THE BIG HAMMER: Why?
BROADWAY BABY: Because Mr. PH was getting lonely. He wanted to hang with his daddy.
BROADWAY BABY: Wait…
BROADWAY BABY: If he’s supposed to represent you, does that make you his daddy? Doesn’t it make him you? Did I just create a doppelgänger situation?
THE BIG HAMMER: There is so much wrong with your last text I feel like we need to stop texting.
THE BIG HAMMER: Actually…we should probably stop anyway.
BROADWAY BABY: Why the hell would we do something like that?
THE BIG HAMMER: I’m sure Nate would flip if he knew you were texting me.
BROADWAY BABY: *angry face emoji* *cursing emoji*
BROADWAY BABY: NATE
BROADWAY BABY: DOES
BROADWAY BABY: NOT
BROADWAY BABY: TELL
BROADWAY BABY: ME
BROADWAY BABY: WHO
BROADWAY BABY: TO
BROADWAY BABY: DATE
THE BIG HAMMER: Chill. Stop channeling your inner Becky. But for reals—I told you I cannot come between you.
BROADWAY BABY: You’re gonna make me throw my phone.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
End of May
The last month has been filled with so many ups and downs I feel like I’m on a damn rollercoaster.
The show opened to rave reviews, culminating in twelve Tony nominations, including one for yours truly for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical and one for Zoey for Best Choreography.
I think I might have permanent hearing loss from how loud Zoey, Ella, and I screamed the morning they were announced. Unlike how I always imagined, the first person I reached out to wasn’t Nate; it was Jase.
I still can’t believe after one of the most romantic gestures ever, he gave us up so I wouldn’t lose my close connection to Nate. Well, that backfired in spectacular fashion. I’m so fucking angry with my big brother over his Romeo-and-Juliet-esque decree I can barely manage a civil conversation with him.
How dare he try to dictate who I date.
At least this time around Jase isn’t ignoring my texts. Sure, our conversations are more one-sided and any time I try to broach the subject of us he either deflects or stops answering altogether, but I refuse to give up.
He loved me enough to walk away. Well, I love him enough to not let him. No more games.
My usual stipulation of being off for when the Bruisers are in town doesn’t kick in until the show is a few months old. I had to practically offer up my firstborn, but I was able to work out missing both of today’s performances to handle my business.
Striding through the lobby of the Huntington Hotel not far from Madison Square Garden, I head straight for the elevator bank. I got Nate’s room information from one of his teammates earlier and don’t care if I cut into his nap time. This conversation has been put off long enough.
Knock-knock.
The door swings open and I meet a pair of startled dark eyes. Yup, I am interrupting nap time if the rumpled hair, bare chest, and athletic shorts are anything to go by.
“Care Bear?”
“Nate.” He winces at my use of his real name. Yeah, well, you lost that right, buddy.
Not waiting for an invitation, I push past him and into the room.
“Don’t you have a show right now?” He runs a hand over his hair, shooting a look at his roommate and dropping into one of the armchairs in the room.
Stokes already knew I was coming—he was the one who gave up their room number—and he heads out to give us some privacy.
“I took the day off.” I pace the space in front of the beds, too keyed up to sit. “You and I need to talk.”
“About?”
Massaging the ridge of my brow, I wonder if he’s always been this dense or if he’s purposely being obtuse.
“About Jase.” I hold up a hand when he goes to cut in. “Specifically me and Jase.”
“I thought there wasn’t a you and Jase?”
Don’t smack him, Mels. He’s your brother.
“Yeah,” I huff. “That’s the problem.”
He looks at me like I just broke out into song. Well, no, that’s not the best description, because I do have a tendency to do that.
“I love him, you big idiot.” I slap my thighs in frustration. “I love him and he loves me so much he refuses to be with me because he’s afraid it will affect our”—I wave a hand between us—“relationship.”
“Oh, Mels,” he says so patronizingly I really do almost punch him. “Don’t be so naive.”
“Excuse me?” I squeak.
“That guy has more bunnies than the entire Bruisers roster.”
I slip my hands into my pockets, because with each word out of his mouth, the urge to punch him increases.
“I don’t trust him. I told you how when he would visit Ryan, he would come with his girlfriend and hit on the bunnies when she wasn’t around. You think that’s the type of guy I want dating my baby sister?”
I never actually understood why he told me that. Back then, I figured he needed to vent and I was his sounding board, but the Jase Donnelly I’ve come to know, the man I love…would never do that.
Something prickles at the back of my memory. “Was his girlfriend a strawberry blonde?”
Nate’s brow scrunches in confusion.
“Red hair,” I clarify, and he nods. “That wasn’t his girlfriend.”
He scoffs. “Donnelly is pictured with more women on his Insta in a week than most people are in a year.”
“God! I thought Jase exaggerated,” I say, more to myself than him, but I do see a flare of hurt in my brother’s eyes. “Nine times out of ten, those women”—I use air quotes—“are his friends.”
“Friends,” Nate scoffs. “More like fuck buddies.”
Oh my god, who is this person in front of me? I thread my fingers into my hair, resting my hands on my head to keep from ripping it out.
“Look…I have no idea what your issue is with the Covenettes—”
“Covenettes?”
I wave him off. “It’s their nickname—regardless, that’s not what’s important.” I pull in a calming breath. “I’ve met them all and they are amazing. From the moment they met Zoey, Ella, and me, they treated us like one of their own. Do you have any idea how rare that is to find with girls, especially a group as large as them?”
“Bunnies stick together I guess.”
“OH MY GOD!” Great, now I’m yelling at my brother. I didn’t expect this to go over like we were having a tea party, but damn, this so wasn’t the subject I thought would have us fighting. “They aren’t bunnies. For Christ’s sake, one is his sister, who’s married. One is his best friend, also married. Another is his other best friend’s girlfriend, and another almost married his brother. There’s also his personal chef and friends from college rounding out the group.” I tick off each person on my fingers. “They might not all technically be related, but they are family.”