Page 103 of Feuds and Interludes
I should never have left
Despite all our feuds
I want more interludes
I know this is rash
I blame emotional whiplash
I want all our feuds
Let’s have more interludes
Who cares if we’re rash
Gimme all that emotional whiplash
It was done. It was all out there. Pops shouted, “That’s my boy!” Vera Jean kissed his cheek. The crowd lost its mind. Even my mother and stepfather jumped to their feet and clapped for us.
But Boone didn’t move.
And my heart stopped.
Maybe it was too much.
Had I fucked up again?
He shook himself as if he’d had a sudden realization. He flew out of his seat and I barely had time to take off my guitar before he dove into my arms, knocking me back a couple of steps.
“Goddammit, Butler,” he cried, before he kissed me with a force that matched my colossal swell of emotion.
The shouts and applause nearly tore the roof off the place, but I didn’t care if the sky was falling. I wanted the world to stop and let me hold this man who’d rocked my world, turned it upside down, and forced me to let go of my need to control everything in my life. I didn’t know if I’d ever enjoy feeling out of control, but for Boone, I was willing to give it a shot.
“I love you,” I said into his ear. “Please forgive me, Boone.”
“For making me cry in front of everyone? Not a chance.” But he barked out a laugh through his tears. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“So if I got down on my knee right now and?—”
“Shane! Give me a minute to adjust! I thought I was coming home to live with the twins and somehow figure out how to get over you, which was not very likely by the way.”
“Give me another chance, Boone. Come home with me.”
“If you two lovebirds are done, we’ve got one more song to sing.”
I pulled away from Boone to find the Blackened, Morrison, Leland, and Lydia all back onstage and in their places. Morrison handed me my guitar and Boone went to move, but I held his hand.
“Sing with me.”
“I can’t sing,” he said in my ear. “My voice is toast.”
I pressed my forehead against his. “Then stand up here so I don’t have to let go of you yet. I don’t want to let go.”
“How do you plan to play guitar with me— Oh!”
I draped the guitar over both of us, trapping him against me as I strummed the guitar to the start of “Paisley.”
Pops came out and sang John’s part, and I harmonized while I attempted to play guitar with Boone laughing against my chest.
