Wicked

Chapter 2

Tim POV: 

Cartoons blast through the living room, as I lean back into the couch cushions. I watch the colors reflect off of his eyes as he stares at the television. His mouth slowly moves along with every word they say, while I fight a smile and smooth back his hair. I lean forward and grab his empty cereal bowl, taking it to the sink as Kristine walks downstairs wearing a tight gown. 

"Damn baby." I let out, causing her to smile my way. She walks over and gives me a kiss, before looking at the clock. "Mom's here. She's setting up in the guest room." I release, noticing her last minute panic beginning. She catches her breath, before walking over and kissing Grant's cheek. 

"We'll be back later, baby. Behave for grandma, you understand me?" She says, as Grant turns and spares an innocent smile. I motion toward him, as if to assure him that we mean it. He giggles, before rushing up to me and hugging my legs. I crouch down to be eye level with him, before looking at my tie. 

"Can you help me buddy? Does this look straight?" I ask, although I could easily check myself. He moves it to the side slightly, smiling like a champ. "Thank you, Bud. You're a lifesaver." I say, giving him a hug before kissing the top of his head. My mom comes down stairs as I release Grant, smiling at Kristine as we start toward the door. "We'll be back around one." I assure her, knowing she doesn't mind if we take three days away. She loves spending time with him, even when he's acting like a nutcase. 

I drive Kristine and I down to the Bridgestone, feeling her grow tense the longer we remain in the car. She leans her head back as the radio plays quietly. She stares down at the dial as I focus on the radio. I notice the voice coming over the speakers, glancing down at the channel, before Kristine quickly changes the station. She sinks back in her seat, sighing. 

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" Her voice rasps as she tries to be gentle. I stare at the city skyline, nodding without letting myself think about the question. "Are you sure? With her album doing as well as it is, she'll probably be all over the place." She begins to overthink, forcing me to overthink as well. I try to shake it off, knowing she'll panic if I don't cut her worry short. 

"Babe, it's been over half a decade. It'll be fine." I reassure her. We pull up to the red carpet, where a huge ad with her face on it is plastered across a neighboring building. Breathe – six weeks at #1. I try to pretend I haven't seen it, but Kristine won't stop staring at it. 

"We could just go home and watch a movie..." She suggests quietly, as I glance her way. 

"Honey, I'm sure we won't even see her." I say, before getting out of the car. I walk around to her side, opening up the door for her before pitching my keys to the valet. We walk up the red carpet, stopping a few times for pictures, before moving inside. The halls are crowded as I stop to talk to a few people from the label. Mike Curb rushes up, hugging me, before reaching his hand around my shoulder and guiding me to another room. 

"How's my favorite artist doing?" He asks, as I laugh, knowing he's wasted. 

"I'm pretty good, Mike." I reply, before he shuts the door behind us, leaving us standing in an empty dressing room. He nods, before clearing his throat. 

"That's good, because I've got a huge opportunity for you tonight." He says, catching my attention. I raise my eyebrows, watching him smile at my interest. "George Strait backed out of a performance tonight due to food poisoning. They're looking for someone who can do a duet with an hour notice." He continues, as I look at the clock. 

"What's the song?" I ask, more than willing to take on the challenge. 

"Angry All the Time." He says, handing me a lyric sheet and a CD. I glance at the lyrics, noticing it's a duet. Did he say it was a duet? He starts out the door, typing on his blackberry. I hear the message send, before I get the chance to ask one vital question. 

"Who's the song with?" I ask, as he looks back at me.

"Faith Hill." He says, before leaving the room as my stomach drops. I stare at the door, feeling myself want to back out of this immediately. The CMA's would never invite me back if I backed out of the performance within an hour of it starting. This performance would help boost my career too, but at a cost.

I spend my time feverishly looking over the lyrics and playing the CD on repeat. I hum the melody to myself while putting on the outfit my manager totted in—a complete suit with a long skinny tie. I look at myself in the mirror before glancing down at my wedding ring. I clear the lump in my throat as the time grows near. 

My manager, Rob, walks beside me to the stage, informing me of how the stage is set up for this performance. "There's a vintage microphone sitting at the front center. You'll stand there in place, while she'll appear behind you and walk up to meet you at the front." He rushes through. I grab a glass of whiskey off a passing tray, shooting it, before grabbing another, feeling my nerves soar. I'm certainly out of my league here. My songs revolve more around partying and girls, and certainly aren't suit-worthy. A stagehand grabs onto my arm, dragging me to my cue. I watch them count me in, causing the real panic to set in. 

The band begins to play as the lights slowly brighten, as I try to enter a performing state of mind.  A guitarist strums behind me as the spotlight on me brightens as well. 

"Here we are, what is left of a husband and a wife, with four good kids who have a way of gettin' on with their lives." I sing, focusing on every word. If they were expecting a George Strait caliber performance, I'll give it to 'em. "I'm not old, but I'm getting a whole lot older every day. It's too late to keep from goin' crazy. I've got to get away." I continue, before entering the chorus. 

"The reasons that I can't stay don't have a thing to do with being in love and I understand that lovin a man shouldn't have to be this rough. You ain't the only one who feels like this world left you far behind. I don't know why you gotta be angry all the time." I sing, trying to be as powerful as possible. The crowd watches carefully, as I continue onto the next verse, knowing she's about to come on. "Our boys are strong, the spittin' image of you when you were young. I hope someday they can see past what you have become..." I sing, before the crowd begins to roar. I try to prepare myself, but I know there's only so much I can do.  

"I remember every time I said I'd never leave. What I can't live with is memories of the way you used to be..." She harmonizes with me, her voice shaking me to the core.  

"The reasons that I can't stay don't have a thing to do with being in love and I understand that lovin' a man shouldn't have to be this rough. You ain't the only one who feels like this world left you far behind. I don't know why you gotta be angry all the time." We sing together as she emerges beside me. I try my hardest not to look in her direction, but it's difficult, even on stage in front of thousands of eyes. 

"Twenty years have came and went since I walked out of your door. I never quite made it back to the one I was before..."

"And God it hurts me to think of you, for the light in your eyes was gone. Sometimes I don't know why this old world can't leave, we're enough alone." She and I sing, mistakenly locking eyes. She stands in a gorgeous white gown, holding a classic microphone in her hand. Her hair is tightly curled, like she's out of magazine from the 60's with bright red lipstick. Her eyes are moist, but you couldn't tell unless you were standing as close as I am. She turns toward me, making the decision to stick with it. I turn toward her, reminding myself that it's just a performance. 

"The reasons that I can't stay don't have a thing to do with being in love and I understand that lovin a man shouldn't have to be this rough. You ain't the only one who feels like this world left you far behind. I don't know why you gotta be angry all the time... I don't know why you gotta be angry all the time..." We finish, hearing the crowd give an immediate standing ovation. She looks toward them, smiling brightly, seeming to be desperate for a distraction. The cameras turn off for the commercial break, allowing us to leave the stage. She follows close behind me, following me to the tech area where we return our mic packs. She and I make the mistake of locking eyes once more, causing her lips to part like she has something to say. 

"Baby, that was amazing!" Scott chimes, rushing up to her. She forces a smile toward him, before letting it fall as she looks back at me. She lets him drag her away, occasionally looking back over her shoulder at me.