The rest hung long.
While she did this, I didn’t pay attention to what she was doing.
I was alternating between watching Deke grin at me in the mirror and looking at the photo I’d stuck into the side of it, one of the photos from that night months ago at Bubba’s.
The first photo of me and Deke.
The first photo of me with my new family.
The stylist finished up by hitting my cheeks with some dewy peach and doing another swipe of lip gloss before she pulled back, scrutinized me from crown to shoulders and declared, “You’re good.” She straightened and bid, “Kick ass out there.”
“I will,” I assured.
She took off.
I twisted my seat to Deke who was still in the couch.
“So?” I swept up a hand to indicate me.
My outfit consisted of rust-colored short shorts that had a subtle gold glitter to them, but that subtlety would be lost when the lights hit them onstage. Also a lacy cream bra. None of this was seen very well because I was wearing a huge smock that hung down below my shorts with a scalloped hem that was made of a netting of delicate lace. It had a gathered, scooped neckline and scalloped, full sleeves that hit at my elbows. There were cut outs at my shoulders.
I’d accompanied this with lots of dangling necklaces, long hoops in my ears, as well as the studs up the shells, lots of bracelets on my non-strumming wrist, a thick band of Native American beading at that wrist and my beat-up, fawn suede cowboy boots.
“You wanna wear that top anytime, gypsy, without the shorts and bra, feel free,” Deke replied.
Approval.
I felt my mouth curl up, slid off the seat and went to him.
I put one knee in the couch at one of his hips, the other on the other side and settled down, straddling him, my hands to either side of his neck.
“You decide if you’re gonna stay backstage or go to VIP?” I asked quietly.
“VIP, Jussy,” he answered, his eyes lighting. “Don’t wanna miss anything.”
He wanted to watch me perform, be out there where the beauty happened.
I got that.
“Then you best go,” I told him.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can’t mess anything up,” I warned at the look in his eye. “There’s twenty thousand people out there and my lip gloss has to be just right.”
This was less about Deke messing up my hair and makeup and more about him having that look in his eye, me wanting to give into it, which meant the start of a huge, multi-act concert in tribute to my father would be indefinitely delayed.
He shook his head, his eyes still lit, and then ducked it, going in to kiss my throat.
He pulled back, rested his head on the back of the couch and whispered, “Love you, Justice.”
I knew he did. I knew it before he’d nearly died for me.
Now, I knew he did.
“I love you too, Deke.”
“Proud of you, baby.”
My voice was husky when I replied, “Thank you, honey.”
“Like that girl said, kick ass.”
“I will.”
Suddenly, we were both up, Deke surging out of the couch, his hands on my waist lifting me with him.
He put me down on my feet and I bent my head way back to keep his eyes.
He dipped his chin deep into his neck to keep mine.
Then he lifted his hand, forefinger extended, so he could slide the tip of it from the top of my throat along the soft skin under my jaw to the point of my chin.
I drew in breath and held it.
He’d touched me, a lot.
A lot, a lot.
But he’d only ever done that to me once before.
The night we met.
In Wyoming.
He remembered.
Everything.
“Give ’em hell, baby girl,” he said softly. “See you on the other side.”
Baby girl.
He’d called me that only in Wyoming too.
“Yeah, Deke.”
His eyes crinkled, one side of his lips hitched up, and I pivoted as I watched him walk out of the room.
I drew in breath and stared at the door.
Twenty thousand people.
I’d never played to a venue that big.
All of them were there for Heaven’s Gate. Let. The Chokers. Uncle Jimmy. Aunt Tammy. Lacey. And the final act who came in after I’d asked their band leader: Stella and the Blue Moon Gypsies.
All of them were there for my daddy.
A knock came on the door, it opened before I called out and Mav swung in.
“They’re ready for us, Jussy,” he said.
I nodded and walked to him.
He took my hand when I got close.
We wound our way through some serious backstage activity to the side stage.
Dana was standing there.
She turned and smiled at us. Reaching out a hand.
It wasn’t me who moved us forward to take it.
It was Mav.
For several long moments we all did nothing but stand there, linked together, looking at each other, holding on tight.