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I exchanged a look with Delia, clutching my resolve. Getting into a shouting match with Cassidy would do more harm than good.
“Still think going on The Tea is a good idea?” I quipped.
Delia didn’t even crack a grin.
~
All things considered, I should have been pumped about the impending shitshow. Wasn’t getting booed by a live studio audience from the moment my foot touched the stage on my bucket list? Right up there with getting my toe nails ripped off by a pair of pliers? Or being stripped naked and dumped in a busy intersection?
I was laid bare for the world to throw rotten food at, or at least disgusted glares as they snapped pictures of the biggest jerk alive.
When the PA guiding Delia and I gave me a sympathetic thumbs up, then turned to my assistant, dread peppered my gut. The kid didn’t look a day over eighteen, but he wielded the clipboard and walkie like a man who got shit done. Unfortunately, the next thing on his to-do list was to take away the one person who didn’t want to crucify me.
“Miss? Right this way—we have a seat in the front row for you.”
Delia hovered beside me, the concern flickering in his eyes telling me that even though I was facing the firing squad, I wasn’t alone.
“He’s cute but an ugly attitude equals asshole!” The adamant screech came from one of the quieter sections, but from the high fives that went around, there was no such thing as a quiet section.
I would get no mercy.
I fought the urge to give the woman a wave, picturing the actual object that would likely fly in my direction. These women and men in the audience were just going off what they knew, and as far as they were concerned, I’d led at least one woman on, probably two.
I gave Delia a nod and a tight grin that she didn’t return, but she got the message and murmured for me to break a leg.
“Jokes about breaking bones when the crowd looks ready to go is ill advised.” I tried to sound lighthearted. Instead, it came out like a struggling comic in front of a heckling crowd—and they could smell blood in the water.
The PA’s pasty face darkened, his hearty sigh lifting and dropping his shoulders when Delia wheeled back to face me. He was to her right, but she didn’t look him dead on, she just flicked her eyes in his direction. He shrank a few inches and went off to hurry someone less lethal along.
Standing there, about to get my ass handed to me, looking out into a sea of angry faces with the only friendly one about to leave me to face the music, I realized how lucky I was.
“It’s not too late to join them,” I told her with a sad smile. “On some level, I deserve all of this.”
She gave me a long, soulful look. “No one deserves to have people boo at them Jason.” She arched an eyebrow. “Even you.”
I twisted my mouth to the side. “Thanks...I think.”
She cracked a smirk. “It’s easy to hate someone you don’t know,” she shared, starting toward the front now. “Let them know you.”
I fiddled with my mic, marinating on that as I headed to the couch, center stage. One of the producers was explaining the process to the audience and getting the crowd hyped. I leaned back into the cushions and let my mind drift to the end goal. Telling my piece.They could believe it or not. Write it off as a marketing ploy. I wouldn’t blame them.
But there was one thing they couldn’t take from me.
I brought my phone back to life and went back to the message thread. Back to Natalee. Her picture made the nerves in my stomach morph from something overwhelming to a whisper.
The picture was one I’d snapped last night. I’d offered to pay for a cleaning service, suggesting we focus on how many times I could make her melt in my mouth before she literally could take no more. Her eyes had sparkled with delight, then went quiet. She took my face in her hands and whispered that she didn’t need me to solve her problems with my wallet. Before I could ask what she needed, she’d brandished an empty trash bag. We cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and when we were done, we curled up on her bed. She dozed off with her head nestled in the crook of my arm. With ninja-like skill, barely moving so I wouldn’t wake her, I snapped a picture of her.
The picture that made me take a deep breath and batten down the hatches.
The woman who’d seen the worst of me; the jerk, the asshole, and still gave me another chance.
There was always hope.
Always a chance for redemption. You just had to fight for-
My internal pep talk was drowned out when the crowd erupted in applause. I expected to see the spunky, technicolor haired host, Veronica Small. Instead, I was joined on stage by the woman of the hour. The woman who’d only seen the worst of me. A woman who was a far cry from the brooding rebellious teenager I knew.
Cassidy played the crowd like a fiddle, her fingers expertly wielding the bow. I didn’t know a lot about fashion, but from the way she glided to the staging area before the crowd (and the way she dusted herself off after our collision) I knew that her ensemble likely cost more than most of the women who were cheering her on could ever hope to afford.
