He’s a lot closer than I anticipated, and I jolt back instinctively. I’m about to smile at him, when everything that happened comes back to me.
Goodness, I can’t remember the last time I cried myself to sleep.
I must look like total hell. At least I feel like it.
“You okay? I knocked several times and got worried when you didn’t reply.” He looks me over, and I feel his gaze everywhere.
My body wants to respond to his eyes on me, and I’m unable to stop the warmth from spreading. I guess my body hasn’t gotten the memo yet that our best friend doesn’t like us the same way we do.
Traitor.
“Sure.” The word barely makes it out of my clogged-up throat, and I have to clear it several times before trying again. “I found some pictures and got sad about leaving. I’ve never had a break this long before, so it feels different than normal.”
There. Not a lie but not the whole truth either.
He’s quiet for a minute, his jaw flexing with tension. I’m trying to read him but fail miserably. He doesn’t seem happy, but I have no clue if it’s because of me or his phone conversation with Hudson. And I sure as hell won’t ask him about that.
His gaze travels to the already packed boxes on the floor. “Do you want me to put those in the closet?”
I nod. “Sure. Thank you. I’ll go and pack the rest.”
A sudden urgency to get everything wrapped up here, so I can put this chapter of my life behind me, slams into me. It’s so strong, I feel like I just got an energy kick from something potent, almost making me a little frantic.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll be gone, ready to get back to my old life where I know what to expect. Where I can keep my heart safe from any more losses. In no way will I get involved with anyone anytime soon. Maybe never again. I’m tired of being disappointed and hurt, and it’s obvious my career is in the way, one way or another.
This has proven, once and for all, that I’m not meant to be in a relationship. It’s too much, my life and I too peculiar, especially for someone like Gabe, who’s looking for a white picket fence, wife, and the average two-point-five children.
That’s not me, and we both know it.
Now, I just have to get through tonight, soaking up every single second with him like the masochist I am, before saying goodbye.
Thirty-Two
Monica
ONE MONTH LATER
My phone vibrates on the dresser in front of me and I pick it up without glancing at it. One huge upside of this tour is that I have my own dressing room. People are buzzing around outside my door like they’re in search of their sanities—which, some of them probably are. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years in the show business, it’s that there’s a fine line between excitement and pure madness, especially in the last few minutes before the curtain opens and the show starts.
The best motto everyone should adapt to and live by—on as well as offstage—is “Fake it till you make it.” It sounds easier than it is, and granted, doesn’t always work either, but it’s hands down the best advice out there.
It’s how I survived tough times before, and the only reason I’m still standing after these last few weeks.
At least everything dance-related has been going well.
It’s opening night for us, and I’ve already participated in a few group numbers, bathing in the feeling of being back on stage in front of an audience.
A thrill that doesn’t compare to anything else, energizing me in a way nothing else ever could. Now I’m all prepped for my solo, but still have some time I plan on spending on the side of the stage, watching my team’s performances.
One of the event coordinators sticks his head through the open door. “You’re up in twenty.”
I don’t even have enough time to nod before he’s gone again, probably off to stick his head into a few other doors, fluttering along before someone can get a good look at him.
The phone vibrates in my hand once more, reminding me my mind can slip faster into nirvana than I can unlock my screen. Talk about getting distracted easily.
My finger slides easily over the smooth surface to see it’s a message from Gabe.
Gabe: The time has come, Princess. Remember what we talked about. You’ve totally got this. You’ll be great.
Deep breath. Small smile. Heavy heart.
Me: Thank you! I’m nervous, but I know it’s gonna be okay once I’m up there. It always is. :)
Getting messages from Gabe always fills me with equal joy and sadness. I’m happy to have him as my best friend because I’d hate to not have him in my life at all, but at the same time, my heart hates me for having him in my life because it can’t heal as fast. Even though I’m still not convinced that possibility will ever be in the cards.
After several pep talks and lots of sleepless nights when I first got to New York, I promised myself to take things one day at a time. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Going back to this crazy dance life with a crew I hadn’t seen for so long, and not knowing the new dancers they added, would have been hard enough to adjust to by itself.
To add to that, I miss my friends from Brooksville like crazy, Gabe especially, and I have to admit I’ve cried myself to sleep more than once.
I regularly speak to Charlie as she keeps me up-to-date about what’s going on with her and the rest of the gang. She wanted to fly out with Hudson and Mira for my first performance here in New York, but she’s had some issues with her blood pressure, and her doctor wants to keep a close eye on her for that reason. It took every ounce of persuasion in me to convince her to stay back home, and that I’d send her videos of my performances.
Gabe and I, we mostly stick to text messages, with the very rare phone call in between. Hearing his voice is still too hard. It makes my insides twist, wishing things would’ve gone differently than they did, but that’s a reality I have to learn to accept somehow down the line.
I’m just not quite there yet.
I quickly realized that talking to either Charlie or Gabe, even the occasional chat with Rose, Dahlia, or anyone else in the family, makes me a little homesick.
Home meaning Brooksville. Definitely a new development in my life, something that has never happened before.
It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be to leave that part of my life behind, and I can’t deny the fact that I’ve been a bit mopey ever since I said goodbye to Gabe. Well, I more so shouted it at him while hauling my suitcase out to Charlie’s waiting car in the driveway. I knew my heart couldn’t handle a big farewell scene.
I try to focus back on the phone since I know I don’t have a lot of time left.
Being onstage in front of a sold-out crowd is one of the most frightening yet also one of the best and most thrilling experiences I’ve ever had. There’s absolutely nothing that can compare to it, and I didn’t see myself ever getting tired of that feeling either.
Gabe’s reply pulls me out of my thoughts.
Gabe: You’re gonna be outstanding, I have absolutely no doubt about it. Sorry, I have to go, but we’ll talk later, okay? Break a leg!
Before I have a chance to reply, my phone vibrates with another message.
Gabe: Shit. I didn’t think that one through, SORRY. I only meant that metaphorically speaking, of course. Please do NOT break your leg again. For real. I think it might be better if I stop talking now. How about this one? Show them what you’re made of, Princess. Have a great solo! ;)
No one can be as awkward yet still as cute as Gabe. I think it’s a talent on its own, and one he has undoubtedly mastered over the years.
Me: I got it, Charming. LOL. Thank you though, it means a lot that you thought of me. :)
Gabe: Of course! I always do!
Always? I wish.
I know he didn’t mean it that way, but I’ve been thinking almost nonstop about Gabe since I left Brooksville—a lot more than I thought I would.
None of my past breakups—not that I’ve
had more than a few—have ever felt this bad before. A few weeks apart, and I was as good as new.
This wasn’t even a real breakup, since we were never a real couple, so why does it hurt so incredibly much? Most days, it feels like my insides have been ripped apart before they got put back together the wrong way. It’s a constant painful reminder of how I’m not functioning the same anymore.
I’m damaged.
Irreparable.
“Come on, Mo.” A few people from my crew rush past my open door, and after one quick look in the mirror, I follow everyone behind the stage, my thoughts still wholly focused on Gabe.
If this past month has shown me one thing, it’s that Gabe has weaseled his way into my heart. Solidly. Without a doubt.
Permanently.
And it doesn’t seem to get any better—quite the opposite, actually—with every day that passes, I’m more miserable.
Surprisingly, it’s not even the sex I miss, even though that’s certifiably miss-able, but it’s more the everyday stuff, like talking about how our day went, sharing a good meal, or spending our evenings together.
I miss having him around, in any capacity, and that’s never happened to me before.
My whole life, I’ve either had Charlie around or my dance crew, but not once have I missed any of them as much as I’ve been missing Gabe.
I miss the way he picks up a book shortly after he wakes up and before he goes to bed because, according to him, it puts his mind into the right place for the day and the night, even if it’s just a few pages he reads.
I miss the way he’s all dorky with his old-school music and the fact that he prefers to stay in with me to watch a movie over doing other exciting things a successful person of his caliber could surely do.
And of course, I miss the way he looks after me, so I don’t burn down the kitchen or break another bone, or simply how he looks at me with those warm, brown eyes of his, preferably right before he shows me with his hands, lips, and body how much he likes being with me.
Long story short, I pretty much miss everything about him.
“Mo, are you ready? There are only two more performances ahead of you.” Jessica, one of our older show coordinators, sets her hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it.
I look at her like I’ve never seen her before, and I’m sure she thinks I’m crazy.
This whole time, I’ve stood at the side of the stage behind the curtain, doing my stretches almost robotically and going through the motions of my dance without once ever actually paying any attention to what I was doing.
My mind is several thousand miles away, on the other side of the country, apparently unwilling to leave that place anytime soon.
“Do you need anything, Mo? You look a little pale.” Jessica’s brows are dangerously close together while she waits for an answer.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat, trying to wipe my palms on my tights. “No, I’m good. Sorry. Probably just the nerves.”
She nods, even though I’m not sure she buys it. “Well, let’s get this over with then because you’re next. Time to get into position.”
We both watch the last few moments of the current performance until the crew comes pouring in from the stage.
“Show them how it’s done, Mo!”
“You’ve got this, Mo!”
The voices and shoulder squeezes around me barely register as my brain and body go into auto mode.
This is what I know.
This is what I’m good at.
This is me.
My song starts—the same song I played when Gabe saw me dance for the first time at Kiara’s studio—and I leave my heart onstage. My hands, arms, legs, and feet all know precisely what to do. It almost feels like someone else is taking over, and I’m watching it all from the sidelines.
The song is about losing someone you love, and I feel every single inch of it. The portrayal of heartache is so real, I can feel hot tears burn in the backs of my eyes.
When the music slowly fades away, I collapse onto the floor, ending my performance to a loud roar of thundering applause.
Somehow, I make it through the curtain call before storming off the stage as quickly as possible, wading through crowds of people that suddenly seem to be everywhere in the underground tunnels. The slightest hint of relief washes over my body when I’m finally back in my dressing room, successfully closing myself back into solitude.
I stiffen when I notice a big vase full of flowers on the dresser. When I make my way over to take a look at the card, my hands shake almost uncontrollably.
There, in neat handwriting I’d recognize anywhere, it says:
You’re going to kill it, Princess. All my love, Gabe.
All the feelings I’ve tried to at least put on a simmer to get through this solo performance tonight suddenly burst to the surface, and I’m incapable of holding back the tears any longer.
Talk about a roller-coaster ride of feelings.
When I raise my gaze to the mirror to confirm my suspicion that I indeed look like a hot mess, there’s a knock at the door.
Thirty-Three
Gabe
I’m about to knock again when I hear a noise from behind the door. After looking left and right in the hallway, I take the chance someone might see me with my ear pressed to the door and think I’m a creep.
And yes, I didn’t imagine it. There it is again. It sounds like...like someone’s crying?
The thought of Monica being hurt in any way makes my shoulders tighten uncomfortably while my heartbeat races so fast, I feel like my whole chest might explode at any moment.
Indecision floods me as I contemplate what to do. I want to barge in, no questions asked, but what if it’s someone else, or I walk in on something? I mentally battle back and forth for a minute and decide to knock one more time before barreling my way in.
Pressing my ear to the door again, I rap my fist on it. “Monica?”
The noise stills. “Gabe?”
Her voice is faint, and I’m straining to hear her.
There’s some commotion inside the room, and a moment later, the door opens a little. Monica peeks through the small gap, her red and slightly swollen eyes wide when they land on me. “What...what are you doing here?”
“Surprise?” The word comes out as a question while I scan the little I can see of her, to make sure she’s all right. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“You’re really here?” She completely disregards my questions, and for a moment, I get nervous she might not want me here.
Without warning, she pulls the door open the rest of the way in one big swing and throws herself at me. I barely have enough time to react while she clings to me as if her life depended on it, her arms and legs tightly winding around my neck and waist. I have to be quick, and steady myself on the doorframe to keep us from toppling over.
For a moment, I don’t care what’s going on because this just feels so fucking good, having her back in my arms. With her face pressed into my neck, I feel little tremors vibrate through her body as she starts to cry again.
I carefully walk us into the room and close the door behind me. Thankfully, there’s a couch along one wall, and I’m able to get us there in one piece, letting myself fall onto the black cushions that protest only a little under our combined weight.
Once we’re safely on the couch, I let go of her, my hands automatically going to her back, gently rubbing up and down. “Hush, sweetie. What’s going on? You’re starting to worry me. Why are you crying like this? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
The questions keep bubbling out of my mouth, and it takes another minute or two before she calms down enough to look at me. My hands go up to her face, wiping away the tears with my thumbs. She sniffs a few more times, and I keep my hands on her cheeks, wanting to comfort her somehow.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She lets out a long breath, her eyes roaming over my face.
“Of course I am. Wouldn’t have missed the
premiere for anything in the world.” I drop my hands to her shoulders, sliding them down her arms before squeezing her hands gently. “Wanna tell me what’s going on, please?”
A little sob escapes her mouth, and her lower lip trembles the tiniest bit. “You brought me flowers.”
My eyes go wide at her statement. “You’re crying because I got you flowers?”
She nods. “And you wrote me a nice card.”
I can’t help it, but a low chuckle escapes my lips. “You make no sense, Monica. Would you prefer if I didn’t send you flowers and cards anymore in the future?”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
I’m getting more confused by the second, and I’m sure she can tell. “Well, what is it then?”
Just then, her stomach lets out a loud growl, and she grimaces. “Sorry, I’m usually too nervous to eat before a show, so I eat when I’m back at the hotel.”
Basic instinct takes over, now that I know she’s okay, at least physically. “Let’s eat first then, and we can talk after, if you’d like? I have something I have to tell you.”
Relief floods through me when she nods. “Sounds perfect. And maybe I can jump in the shower quick too?”
“Of course.” Even though I’m reluctant to let her go, now that I’m finally reunited with her, I allow her to slide off my lap to grab her things.
Thankfully, we get out of there without running into too many people, and after a quick cab ride, we’re in the elevator on the way to her room.
We’re both unusually quiet. Maybe it’s nerves, or anticipation, I’m not sure. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable though.
Okay, maybe a little odd.
“Are you okay with ordering some room service while I get cleaned up?” Her card beeps in the card reader on the door, followed by a green light, allowing Monica to open it, letting us both inside.
The Mitchell Brothers Collection: A Feel-Good Romance Box Set Page 55
