Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton
I’m pulling a hesitant Nora through a side entrance when she stops in her tracks. She tucks a brunette piece of hair behind her ear as she takes in our surroundings.
“Nash, why is no one else here?”
The hallway we stand in is desolate. All the concession stands are closed, their menus dark and hard to read. During a basketball game or concert, this area would be completely packed. Not that I ever visit up here anyway. I’m always locked away in my dressing room until the last minute when performing anywhere. But I can imagine this place as bustling when the arena is hosting an event.
It just so happens that tonight, there’s no event.
“No one else is here because I rented it.”
Her Adidas stay planted on the floor as she looks at me with a skeptical look on her face. “You rented it?” The words come out slowly, her eyes still roaming over the empty booths and abandoned area.
I grab her by the wrist once again, continuing my walk to the court and pulling her with me. “Yep,” I say matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t hurt to have connections. Arenas, stadiums, theaters, they’re all fucking epic when full of fans screaming your name, but there’s something about them when they’re empty that’s special too.”
We walk through one of the entrances, coming close to the empty court. I let go of her wrist, walking until I reach the center. From my vantage point, I can see every movement she makes as she looks at the arena, her mouth hanging open.
Bending at the waist, her hands come up to cup her mouth. “Oh my god, Nash. This is incredible.”
The look on her face is intoxicating. It’s pure joy—astonishment. I want to write a song about it.
It’s thrilling to see the world through her eyes. To me, an arena is just another place I’ve sold out. But the look on her face? She still feels the magic from it, even when it’s empty. She waltzes over to the sideline, running her hand over the folding chair.
I don’t move, too busy watching her take in every detail while I take in everything about her. It’s allowing me the chance to remember every single thing about this moment. I’ve always had a photographic memory; it’s helped me immensely as a musician. And the next time I take my fame for granted, the next time I can’t hear myself think because there’s fifty-thousand people screaming my name and I get frustrated because I’m off-key, I’ll remember this moment.
Nora’s wearing a simple pair of jeans. I don’t know if they’re designer or thrift store or what the hell the brand is, but they fit every curve of her perfectly. She’s lean and petite, but the muscles in her calves are noticeable even through the dark fabric. Her tank top hugs her figure just as much as the jeans do. It’s a light color; I guess you would call it pink. It reminds me of the color of the ballet shoes I saw sticking out of her bag the first day I met her.
It’s weird, this intense feeling of wanting to get to know her. I want to know how she got into dancing to begin with. I want to know her favorite color. I want to know her first impression of me.
On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know that.
I have this odd need to know what she thinks about the music I write. Does she think I’m a sellout? Does she hear my lyrics and find them as lackluster as I do? I want to know all these things about her when I barely know her at all.
I guess what I want is a friend. A friend that isn’t obsessed with the spotlight. A friend that will dish it to me straight. A friend that looks at the world I live in with awe.
I need to surround myself with someone who doesn’t see the music industry as their own personal hell. I need to fall in love with music again. I need to look at this world through her eyes.
I just really need her. And I’m hoping she won’t just brush me away when the allure of hanging out with someone famous wears off.
The truth is, my sanity is hanging on by a very small, thin thread. I hate myself most days. I hate the music I’ve put out recently even more. I just don’t know who I am. I know who my team wants me to be, who the public thinks I am, but I don’t really know myself anymore. The only things I know are the things I despise about myself.
I need someone like Nora to come into my life and show me the good side of this career—the good side of me.
“What are you thinking about?” She stops directly in front of me. When her eyes meet mine, she has the sweetest smile on her face. It’s so genuine that it makes my pulse spike.
I’m so used to the fake smiles in this industry, but hers is anything but. I believe if I get enough of those aimed my way, my soul might slowly start to stitch itself back together. “I was thinking that it’s refreshing to see your reaction to things.”
She stuffs her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Why is that?”
I pick up the basketball resting close to our feet. As I begin to dribble it, I think about how I want to answer her question. The thumping noise of the basketball echoes around us.
It’s still going thump, thump, thump when I answer. “I’ve been in this business for years. It’s actually hard for me to remember what being a normal guy is like.”
I take a step, dribbling the ball closer to her. She quickly reaches out, trying to take the ball from me, but I was expecting her reaction.
She doesn’t get the ball, and I continue to walk and dribble a circle around her while continuing to answer her question. “The people that I’m always surrounded with, they’re in this business just as much as I am. Their faces might not be planted on billboards and magazines like mine is, but they’re in it all the same.”
I dribble the ball behind her, watching as her long hair falls down her back with her movement. “Because I’m always around people that are famous, I don’t really feel the excitement of the industry anymore. It feels like a job, a job some days I don’t like. And the people around me feel the same. But with you…”
Stepping back, I jog and dribble until I’m close enough to toss the ball into the net. The ball swishes through it easily. It bounces on the floor, each bounce getting smaller and smaller.
“But with me?” Nora asks, still standing at center-court, a thoughtful look on her face.
I stand under the basket, looking right at her, far away from her but still feeling incredibly close to her. “But with you, you’re excited about everything that has to do with this.” My finger reaches up and turns in the air, referring to the ability to rent out arenas—to the fame.
She takes small steps forward until she reaches the now resting basketball. Lifting it up, she begins to dribble it herself. “I’m from a small town. All of this,” she gestures to the empty arena we stand in, “is exciting to me.”
She dribbles closer to me, repeating my movements from earlier, circling me with a smile on her face.
“I need someone to show me the excitement for all this again. Because honestly? I don’t see it anymore.” It’s the most honest and raw thing I’ve said in a while, and because of that, my heart is pounding in my chest. I’m usually only vulnerable in the words I write, not in the words I speak in conversation.
Nora pauses, swiftly stepping back and clutching it against her stomach. Her cheeks have gotten pinker since we first showed up, but whether they’re flushing from the dribbling or excitement, I’m unsure.
“Have you ever thought that maybe it’s not something you need to see again? Maybe it’s something you need to feel,” she says.
Sighing, I thread my fingers behind my head. “It’s hard to even feel any kind of excitement like I used to. I sound like a dick saying it because I want to be my best for my fans. I want to feel it for them. But it’s hard when everything feels the same. Same routine. Same pop songs. It’s all the same and it’s hard to feel anything for any of it anymore.”
“I’m going to make you feel again, Nash Pierce. I’m going to make you feel it all.” The words coming out of her mouth sound so sure. I’m happy she feels confident about it, because I’m a bit more hesitant.
I want to believe her. I need to believe her to keep my shit together. Because without this hope, I’m going to be headlining the tabloids for something awful, and I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to hit rock bottom.
Deep down, I can’t help but think: what if I’ve already jumped and it’s bound to happen no matter what or who comes into my life?
“That’s a pretty lofty goal,” I respond, stepping closer to her. We stand close enough that both of our bodies press against the basketball.
She has to crane her neck to look up at me, but she looks at me as if she meant every word she’s uttered. “I’ve always been told I’m stubborn. When I put my mind to something, I won’t stop until I get it done. You’re my next mission, Nash. By the end of this tour, you’re going to be so jazzed about what you do that you’ll have no choice but to thank me when you win your next Grammy.” She tosses the ball over her shoulder, no longer holding a barrier in place between us.
Alarms are going off in my head again, I shouldn’t step closer to her. I don’t want to make a move on her, so maybe I can have at least one normal friend. But damn, she’s so fucking beautiful I just want to kiss her. I want to create a melody with our mouths. I want to thread my fingers in her hair and write a song about the way it feels. Shit, I want to do so many things.
Before I can wrap my mind around what I want to do or if I’ll do it, she chooses for me. Nora catapults her body into mine, her arms snaking around my neck. She has to stand on her tiptoes to even make the position work, and for a moment my hands are stuck next to me as I process what in the hell she’s doing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my arms still hanging at my side like limp noodles.
Her breath is hot against my chest when she speaks. “I’m giving you a hug. My mom always told me and my sister there wasn’t anything a hug couldn’t fix.” She tightens her hold around my neck even tighter.
I follow her lead, wrapping my arms around her middle, making sure they don’t drift into dangerous territory. “I’m not sure a hug will fix me, Rose.”
She laughs, pressing her cheek against my chest. “It’s worth a try.”
I pull her in a little closer, letting the feel sink in of someone touching me without expecting more. I have no clue when the last time was that I simply hugged someone. I know it’s been a while.
Sometimes fans will want a hug at a meet-and-greet, or even when they run into me on the street. But it’s never a hug like this. This isn’t just a hug, it’s an embrace. It feels different. And it feels good. She wraps her arms so tightly around me it seems like she’s trying to keep me together by the iron grip of her arms.
We stand there for a few more moments before I feel her arms around my neck begin to loosen. Stepping away, she looks up at me with a gleam in her eye. “Want to play horse?”
I laugh, wondering where in the hell that question came from. “Sure?” I say hesitantly.
She skips over to the discarded basketball, picking it up and impressively balancing it and twirling it with her index finger. “Great, but we’re going to make it interesting. Every time you miss, you have to tell me a completely random fact about yourself.”
My arms cross over my chest. “Is that so?”
“Yep. It has to be so random, like something cheesy or silly or something. Deal?”
“How do I know you won’t sell my random facts to the highest bidder?”
She dribbles the ball as she walks over to take her starting place for the game. “I wouldn’t dare. C’mon.”
I decide I’ve already confided enough in her that she could make the cover story of any gossip magazine if she wanted, so this childish game couldn’t do any more damage.
I step behind her, waiting for her to decide on the spot she wants to shoot from.
And then, I hope this is just the first step in feeling again.