded to keep my identity a secret. Since the secret was so critical, I was heavily encouraged to use security provided by the venue and not my own.

I knew my parents wouldn't like it. Or Dexter. Ah, I need to call Dexter . My stomach flips when I think of him. Lately, I've been contemplating big picture things. Like, marriage things. Dexter hasn't proposed but there have been so many moments where I felt like he might, and like I would say yes.

I thought about letting him in on the secret, but ultimately decided against it. I wanted it to be a surprise. My brain goes back to one of our earliest dates...

"What's one venue you'd give anything to play?" Dexter asks, taking a sip of his coffee. We're hanging out at a studio I'm recording in later today. "Like, a limb. You'd give a limb."

"That's easy. The Super Bowl."

"Interesting. Not really a venue though." He winks and sets his mug down.

"Fine, wherever the Super Bowl is the year they ask me to play it." I feel silly saying it like this but it's something Claire and I have been working on. She's on a manifestation kick. We have affirmations, mood boards, and are trying to speak things into existence .

"When they ask you, huh?" He smirks in a way that brings me to my knees. "Confident. I like it."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that the confidence was just a fluke. No matter how many albums I sell or tours I go on, I still feel like a fraud.

"I can't wait for the day you get to make that dream come true." He sweetly reaches and grabs a hold of my hand on top of the table.

I can't wait to remind him of that day. Clutching my phone to my chest, I spin in my dressing room. It buzzes with notifications from what looks like every friend and family member reaching out about my performance. A smile spreads even further across my face. I wish I could grab hold of this feeling and bottle it to keep forever.

I dial Dexter's number, not bothering to look and see if he reached out.

"Will—" He says my nickname like I'm being scolded. "Have you lost your mind?" Dexter's voice is rough and hurried. It immediately brings me down a notch.

"Got you! Wasn't it awesome?" I skip right over the agitation.

"I mean, yeah, but it's awfully reckless. How could you not tell me? Do you at least have your security team with you?" Concern drips from his words, but it's not enough to lessen my annoyance. This isn't what I expected.

"Dex. Come on. Are you really going to give me a single 'yeah'? I pulled off one of the most prolific halftime shows ever, and I was able to do it with practically no one knowing. The crowd was wild. I loved it."

"Willow, you know you're good at this. You just heard 70,000 people tell you that. You don't need me to." He sounds like he's trying to be compassionate, but it falls flat. So incredibly flat. "Your security team. Who is with you? "

Where's the guy who praised me for confidence? Who acted like this is something I could accomplish? Who wanted to cheer me on?

"Actually, it's a team provided by the NFL. Don't worry. Everything is fine."

"I bet that place is crawling with paparazzi and crazy fans. How are you going to get out of there?!"

To be honest, I knew this would be a difficult piece of the logistical puzzle. But, in all honesty, this isn't unusual. I wanted to play the halftime show, and I wanted it to be a secret. I figured I'd deal with this later.

"I'm not even in the same state as you. I can't help," Dexter says. My brain is still trying to think of the next steps.

"Dex. Take a breath. I'm sure I'll be able to get out of here safely. Everything's going to be fine. My plane leaves tomorrow morning. I'll be home for lunch," I say, hoping that if I focus on the future and what happens after I figure out the issue at hand, he'll relax.

Dexter exhales into the phone.

"You're right. It was very surprising," he says. I can hear the smallest trace of a smile. I know I've won him over, even just enough for him to loosen the reins. He's not always this overly protective but he does worry about my safety. Usually, it's something I love about him.

Dexter never entertains the paparazzi or anything of the sort. It's a rare occurrence for people to see us out together. Fans know we're still a couple—three years and counting—mostly because of my publicist.

He'll do almost anything to stay out of the public eye except when it's band related. Dexter is in an indie band that never entertained signing with a label. They tour every year but we're talking ten to fifteen dates. The venues are small and are usually filled with die-hard fans or someone who thought a $20 cover would be worth something to do .

I've never told him but sometimes I'm jealous. I'd love it if I could play smaller venues and do things like invite fans on stage to sing with me. My label, and security team, would never go for it.

"Let me know when you get back to your hotel. Wherever you're staying," Dexter says, getting in his jab at me for being left out.

"You got it. I'm just going to do a quick visit with the winning team, congratulate them, and then be on my way. I'll text you."

"Love." Dexter says our parting greeting. I'm not sure how it started but it's our thing.

"Love." I end the call and put my phone face down on the vanity.

It stings that he didn't recognize I just made one of my dreams come true. Something people only wish they could do.

"How did that go?" Claire asks while fixing her hair in my mirror. She looks like she walked right out of a corporate meeting in an onyx Valentino pantsuit.

"He's worried, that's all." I know I'm minimizing his reaction. How much it hurt. How I'm holding back tears.

"Oh, the sting of fragile masculinity," Claire says, wearing a saccharine grin.

Instead of spiraling about Dex's reaction, or having Claire launch into a rant, I reach for the blank thank-you cards—including matching ‘W' stickers to seal the envelopes—on the vanity. I grab my favorite pen, one that will not smear as I write left-handed, and take a deep breath. This is one of my favorite parts about my performance routine.

I make it a point to write out a few thank-you notes at each venue or event, and hand them out before I leave. It started when I played at a small local coffee shop with one of my friends playing guitar. A young fan gave me the note on my way out, and it's something that has stuck with me. For ten years.

There's just something special about a handwritten thank-you note .

While there's nothing I can do about Dex right now, I can express my gratitude and hopefully make someone smile.