His broad shoulders stretch darkly between me and the exit, and it all starts to sink into me in layers. Relief and then horror, and a loneliness so deep I wish I could simply curl up onto the floor and cease to exist so I never have to make this decision.
But behind all this talk about plans and intentions, there’s a single truth.
Danny will be a bright burst in my life. Beautiful, too-short moments. The rest of the time, he’ll only exist as an ache, a void I’ll have to carry with me everywhere. Ten thousand goodbyes, every one as hard as this one.
I reach up and cradle his cheek. “You wouldn’t ask me to stay. But I don’t think you’ve ever understood what it will mean when I go.”
His eyes dart back and forth between mine. I try to memorize their sharp jags of color in the second before I push up onto my toes and kiss him, my lips bruised and soft all at once before his mouth moves with mine. He’s fierce with frustration, because Danny reads me way too well, and he can already feel me pulling away.
I rest my forehead against his, my heart fluttering high and fast. “I wanted to be the kind of girl who could make you happy, who could be there for you the way you’re there for everyone else. But I can’t be her.” I step back. “I can only be me.”
I’m not the girl who misses all the best moments of the tour because she’s hiding in the back, texting her boyfriend. I’m the ten-year-old girl who stopped hiding in the bathroom and faced her mom’s sobs to take the knife out of her blood-slicked hands. I’m the eighteen-year-old girl who arranged international airline itineraries for twelve people before she’d ever flown on an airplane herself. I am the girl who never truly grew into her own shape until she danced under the concert lights for the first time.
“Kate, I don’t know why you think—”
“I can’t give up my life,” I tell him. “Not even for you. The road, the music...it’s where I belong. It fits my body and my brain and all my flaws.” It feels like my chest is going to rip apart as I tell him the word—once—that would have entirely defined our future together. “Goodbye.”
His shoulders snap tight as his face falls, just a little, before it goes rigidly blank. I’m half-ill at seeing how much I’m already hurting him, and it only makes me more certain that I have to do this. For him, and for me.
“That’s bullshit, Kate, and you know it.” His voice is low and furious. “You’re safing out before you ever gave us a chance.” He reaches for my hand but this time I don’t let him catch it. I can’t. But he doesn’t give up—taking a step forward to match the one I took back. “You know me. You trust me.” God, I can’t look away. “We’ve always been different from other people, but what makes us wrong for everyone else makes us exactly right for each other. Kate, don’t run from that.”
Every word is galloping through my head but I can’t give in to this. I can’t love him the way I do because I won’t be able to keep leaving on tours. If I stay home, I’ll slowly fade away like my mother: curling into myself in the back bedroom until I have no personality left. No amount of love can reach you once you lose yourself.
“You told me once that if I wanted you out of my life, all I had to do was say the word.” Even as I speak, I’m sinking into the black center of his eyes, all the color lost as I curl my toes just to feel the ground beneath my feet. “I’m saying it.”
For a long moment, I don’t think he’ll listen, don’t think he’ll respect who I am and what I have to do. But then he takes a step back, and then another. He raises his hands, palms facing me, and I wait for him to say something. Except he doesn’t. He just goes.
As soon as he turns away, regret shrieks through me and I almost call out. But everything I said was the truth. If I stay, we’ll only hurt each other more.
Gritting my teeth together, I pick up my own suitcase and walk through the door that leads back to San Francisco. To my “home.”
Chapter 25: For Better or For Worse
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. I’ve graduated from being the flier who can sleep through turbulence up to fifty-foot drops and now I’m the pale, shaky woman getting profiled by the flight attendant because she thinks my reaction might upset the other passengers.
I loosen my grip on the hard airplane armrests and aim a vague smile at her. “Fine, thanks so much.”
The flight attendant tosses me one last glance as the pilot calls them back to their chairs for takeoff. The walkway starts to retract from the plane with a sound like a dentist’s drill revving up and I start my yoga breathing early, hoping I can head off the attack this time. If this gets any worse, I’m going to have to limit myself to domestic bus-only tours: the tour manager equivalent of a middle-management glass ceiling.
The plane starts to coast toward the runway and I clamp my hands back down on the armrests. They won’t let me off the plane right now, no matter what I do. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to let the breath vibrate in my throat the way my yoga instructor demonstrated. There’s no escape hatch, no window to burst through. It’s a plane and it’s taking off and I wanted to be here. I chose this flight, I paid for it with my hard-earned frequent flier miles and I put myself on it. No one made a single one of those choices for me.
I am in control.
That mantra is just as unsuccessful as it’s been on every other flight I’ve taken in the four months since I left Danny behind.
The plane picks up the pace and my heart bolts up into my throat, clawing to get free. A scream jolts like an ice cream headache through the roots of my teeth and I swallow it back. The balding man in the next seat steals a worried glance at me. I squeeze my eyes closed because I can’t deal with him. Not now, not yet.
I used to love the rush of power and speed of an accelerating plane but now it sends me into an absolute panic. No matter where I’m leaving or arriving these days, as soon as the aircraft slams into gear I feel the wrongness of it in every cell and I don’t want to go.
The wheels lift off the ground with a nauseating lightness and oh Christ there’s nothing beneath us now except inadequate air and bone shattering concrete. I scrabble in the seat pocket for an airsickness bag and barely get the top open before my stomach boots its contents right up into my mouth.
I thought if I were ever going to get a reprieve from my brand-new phobia of planes, it would be today. When I’m headed to the last place I want to go and the only place I really want to be: Portland.
So much for that theory.
THE EVENT CENTER’S hallway stands empty when I step inside, and I shy away from the buzz of voices coming from the chapel to the left. I’m not in the mood to face the other guests, even though I doubt I know many of them. Instead I cross to the doorway on the right that opens into the reception hall, slipping inside. The tables are already set with the Spanish linen napkins I had to lease from L.A. and ship to Portland. At the back of the room is the stage where the band I hired will play. To one side of the door there are two guitar cases: one with a few card-sized envelopes already resting in it, two names written on the outside. My heart twists at the coziness of it, how two names can be joined so simply and irrevocably with only an ampersand. I glance away toward the engraved guitar picks in the other guitar case.
Smiling faintly, I pick up a few and slip them into my purse, holding one up to the light so I can enjoy the pearlescent shine and the golden letters that read “Jera & Jacob 11/11/15.” The wedding only took four months to plan, thanks to my efficiency, Jera’s enthusiasm, and a favor one of the Portland promoters owed me that landed us this booked-for-years venue.
“There you are.”
I flinch, dropping the guitar pick.
Short salt and pepper hair shines under the overhead lights as a man bends to retrieve it for me and then straightens, offering it in one palm with a warm smile. “I’m under orders to kidnap you to the bride’s lair.”
I swallow. “Um, right.” I try a smile. “You clean up pretty good, Hank.”
&
nbsp; The band’s manager offers me one tuxedo-clad arm. “Haven’t owned one of these monkey suits since my twenties. But I figured my daughter might need me at an award ceremony or two in the next few years. Wouldn’t want to be underdressed.”
“Of course not.” I let him lead me across the hallway, my peripheral vision straining at every guest’s face that I can catch through the doorway to the chapel, searching for dark hair and a sharp nose. Hank takes me through a door and down a smaller hallway but when he reaches for the doorknob, I hold him back. “So um, is this a girl’s-only dressing room?”
“Do you need to change?” He frowns down at me: my hair is done in long, loose waves and my body clad in a sweep of deep sapphire blue with the hint of a shimmer to it. “You look great...but oh, right. I heard you and Danny broke up. Are you two in the awkward exes stage?”
How did Hank know we were dating? Did Jera tell him, or did he guess when we saw him during the week break we took in Portland? I cough. “Something like that.”
“I’ve had one or two of those myself.” Shrewd hazel eyes appraise me. “From one professional to another, I’d love it if you could find a way past that. We really appreciated the work you did on this last tour and I’d like to have the option of hiring you again.”
“I would like that, too.” I clear my throat. I don’t see it happening, considering I can’t get within five hundred miles of Danny without throwing up from sheer nerves, but what else can I say? I don’t want Hank to push me to be more specific, so I change the subject. “Is Jax holding up okay?”
The band manager’s cheerful face sags. “He’s on and off the wagon depending on the day but whichever side he’s on, he’s on it 150%. It’s been...interesting.”
I grimace. “How’s today looking?”
“He knows how important it is to Jera, but just in case, Danny’s not leaving his side.” Hank gives me a strained smile and opens the door for me. Instead of a roomful of satin and chattering women, there are only two: Jera sitting on a small stool, her mother fussing with the back of her dress.
“I told you to go strapless. If you refuse to listen to me, I don’t want to hear a thing about these safety pins being scratchy. Do you want a white trash bra strap hanging out in your wedding pictures?”
Jera bounces up as soon as she sees me, and her mother sighs, her hands full of safety pins. Jera grabs me in a hug and I blink rapidly as I squeeze her back. We’ve talked on the phone dozens of times since I explained why I blew off her bridesmaid invitation, but this is the first time I’ve seen her in person since the tour ended in late summer.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her elaborately curled and pinned hair.
She pulls back and smacks me. “What did I tell you I would do if you kept apologizing? It’s not your fault you’re in love with my stubborn, moronic best friend. And you’re here anyway, aren’t you?” She grins. “Best apology a girl could ask for.”
“He’s not being stubborn, he’s respecting my opinion.” I clear my throat. “Now, did you get a chance to meet the band? The violinist is hilarious, right?”
“Yeah, he’s a hoot.” Jera is undeterred. “In case you haven’t noticed, Danny’s going quietly, frighteningly insane while refusing to admit it, or call you. If you don’t think that’s stubborn, I’ve got a team of mules you might be interested in.”
My chest squeezes at the sound of his name. To cover it, I bend my head to finish the pinning of her bra strap that her mom started.
Jera drops her voice a little as Anne turns away to check her phone. “I know you don’t want to tell me whatever happened between the two of you, but you should at least talk to him, Kate. Come on, it’s a wedding. What better time to kiss and make up?” She gives me a sunny smile, and I narrow my eyes playfully at her.
“I wondered why you’ve been so suspiciously not-nosy lately. You just wanted to lure me up here so you could play matchmaker.” I shake my head. “No dice, girly. Today is all about your happy ending and I refuse to let you waste a second of it. Besides, I happen to know somebody who has a teensy weensy little tendency to fuss over other people when she’s nervous.” I smooth a hair out of her face. “So tell me the truth. How are you doing?”
Her mom laughs. “On a scale of one to I-already-tried-to-medicate her? She’s redlining a twelve.”
I cock an eyebrow at Jera and she groans. “How can I be this freaked out when it’s Jacob? Promise me if he runs, you’ll tackle him.” She starts to pace. “It’s better, actually, that you won’t be up front with me, because you’ll get a head start that way. Take an aisle seat, would you? That’ll be a clearer shot.”
“She’s been like this all day,” Jera’s mom tells me. “In between bouts of crying and then the kind of swearing you should never do in front of the woman who carried you in her womb.” She aims a mock glare at her white-gowned daughter.
A pang of envy twists in my chest. Jera’s mom is a gem: an irreverent sense of humor that doesn’t quite mask the way she’s always checking up on her loved ones, making sure they have what they need before they even realized they were missing it. I take a step forward and offer my hand. “It’s good to see you again, Anne. You probably don’t remember me—I had dinner at your house when we stopped over during the last tour.”
She seems amused by this. “You’re kidding, right? You’re the first girl Danny ever brought home. Of course I remember you.”
“Oh, he didn’t really—” I straighten my back. That’s not what this is about. I promised Jera and I owe her and that’s the only reason I’m risking being this close, even for a day. “So did you two shop for the dress together?”
“Actually, Jera let me help design it.” Anne beams and goes over to stop Jera’s pacing, turning her toward me so I can admire their masterpiece.
Her sleeves are delicate mesh with swirls of silver-embroidered vines, looping and twisting in a replica of the tattoo that shows subtly through the sleeves of her dress. The bodice is a sleek wrap following the graceful V of her neckline, one side’s gathered texture disappearing under the other as it sweeps across and finishes at her hip beneath a starburst of glittering silver musical notes.
I shake my head, letting out a long, low whistle. “Sell a few hundred thousand records and you can buy a heck of a dress, hmm? You talk Danny into doing the sewing?” I finger her sleeves, eyeing the sensuous curves of the vines.
“You obviously underestimate what a vast pain in the butt he’s been since we came off tour. I don’t ask him to pass the salt these days if I can avoid it.” She scowls at me. “I still say you should have been my bridesmaid. Besides, this wedding party is such a sausage-fest we even had to change up the processional. Apparently it’s just way too intimate for two men to walk side by side down an aisle.”
“Is it really necessary for you to talk about your wedding in slang aimed at the male genitalia?” Anne crosses her arms.
“Sorry, Mom.” Outside, the piped-in music stops and Jera jumps straight up in the air, her hands flying to her cheeks with a squeak. “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod what am I going to do?”
“Marry your drop-dead-gorgeous fiancé?” I take one of her curls, tuck it in so she’s more symmetrical, and then wink. “Just a thought.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Make fun all you want, but this whole giant dress, high heels and a long-ass aisle lined with everyone I’ve ever met? Yeah, it has ‘no pressure’ written all over it. Just wait until it’s your turn. I’ll be the one cackling in the back. With an air horn.” She shoves me toward the exit and opens the door for me. “Now go do your honorary bridesmaid duty and make sure Jacob doesn’t take off before I get there. I’ve run out on him twice at the worst possible moment and he totally owes me one. But however much I deserve it, I don’t think I can take it, so tie him to the arbor if you have to.”
And then she’s gone, all her wonderfully distracting energy and verve cut off by the door she shut between us. Nerves thrill in my chest like I’m the one whos
e life is about to change and I exhale sharply through my nose, disgusted with myself. I straighten my inadequate cross-body purse and head for the chapel, not looking left or right just in case the wedding party is lining up nearby.
When I arrive, I try to steal an inconspicuous pew in the back, but the usher takes my arm with a knowing look. “Kate Madsen, right? They showed me a picture. We have a seat for you in front with the family.”
The air suddenly feels thicker than it did a second ago. “Up front. Right.” The music is changing again, so I don’t argue and just hurry to take my seat.
When I turn around, there’s a black-clad man in the doorway. Adrenaline clashes through me, but it’s just Jacob. When he makes it up to my pew, he grins and reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, and for his soft brown eyes, I manage a smile. “You lucky dog,” I say under my breath.
“Don’t I know it?” he whispers before he takes his place at the altar next to the officiant. Following Jacob up the aisle is a younger guy and a girl who both look like the groom, and another man about his age with broad athlete’s shoulders. His siblings, probably, and his friend Cody from his old baseball team, according to Jera’s description of Jacob’s “groomsmen.”
I’m trying to remember how many there are in the wedding party—didn’t Jera say the numbers were uneven? But on which side?—and then it happens.
When I see Danny, all my systems go haywire. My pulse explodes in erratic bursts as sweat breaks across my skin. I rip my gaze from him to check on the people around me, to gauge if they saw my freak out, but instead of formally dressed strangers, all I can see is the afterimage of him burned into my eyes.
His new, brutally short haircut makes every feature appear sharper, paler than I remember. Dear God in heaven, Danny in a beanie was enough to nearly combust my ovaries but in a tuxedo? He’s all enigmatic black and sinless white, the taut lines of him a devastatingly flawless compliment to the formalwear.
Playing the Pauses (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 2) Page 27
