The Way Back Home (20 page)

“Is the ‘Make Her Mine' girl your girlfriend now?” Biza asks.

“Is that song about Bird?” Sasha asks on her heels.

Adam looks at me as if he doesn't know how to answer, and I guess, truthfully, he doesn't. We had the DTR between ourselves, but we haven't talked about whether we should come out publicly as a couple. I'm sure our publicists will want some say in the matter, and after the rough patch we just went through, I'm not sure I can trust the media with the most special part of my life.

“I hate to be the party crasher,” Troy says, coming over to save the day, “but our time is up. Thank you so much for spending a little extra time with us backstage, and we hope you've had an evening you'll never forget.”

“Why don't y'all let Adam sign some autographs and take some pictures before we head back out on the road,” I say, turning to the fans. The meet up really went by fast, and I hate the look of disappointment on their faces, but they are gracious as they pass us CDs, T-shirts, and posters. Biza is smart enough to linger in the back so that she's the last fan in the room, a strategic move I always admire in my most enthusiastic fans.

“Will you please sign my fiddle?” she asks, suddenly timid.

“I'd love to,” I say, scrawling my name across the side with a black Sharpie.

“And can we take one more picture?”

“Of course,” I say.

Biza's mom holds the camera up dutifully, but her daughter stops her.

“Mom, let Adam take it,” she demands. “Yours are always blurry.”

I try not to laugh as her mother shakes her head and passes the camera to a very amused Adam. I put my arm around the girl and smile, but then she points at her mom again and says, “And don't post it before me. It goes on my Instagram at least twenty-four hours before you can blog about it, deal?” Her mother nods, both exasperated and a little embarrassed to be put on blast like that.

But as Adam lines up the shot and Biza and I lean our heads together, smiling into the lens, it hits me that while my fans got to meet Bird Barrett in person tonight, the guy behind the camera knows the real me.

And hopefully loves me anyway.

“B
IRD,
I
AM
so sorry I can't be with you right now in New York,” my publicist says a few days later over FaceTime.

“Don't sweat it,” I say. “What's up?”

Troy, my mom, and I have just landed in the city and have a full day of promotion to do, post-Grammy nomination, before flying back to meet the tour in Duluth. We all know this will be a strenuous couple of months, balancing the tour with Grammy press and appearances, but I was nominated in
four
categories, so I've got some extra motivation. Troy is my lifesaver. He asked me to shoot him straight about what I really think I can handle. As opportunities arise, we're going to honestly weigh what their payoff will be versus the risk I take of pushing myself too hard again.

Anita picks up a bunch of large envelopes and holds them to the screen. “These are your invitations to the Clive Davis pre-Grammy party as well as numerous after parties. You and Troy need to start thinking about which of these you'll accept, if you want to perform at any, and how you envision your performance at the awards show itself. I want you to start brainstorming over the next few weeks so that when you're here during Christmas break, the entire Open Highway team can come together and create something extraordinary.” She looks so smug as she says, “I want to show the world why Bird Barrett deserves Album of the Year.”

“Every time I think about it, I get goose bumps,” I say.

“And you need to think about your date,” she goes on. Before I even reply she holds up a hand and says, “I know, I know. The Grammys aren't until February, but the paparazzi have snagged some good pot-stirring shots of you and Adam, and I think it's something you need to consider. Do you want to come out publicly as a couple? Are you ready for that?”

I look over at my mom, who raises her shoulders and shakes her head. Clearly this is a personal decision, and I don't get to make many of those, so I ask Anita if I can think about it.

“Please do,” she says. “And ask Adam what he thinks. I'm sure his publicist will have some thoughts as well, but if it were me running this show, I think attending the Grammys together on Valentine's weekend would be the perfect way to let the world know that you're walking the red carpet with your special someone.”

“Oh my gosh,” I breathe.

I look at my mom, and she smiles. “It does seem kind of perfect, like your Cinderella moment.”

“You'd think I'd have reached my life's quota on those,” I say.

Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It also gives you a couple more months to keep things to yourselves, which I know has been important to you.”

I consider it as our plane taxis to the gate, picturing the whole thing. It really does seem perfect, and it would be amazing to take Adam to his first Grammys. I can just see his expression as he sits in an arena full of music icons and legends. And if I win one, he would be the first person I'd want to share it with anyway.

“I like it,” I tell Anita as Troy unbuckles his seat belt and stands up. “We've got to go, but I'll talk to Adam and let you know.”

I can't imagine that he would turn down the chance to go to the Grammys, but I don't know how he feels about taking our relationship public. After this conversation with my team, I really do feel like a fairy-tale princess on her way to a ball. Now to snag my prince…

“How is this happening right now?” Adam asks as he takes another shot from the free-throw line at the Smoothie King Center in New Orleans.

I rebound for him, bouncing the ball back his way. I'm just relieved to see him in a good mood. When we landed in Duluth, I was all set to tell Adam about Anita's plan. I figured he wouldn't need much convincing, but I had my whole spiel ready about how important he is to me and how I'm ready to take things to the next level, aka let the public know about us. I ran right over to his bus when we got back, but when his drummer opened the door for me, I immediately felt the tension. His band was fighting. One guy was threatening to quit the tour, and Adam looked completely helpless. Probably not the best time to talk about “us.”

“I'll come back,” I told him.

But it seems like our schedules haven't been lining up at all lately, with me flying off for press appearances about the Grammy nominations and him ducking out for local interviews or to record here and there. His label really wants to take advantage of the momentum he's gaining by being on my tour, so they've booked him in studios at a few stops so he can record on his days off or in his early-morning free time. It doesn't seem like the best idea to me, but Adam's still in that hungry stage. He wants so desperately to be successful.

I want that for him, too.

But still, I miss him.

We play here tomorrow night, and since we're both off today I asked Marco to pull some strings to get us court access. Adam and I have floor seats tonight for the Pelicans game, and we get to meet the team afterward, but right now, we're shooting hoops on the regulation floor. We only have about twenty minutes, but it's been enough to send him over the moon… and to put me at the top of the list of greatest girlfriends of all time.

“I just sank an NBA three-pointer on an actual NBA court!” he calls, his hands in the air. “Somebody pinch me.”

“I think it's safe to say that this is what heaven looks like for guys,” I remark.

“I think you're right,” he replies with a silly grin. He grabs the ball and runs toward the basket, laying it in effortlessly. “Want to play around the world?”

I rebound and put the ball on my hip. “Sounds like the perfect game for a couple on tour,” I say. “How do you play?”

He takes the ball from me and banks in a shot from the hash mark under the goal. “Usually you play around the three-point line, but we can play around the paint so it's a little easier, okay? We'll shoot from each of these little lines.”

I look up at the basket. “Okay.”

He steps to the line next to me and sinks that shot, too. I rebound, bounce passing the ball to him, and he moves to the next spot. “You're good,” I say when I watch him make yet another basket.

“You sound surprised,” he says, mock hurt.

“No, I just—I'm not a very good athlete.”

He finally misses and chases down his own rebound.

“Yeah, but you're tall,” he says. “Look how close your first shot is.”

I stand on the white box to the right of the basket, and when I miss, he gives me another chance. When I miss that one, he walks around and helps me with my form. When I miss that one, he laughs and gives up, dribbling the ball back to his spot. Soon we fall into a fun groove: him making shots and moving easily around the world and me staying put at the first position while he laughs harder at my every attempt.

“Bank it, Bird,” he finally says, grinning as he shows me how to bounce it off the box on the glass.

I throw another miserable attempt, and he nearly cries from laughing so hard. “You may break a world record soon,” he chokes out. “Good thing you don't play for the Pelicans.”

I laugh, too, and even if the jokes are on me, it's nice having Adam to myself again. He is now on his way back to the start, getting closer to where I've stayed put, when he looks at me with wonder and says, “You know, it's crazy enough playing this arena the way we do, but can you imagine what it's like for these guys? At least we're up on a stage. They're right in the belly of the beast, in a fishbowl, living and dying with each free throw.” As he says that, he misses his. “And the opposing team cheers.”

“Hooray!” I tease as I grab the ball. “Okay,” I say, focusing on the rim. “This is my moment.”

He stands right in front of me. “Take your shot, Bird.”

“You're standing too close,” I complain. “I'm afraid I'm going to hit you.”

Adam moves behind me, and whispers in my ear, “Is this better?”

“No!” I squeal, pushing him back. I take my shot and miss, then rush him. “Cheater!”

“Oh yeah, like you would've made it if it weren't for me.” He laughs and when I catch up to him, he throws both arms around me. “You know, it's been too long since I kissed you.”

He does, briefly, and I notice that we both glance around to see if anyone is watching.
I know what he means about those guys in a fishbowl.

“Adam?” I ask, attempting nonchalance as he loosens his hold on me. “Have you given any thought to all the tabloid speculation and stuff about us?”

He shrugs. “Not really. They ask me about you in interviews and stuff, but I tell them you're an important person in my life and personal stuff is off-limits. I just say I'd rather talk about music.”

I nod, following him as he goes for the ball. “Yeah, that's kind of what I've been doing, too.”

He makes another shot and asks, “Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” I say quickly. “No, no, no. Nothing like that.”

“But something's on your mind,” he says. An employee approaches us and lets us know that our time on the court is up. We give the ball back and thank him profusely, then leisurely walk toward the exit, neither of us saying anything.

Finally, I start up again. “It's just that I was thinking about the Grammys.”

“Oh!” he says, looking over at me with fake surprise. “Are you going to that?”

I laugh and swat his arm.

“Bird, I know all that stuff is pretty carefully orchestrated. You don't have to worry about me. My feelings won't be hurt if I'm not your date.”

“What?”

“Who's the lucky guy?” he asks. “Your brothers said they had a great time last year, but I know you've been missing your dad a lot, too.”

“Well,” I say, stopping in the tunnel, “Anita thinks I should take you.”

He looks stunned. “Really?”

I nod.

He cocks his head, looking at me like there's a catch. “So Anita wants me to go, or you want me to go?”

“I'd love it if you went with me,” I reply honestly. “I just want you to know that it'd be more than a regular date.” I gulp. “The show's on Valentine's weekend this year. We'd be coming out, like, publicly. As a couple.”

“Wait a minute,” Adam says, a huge smile across his face. “So somebody's going to pay for me go on a romantic Valentine's Day date in Los Angeles, where I'll get to meet all my music heroes and cheer on my smoking-hot girlfriend?”

I grin and nod.

He walks toward me and kisses me, leading us backward until I'm leaning against the wall of the tunnel with his hands on either side of my head. When he pulls away, his eyes are twinkling. “Yeah, I think I'm in.”

I beam at him.

“But full disclosure?” he says, trailing little kisses around my ear. “I'm irresistible in a tuxedo.”

I clutch his shirt, bringing his mouth to mine again.

I don't doubt it.