He stared at the set list in front of him, feeling more aware than he ever had been, not of the songs on the list, but of the songs not on it. One in particular was wearing on his mind. It was his favorite song, and his fingers were practically itching to play the chords, to feel the song he had written for her, to feel her name wrung from his lips as he ran out of breath at the end of the line, as though it was his last. But he couldn't bring himself to sing it, in case she was watching. She didn't need to be reminded of what had come to pass between them, and besides, she wasn't the only one watching. Adrienne would hear too, and Billie was sure that if his wife were to look at him, only for a moment, as he played the dreaded song, she would know. She would know the whole story, the love, the betrayal, the lie, and all it was costing him to remember her. He couldn't play her song. And he needed to pull it together quickly because they would be going on soon and all he could think about was her voice. He tried to apply his feelings to Adrienne and allow her face to inspire him, but it didn't work. She was in his thoughts and she would never leave, he knew that as his mind wandered to another place and time, where he had first met his Gloria:
"Hey Billie, come on! Come with us!" Mike yelled out the window of the old ford. The band was going out drinking, but he was not in the mood. Adrienne was angry at him and wanting to fight and he didn't really feel like partying.
"No you go on! I'll stay here with the bus!" he joked, glancing at the tour bus behind him. They were in California and had just played Sacramento, and he was inhaling fumes of whatever shit the commercial cities were polluting their air with nowadays. He made his way back to the bus and pulled on a shirt before leaving again. He needed to take a walk, just be alone. He walked down the street and through the neighborhoods and then to the top of a hill. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, taking in the view of the city. It was beautiful.
"You like the view too?" a voice said. He turned and right beside him was quite possibly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her amber eyes looked gold in the luminescent city and moonlight, her dark hair shone black and her skin seemed smooth as melted caramel.
"Yeah I just needed some space," he sighed, then realized what he had said a second too late.
"Do you want me to go?" she asked and he shook his head, grabbing her wrist in desperation for her to stay. He glanced down at his hand, still holding on to her, and immediately let go.
"Sorry. No please stay," he said.
They had walked back to the bus together where he had kissed her and then one thing lead to another. She had stayed with them for the remainder of the tour and they fell in love. He wrote Viva la Gloria in La Jolla when he saw her in the sunset standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean at sunset. They were together for a year before they had to go back to their lives and they dropped her off back in her home town, with much tears and kissing and promises to always be in each other's hearts. That first night without her had inspired Last Night on Earth, and months without her inspired Restless Heart Syndrome. Another state of mind was also about her. She had brought out so much in him, so much good, and so much love. And tonight, they were back in Sacramento, and she had promised to go to his concerts when they had parted. He had sent her free front row tickets, but he knew she wouldn't be there. Too much had happened too soon and they would always pay the price for that. He had gotten one year with the most beautiful girl in the world, and that was enough. But she wouldn't be there, he knew it. She couldn't listen anymore. He glanced at the clock then back at his guitar, the guitar he played when writing her song. That's what she was, in the end. She existed only in his memory and in the chords and lyrics. She was just a line in a song. But he had written the song, so she was his. He closed his eyes and breathed, all the while letting it run through his brain: "All for her, it was all for her." Her face swam before him, a beautiful reminder of the carefree days. His hand gripped the note he had written in his hand. "Meet me by the bus," it said. He held it for a moment before putting it into his pocket just in case. Mike gave him the signal and he walked out on stage, put on his guitar, and looked out at the audience and then down at the front row and his heart stopped. Right at his feet, clutching his heart in her hand, there she was as she promised. He let the tears flow and the opening chords rang out, being played by his hand that he wasn't sure he was in control of anymore. The tears continued and he let them flow freely. She could see them, and she would know that they, like everything else, were for her. It was all for her, even he was. He was hers. He glanced down at her and continued playing. When the song ended, he let the crowd cheer and pulled out the note he had written. At the next song, he slapped high fives with the crowd, taking care to slide the note into her hand and allowing their hands to linger together for slightly longer than they really should. She nodded and he felt his heart lift up. The rest of the night seemed to fly by, until the show ended and he raced out the back door to the bus. She was already there, facing the away from him. He took a breath and began to sing the song he couldn't show to the world.
"Hey Gloria are you standing close to the edge? Look out at the setting sun, brink of your vision," he sang quietly. She turned.
"Why couldn't you play it?" she asked and he smiled and ran a finger along her cheek.
"I can't show it to the rest of the world. It's yours. Your song," he whispered and kissed her. "Will you tour with us again?" he asked and she smiled sadly.
"Is it really a good idea? Should we do this to each other?" she asked and he nodded looking at his girl, his Gloria. He knew they shouldn't do this again, they shouldn't have even done it the first time, but the truth of the matter was, she was like air to him. And for the first time in 365 long, painful, empty days, he could breathe.
"It's worth the pain," he admitted and she gripped his hand and led him into the bus.
"One more year," she whispered. Billie nodded, trying to find words to express how he felt, but settled for kissing her again. That was the only way-words couldn't say it enough. He could only revel in her touch, the reality of her, the depth of the love in her eyes, and love her in return as she deserved to be loved. He knew it would eventually end, but he didn't care. He would have two years with the most beautiful girl in the world, and that would be enough.