Coachella – Week One Saturday (Addison)

BOOK THREE — CHAPTER FIVE

COACHELLA — WEEKEND ONE, DAY TWO

Saturday, April 11, 2026

Indio, California

I woke up Saturday morning and immediately discovered something terrible. There was another entire day of Coachella.

My feet hurt.

My back hurt.

My legs hurt.

Some muscle I couldn’t identify near my left shoulder had apparently filed a formal complaint overnight.

And despite being exhausted when we finally got back to camp Friday night, I hadn’t slept particularly well.

I stared at the ceiling of the tent for a few seconds.

Then I heard Grayson moving around.

“You awake?”

“No.”

“You answered me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughed.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“There is nothing good about this morning.”

That made him laugh harder.

Across the tent, Sean was already awake.

He was sitting on his bed with his phone in his hand, scrolling.

Quietly.

Too quietly.

Friday night was still with him.

I didn’t need my ability to know that.

Anyma’s cancellation had followed us back from the festival, slept beside us, and apparently gotten up before I did.

Sean had been looking forward to that performance for months.

Sabrina had been incredible.

But Sabrina hadn’t been the whole night in Sean’s head.

He’d wanted the ending.

And the wind had taken it.

“Morning,” I said.

Sean looked up.

“Morning.”

“You sleep?”

“Yeah.”

That was all I got.

I didn’t push.

By the time we were actually ready to leave camp, the desert had already reminded us that nighttime Coachella and daytime Coachella were two entirely different environments.

It was hot.

Really hot.

Nobody was interested in repeating Friday’s clothing choices.

Grayson and Sean had both gone with tank tops.

I had khaki shorts and a lightweight compression shirt that was significantly more interested in holding me together than I was.

My regular Ray-Bans were resting on top of my head.

The blue glasses were coming with me, but I wasn’t wearing them yet.

There wasn’t much to filter at camp besides three tired men trying to find breakfast.

Sean barely touched his.

Grayson noticed.

So did I.

Neither of us said anything.

There are times when asking someone if they’re okay helps.

There are other times when asking it for the sixth time makes them want to throw something at you.

Sean knew we were there.

For the moment, that was enough.

Grayson, on the other hand, had apparently recovered overnight through some biological process I no longer possessed.

He was practically bouncing.

I watched him check the schedule.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

He looked at me.

“It’s Coachella.”

“My feet disagree.”

“Your feet are forty.”

“My feet have been through things.”

Sean looked up from his phone.

“Your feet need a documentary.”

I pointed at him.

“There he is.”

For a second, I got a smile.

Then Sean looked back down.

It disappeared.

Saturday didn’t feel like Friday.

Friday had been discovery.

Everything was new.

Every path needed figuring out.

Every landmark needed remembering.

Saturday felt more familiar.

We knew where we were going.

We knew where to find food.

We knew which places gave me enough room to breathe.

We knew where I could sit without feeling like I’d accidentally left the festival.

And most importantly, we knew that no matter how carefully you planned a day here, Coachella could change it anyway.

Grayson looked at the schedule again.

“Addison at five-thirty.”

I looked at him.

“You’ve said that four times.”

“I’m reminding you.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Sean was walking beside us.

Grayson looked at him.

“You coming?”

Sean hesitated.

That told me the answer before he gave it.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you want to see Addison Rae?”

Sean shrugged.

“Not really my thing.”

Grayson stared at him.

“You knew she was on the schedule when we came.”

“I know.”

“You were talking about her yesterday.”

“I know.”

There was an edge to the second answer.

Not enough to start a fight.

Enough to end the conversation.

Grayson looked at me.

I gave him a tiny shake of my head.

Leave it.

Sean shoved his phone into his pocket.

“I think I’m just gonna walk around for a while. Get something to eat. Maybe go back by the partner area.”

“Okay,” I said.

He looked almost surprised that I hadn’t argued.

“You’re okay with that?”

“You’re an adult.”

“I know.”

“But keep your phone on.”

Sean sighed.

“Dad.”

“That’s the condition.”

“Fine.”

“And if you move somewhere else, text me.”

“I will.”

I looked at him for another second.

Then I let him go.

I wasn’t going to drag my adult son to a performance he didn’t want to see.

Besides, maybe some time alone would help.

Friday had disappointed him.

Saturday didn’t have to become punishment for it.

Sean headed in a different direction.

And suddenly it was just Grayson and me.

At 5:30 PM, Addison Rae took the Coachella Stage.

And apparently my oldest son had been waiting for this all day.

Grayson knew exactly where he wanted us.

Not at the barricade.

Thankfully.

He knew me better than that.

We found a place where we could see the stage and screens clearly without getting swallowed by the heaviest part of the crowd.

I adjusted my glasses.

Grayson looked over.

“You ready?”

“For what?”

“Addison.”

“I’ve survived childbirth twice, a divorce, raising both of you, and running a company.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I stared at him.

“Yes, Grayson. I’m ready for Addison Rae.”

“Good.”

The show started.

And almost immediately, I understood why he’d wanted to be there.

It was energetic.

Confident.

Fun.

There was something almost effortless about the way the performance moved, even though I knew enough about production to understand that nothing at that scale was actually effortless.

Grayson was completely into it.

He knew the music.

He knew when certain moments were coming.

He sang along without caring whether anybody around him could hear him.

I watched him for a few seconds.

Then he caught me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I’m watching the show.”

“The stage is over there.”

I looked forward.

“Watch Addison.”

Grayson laughed.

A few minutes later, he leaned his shoulder against mine.

It was casual.

Probably unconscious.

But I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

Grayson had always done that.

When he was younger, he’d gravitated toward me without thinking about it.

On the couch.

In the car.

At family events.

Anywhere he could get close enough to Dad without having to announce that was what he was doing.

He was thirty now.

Grown.

Building a life that existed outside of mine.

But apparently some things didn’t need to disappear just because your child became an adult.

I bumped my shoulder gently against his.

He smiled without looking at me.

And we kept watching.

By the time Addison finished, Grayson looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Well?”

I knew what was coming.

“No.”

“Dad.”

“She was good.”

“Good?”

“Very good.”

He grinned.

“I knew you’d like her.”

“You didn’t know anything.”

“I absolutely knew.”

“You hoped.”

“Same result.”

I shook my head.

We started moving with the crowd.

Then Grayson looked at me.

“You actually had fun.”

“I’ve been known to have fun.”

“When?”

“Watch yourself.”

He laughed.

I did too.

And somewhere between leaving the stage and finding something cold to drink, I realized something.

I wasn’t thinking about work.

I wasn’t checking on a meeting.

I wasn’t worrying about a contract.

I wasn’t trying to fix anybody.

I was walking around Coachella with my son.

That was it.

I liked that.

At 7:05 PM, Sombr took the Outdoor Theatre.

This one was different.

Addison had been Grayson’s choice.

Sombr was ours.

I had gotten into his music myself, which Grayson apparently found endlessly amusing.

As we made our way toward the Outdoor Theatre, he looked at me.

“You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“You liking Sombr.”

“Why is that weird?”

“I don’t know.”

“Excellent explanation.”

He laughed.

“You actually like him.”

“I told you I did.”

“Yeah, but you say you like things all the time.”

“What does that mean?”

“Dad, you told me you liked my middle-school haircut.”

I stopped walking.

“I was being supportive.”

“Exactly.”

I stared at him.

“That haircut was terrible.”

“I KNOW.”

He started laughing so hard that people walking past us looked over.

I couldn’t help it.

I laughed too.

And suddenly I wasn’t forty years old at a music festival in California with the Vice Chairman of my company.

I was Dad.

He was Grayson.

Nothing else mattered.

Sombr’s set started as the evening began settling over the desert.

The heat wasn’t as brutal anymore.

The sky softened.

Stage lights became more visible.

And for once, I wasn’t watching an artist because one of my sons had dragged me there.

I wanted to see this.

Grayson knew it too.

Every so often he’d look over at me just to see whether I was enjoying myself.

Eventually I caught him doing it.

“Stop checking on me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m making sure you’re alive.”

“I’m standing beside you.”

“You’re forty.”

“I’m going to leave you here.”

“No, you’re not.”

Unfortunately, he was correct.

I wasn’t.

I stood there beside him and let myself enjoy it.

No analysis.

No business angle.

No wondering whether something could become content.

Just music.

When a song I particularly liked started, Grayson turned toward me immediately.

“There it is.”

“Don’t.”

“You love this one.”

“Watch the stage.”

“You do!”

I laughed.

“Shut up.”

Grayson put an arm around my shoulders.

For a moment, we stood like that.

Father and son.

Listening to the same song.

And I realized I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done something this uncomplicated together.

Not a company trip.

Not a family emergency.

Not a serious conversation.

Not Grayson worrying about me.

Not me worrying about him.

Just something we both wanted to do.

Together.

I had missed that.

I hadn’t realized how much.

When Sombr’s set ended, Grayson checked his phone.

“PinkPantheress. Eight fifty-five.”

“I know.”

“Oh, now you know the schedule.”

“I’ve been trained.”

He smiled.

Then I checked my own phone.

Nothing from Sean.

I opened our messages.

Everything good?

A minute passed.

Then:

yeah

That was it.

I stared at the response.

Grayson noticed.

“Sean?”

“Yeah.”

“He okay?”

“Says he is.”

Grayson looked in the direction we’d last seen his brother.

“He’s still upset.”

“I know.”

“He really wanted Anyma.”

“I know.”

Grayson was quiet for a moment.

Then he looked at me.

“You want to go find him?”

I considered it.

The father in me said yes.

The part of me trying to remember that Sean wasn’t twelve anymore said no.

“He knows where we are,” I said. “He has his phone.”

Grayson nodded.

I put mine away.

“Come on.”

“PinkPantheress?”

“PinkPantheress.”

And Grayson smiled again.

At 8:55 PM, we were at Mojave.

By then, Saturday had fully become night.

That was my favorite version of the festival.

The heat had backed off.

Everything glowed.

Stage lights reached farther into the darkness.

The Ferris wheel had become a giant circle of color against the sky.

Music seemed to exist in every direction at once.

PinkPantheress was another one Grayson and I both wanted.

And by this point, I had stopped pretending I was merely being dragged around by my children.

I was enjoying Coachella.

Actually enjoying it.

Not every second.

My feet still hated me.

My back was preparing legal action.

I had consumed enough water to qualify as a small reservoir.

But I understood it now.

I understood why people watched these performances from home every year.

I understood why they planned entire trips around them.

And I understood why being physically present felt different.

Grayson stood beside me.

Every so often our shoulders touched.

Neither of us moved away.

At one point he leaned toward me.

“Dad.”

“What?”

“You actually like this.”

I looked at him.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you’d spend the entire weekend complaining.”

“I have spent a significant portion of this weekend complaining.”

“That’s true.”

We laughed.

Then he looked back toward the stage.

For a while, neither of us said anything.

We didn’t need to.

When PinkPantheress finished, I expected Grayson to immediately pull out his phone and find something else.

Instead, he looked toward the skyline.

More specifically:

The Ferris wheel.

“No.”

He hadn’t even spoken yet.

“Dad.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

He pointed.

“We’re doing that.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need to be suspended over Coachella in a metal circle.”

“That’s literally what Ferris wheels do.”

“I understand the concept.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I looked at him.

“You flew me across the country and now you’re bullying me.”

“You agreed to come.”

“I was misled.”

“About the Ferris wheel?”

“About everything.”

He laughed.

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Dad.”

“Grayson.”

“Dad.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

I knew that smile.

He had used variations of it on me since childhood.

It had cost me toys.

Fast food.

Video games.

Trips.

Probably several thousand dollars over the course of his life.

Apparently it still worked.

“Fine.”

His entire face lit up.

“Yes!”

“But if this thing stops at the top—”

“That’s the best part.”

“Then I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.”

The Ferris wheel looked much less reasonable from underneath it.

Grayson thought that was hilarious.

I did not.

Once we were inside and moving, though, something changed.

The festival slowly dropped beneath us.

The noise softened.

Not disappeared.

Softened.

Stages became islands of light.

Crowds became movement instead of individual people.

The art installations glowed.

Palm trees cut dark shapes against the lights.

And farther out, the desert disappeared into night.

For the first time all day, I sat completely still.

Grayson was beside me.

He looked out over everything.

“Worth it?”

I hated giving him the satisfaction.

“Yes.”

He smiled.

“I knew it.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

We climbed higher.

Then the wheel slowed.

Of course it did.

I gripped the side.

Grayson noticed.

“Dad.”

“Don’t.”

“We’re fine.”

“I know we’re fine.”

“You’re holding that like it owes you money.”

“Grayson.”

He laughed.

Then, eventually, I did too.

Because the view really was incredible.

And because sitting beside me was the same kid who used to follow me around everywhere.

Except he wasn’t a kid anymore.

He was thirty.

He had his own life.

His own responsibilities.

His own future.

And somehow, after everything our family had been through, he still wanted to sit beside his father on a Ferris wheel.

Grayson became quiet.

Then he said:

“I’m glad we did this.”

I looked at him.

“Coachella?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

He looked back over the festival.

“Me and you.”

That hit harder than I expected.

I didn’t answer immediately.

Grayson didn’t look at me.

Maybe that made it easier.

I put my arm around his shoulders.

He leaned into me.

Not dramatically.

Not like a child.

Like my son.

My firstborn.

The one who had spent thirty years finding his way back toward me no matter how complicated life became.

“Me too, son.”

We stayed like that for a while.

Below us, Coachella kept moving.

Thousands of people.

Thousands of stories.

Music from stages we couldn’t even see.

Lights flashing across the desert.

For once, none of it required anything from me.

Neither did Grayson.

He didn’t need advice.

He didn’t need money.

He didn’t need his chairman.

He didn’t need Dark Evil.

He just wanted his dad.

And I could give him that.

When we eventually came back down, my phone buzzed.

Sean.

where are you guys

I showed Grayson.

He laughed.

“Tell him we’re coming.”

I typed:

Ferris wheel. Heading back down now. Where are you?

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then:

around. ill meet you back at camp

I stared at it for a second.

Not enough information.

Normally, I would have asked three more questions.

Where exactly?

Who are you with?

Are you walking back alone?

But Sean was an adult.

And I had spent enough of my life believing that loving somebody meant keeping both hands around everything that could possibly go wrong.

Maybe loving an adult son also meant learning when to loosen your grip.

Okay. Keep your phone on.

A thumbs-up appeared.

I put my phone away.

Grayson and I started walking.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

And I meant it.

Mostly.

By the time we reached camp, Sean was already there.

He was lying on his bed with his phone beside him.

“You have fun?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you end up doing?”

He shrugged.

“Walked around. Ate. Checked some stuff out.”

“Anything good?”

“Yeah.”

Again.

Just enough of an answer to technically be an answer.

I watched him for a second.

He looked tired.

Still disappointed.

Still somewhere else.

I could have pushed.

I didn’t.

Grayson dropped onto his own bed.

“That Ferris wheel was amazing.”

Sean looked over.

“You guys went on it?”

“Yep.”

Sean looked at me.

“You?”

“Against my will.”

Grayson laughed.

“You agreed!”

“Under emotional duress.”

Sean smiled.

A real one this time.

Small.

But real.

For a moment, the three of us felt normal again.

Then Sean picked up his phone.

Grayson started going through pictures from the day.

And I sat down on my bed.

Saturday hadn’t fixed Friday.

It hadn’t needed to.

Sean was still disappointed.

I still didn’t completely understand what was going on inside his head.

But somewhere between Addison Rae, Sombr, PinkPantheress, and a Ferris wheel I had absolutely not wanted to ride, Saturday had given me something I hadn’t known I was missing.

Time with Grayson.

Not my Vice Chairman.

Not my business partner.

Not the grown man who had spent years worrying about whether his father was okay.

My son.

Just my son.

Tomorrow was Sunday.

Our last day.

And after that, Virginia.

My own bed.

My own shower.

My own house.

At that moment, going home sounded pretty damn good.

But as I turned off the lamp beside my bed, one thought stayed with me.

For the first time in a long time, Grayson and I had spent an entire evening together without needing to solve anything.

I hoped it wouldn’t take another music festival on the other side of the country for us to do it again.