Bounty (Page 175)

The crowd went crazy.

My dad’s band kicked in behind me.

I shifted my eyes to the right and started to sing that song.

And that song I sang right to Deke. Unlike “Chain Link,” I didn’t take my eyes from him when words flowed through my mouth.

Every word, I gave right to my man.

I didn’t care that twenty thousand people saw. I wanted them to. That’s why I was doing it.

I was proud to share the best way I knew how, through music, the kind of man I had. How much there was of him. How he made less so much more. How he redefined the word “simple” in glorious ways.

Dad’s band rocked it while the darkness in front of me lit with the pinprick lights on cell phones.

And I prayed to God my voice raised to the heavens so my dad would hear each word and truly know just the man who had given me peace.

That said, I knew he was watching over me.

So he already knew.

When the song was over, I pulled my guitar from around my neck and walked sure-footed to the side of the stage. You know, just in case some in the upper decks missed it.

I got down on my knees, put my guitar on its back to the stage and bent way forward.

Because Deke was right there.

His head tipped back, his hand slid into my hair, and I kissed him, long, hard and wet.

I knew pictures were taken. That would never stop.

Even with his long hospitalization and recovery, Deke did not escape the fame his actions settled on his broad shoulders. Mr. T gave his most valiant effort, but with what Deke did, the way Deke looked, the perfection that was him and me, to that day, they still hounded us.

Deke took to fame a lot better than me.

It happened.

And at my side, he just kept being Deke.

When our kiss ended, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

But me and Deke, we just touched noses.

I looked into his eyes and whispered, “Bounty.”

His teeth caught his lower lip and his hand in my hair spasmed.

I pulled away, got up and sauntered with guitar back to the mic.

“Time for Lacey,” I told the crowd, lifted my guitar and felt the wave of love hit me. “Thanks for spending time with me. And more.” I put my hand to my chest. “Thanks for being here for my dad.”

More love blasted over me as, lifting a hand in a wave, carrying my guitar with me, I walked off the stage followed by my dad’s band.

* * * * *

Justice Lonesome with her father’s band doing a rendition of “Simple Man” wouldn’t be the video that Mr. T’s people uploaded from that night on YouTube that got the most hits.

No.

Because the best was yet to come.

* * * * *

I stood backstage, touched up and ready to join everyone else at the end of the concert when we’d all jam to Dad’s “Never Missin’ Home.”

But I was watching with some confusion as the setup for Stella’s set included the stage lights going purple and the stagehands setting up eleven microphone stands up front.

I felt someone join me and looked right to see Joss slide in there.

She never liked to miss anything either so she’d been in VIP.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” I asked.

She just gave me a look I felt in my belly and around the rims of my heart.

She took my hand just as more fingers slid around my other one.

I looked left and saw Dana.

Oh shit.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my body bracing.

Dana turned her head toward the stage.

I looked that way too.

The stagehands were gone.

And filing in solemnly were Perry, Terrence, Lacey, Rod, Uncle Jimmy, Aunt Tammy, Stella, and her band, Hugo, Pong, Buzz and Leo.

They each took a microphone.

The crowd seemed to sense something was happening. The buzz was low and attentive, when, even after this array of artists took the stage, it stayed purple.

“Bear with us, folks, we’ve had a request,” Stella said into the microphone. “There’s a man who wants us to sing a song to his gypsy.”

My vision instantly went watery, but my eyes shot to the right, where I could see the front of the VIP seating.

Deke was already looking at me.

That was when the humming started, like a funeral dirge, somber in its beauty.

And the punctuated clapping.

A low, perfect harmony.

My gaze cut back to the stage.

And beats after it did, a cappella, Rod started singing Hozier’s “Work Song.”

My knees got weak.

Dana and Joss held me up, their hands in mine tightening, their bodies shifting into my sides like they felt it happening.

As for me, I felt. A lot. Too much. Such beauty, making my skin seem too thin to contain it, hold it in. My heart working hard in the effort to draw it deep inside me, absorb it, keep it forever there, filling me. All this as the fat drops of wet slipped from my eyes, gliding down my cheeks and I saw Rod turn his head and sing his words to his wife.

So beautiful.

I loved my mom had that from Roddy.

But still.

Those words were for me.

Those that didn’t have hands raised, cell phones up, dotting the sea of dark faces with thousands of slowly swaying stars started to add to the slow clap as well as giving stomps of their feet. Thousands of hands striking and feet landing, the noise reverberating through the arena, each one thumped against my flesh, beating the emotion I was feeling right to the pit of my heart where I’d always hold it.

Always.

I looked again right, catching Krystal grinning so huge at me, it was like her smile was a flash of a cell phone.

But I only spared her a glance in my search for Deke.

He was still watching me.

Perry sang. And Terrence. And Hugo. And Buzz.