“You guys are awesome. Please, make sure you tip your waiters and waitresses—especially that sassy one with the short brown hair. I owe her a shitload of favors, so you’d be helping me out,” Mason says, pointing and winking at Claire. She just takes a bow and blows him a kiss; I start to laugh. “All right, so one more song and then I’m going to pass this mic on over to the next guy.”
He heads to the back of the stage, and I watch him flip open his guitar case, pulling a different guitar out and putting his away. When I realize what he’s holding, I can’t help the tears that drench my face. “Ray Abbot was the father I never had,” he says, the entire room getting quiet now. “Ray gave me a lot of things—he gave me his guitar,” he says, holding it up and waiting through a few whistles and applause.
“He gave me confidence when I had none,” he continues. “He gave me advice, even when I thought I knew everything and clearly didn’t. But there’s one thing he gave me—one thing—that freakin’ blows all that other stuff away.”
I’m holding my breath, sitting on my hands and staring at Mason stand up there and take charge of this room. He looks down for a second, kicking his right foot against the base of the mic stand, sucking in his bottom lip, and then he looks at me. “Ray Abbot gave me his blessing to love his daughter. And he told me to be patient. Avery, he said, is careful.”
He smiles at me, his dimples deep, and his eyes focused on my every breath. “I love that Avery is careful,” he says, situating his guitar around his neck and pulling the mic a little closer. “I love that she puts everyone else first. I love that she fights for her son. I love her son. And I love how she believes in me—even when I don’t deserve it. But mostly, I just love Avery Abbot.”
The tears are falling uncontrollably now, and I blot my eyes with the corners of my sleeve, knowing everyone’s attention is on me again.
“I grew up at Dusty’s. I know this place by heart. And I know there are a lot of things in your life that you’re putting on hold,” he says, looking right at me now, speaking to me and only me. “I’m thinking I might just make a good manager, run things around here—just for a while. And I know you’re going to tell me I don’t have to, and that I should go tour and live my dream, blah blah blah. But the thing is, Ave? You’re sorta my dream. And being here—taking care of this place? I kind of don’t think it gets any better than that. So, what I’m asking you is that you let me put you first—just this once. Whatdaya say?”
Mason is holding the mic in his hand, waiting, along with a thousand other people, for me to just take his offer—to give over some of the weight I carry, share the load with him. He wants me to choose me, and I’m frozen, my stomach weighted with the guilt that comes along with letting others into my life. What started as cheering is turning into light chatter and eventually whispering, and I’m looking side to side, waiting for someone to make my decision for me.
Then Mason starts to play. He’s strumming slowly—his hands on my dad’s guitar, the music conjuring every single memory I have in my heart. He plays “Tenderness,” and he doesn’t sing at first, but rather just plays the song, solo, on Ray Abbot’s guitar. By the time he makes it through the song once, my eyes are puffy from crying, and Barb and Claire aren’t far behind me. He moves closer to the mic the second time through, and pauses for a few seconds—long enough for a few women to scream out for him, and for me to break through the damn barrier inside my chest—and then he flashes me his smile, and sings about my grief and making it easier to bear.
He looks right at me when he hits the chorus; I shrug my shoulders, giving in completely. I look at Max, his face intent on the screen of my phone—he’s still filming, even though I’m pretty sure his timer has run out by now. When I look back at Mason, he’s started to climb down the steps of the stage, still playing the song, but getting closer to me. He lets the guitar rest over his shoulder finally, and Matt takes over the lead, keeping the song going.
I cry harder with every step he takes in my direction, but when he kneels in front of me, pulling my hands to his mouth and kissing them, then placing the small ring in my hand, I start to shake. I can’t breathe, and my entire body is numb—the sound of the guitar in the distant background is coming in waves, and the room behind Mason is starting to sway out of focus. He can see the panic on my face, I know he can, but he holds strong, lifting my chin back up to face him and moving his hands to both sides of my face. He comes even closer to me, pulling my forehead against his, pulling me up to a stand in front of him, and my eyes shut while I force myself to drown out the noise in my head.