“You told me our song could have one ending, but that our story could have another. So here’s to happiness, not heartbreak.”
The intro to “Heartbreak for Two” starts to play, a melody I know as well as my own heartbeat.
I have to rely on memory somewhat, as the deafening cheers of the crowd are drowning out most of the chords. They die off when Sutton opens her mouth and begins to sing.
I’m smiling like the lovesick fool I am, watching her toss back her hair and belt out the lyrics.
David looks over at me. I turn my expression blank, unsure of what his reaction will be.
He holds my gaze for a moment before he reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. I relax as he nods at me, something that looks like respect glinting in brown eyes the same shade as Sutton’s before his hand falls and he turns back toward the stage.
Life is made up of moments. Some shine brighter than others, standing out from the stretch we categorize asordinaryorirrelevant. Providing glimmers of hope to hold on to during the tragic or devastating ones that are consuming in the worst way.
Then, there are a select few that are defining. That ripple far beyond the seconds they encompass. Sutton has featured in several of those in my life.
Right now is registering as another.
Because in the midst of all those moments, we encounter other people. Some whose impact is small and insignificant, others whose influence is immense and permanent.
The person who has had the most immeasurable effect on my life is waving to the adoring crowd screaming her name, up until she walks offstage and straight into my arms.
“Don’t let go,” she whispers.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I tell her, tightening my arms around her.