Holden looked up from his tablet, swinging around in the chair. “They’re killer. Your singing and playing, Bay’s production and lyrics. That’s a top 100 hit right there.”
Spencer turned to her, skepticism etched deep in his face. “And you want me to have this?”
“If you want it.” She stepped back.
I brushed my fingers along the back of her leg like I had the first time she played in public back during training camp, lending her my strength and confidence that she’d kick ass in whatever she did.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted so loudly that someone outside must have heard, even with the soundproof walls. “Of course.”
He flung himself at her, nearly knocking her over.
They both laughed, their bond solidified through the music.
I took in a deep breath and watched her with another guy squeezing her tight, poking around for the jealousy or insecurity to explain the way my heart raced.
But it wasn’t there. It was happiness at how she’d been able to share her lyrics and create a song others would hear even if it wasn’t her singing it. The feelings were unexpected. With Alice I’d thought I was over all those old, destructive behaviors. Now I knew it was because I hadn’t felt for her like I did for Bay. There hadn’t been an undeniable draw that made it hard to not think about her, not dream about her. This had been the true test. Maybe I could handle this. Maybe I could handle us.
We wrapped things up at the studio. Bay beamed while they went over the smaller details. Spencer could open for her in a few shows in the last leg of the tour in Europe. The contracts were crossed and dotted for Bay as the songwriter on the new lead track for his album. He’d finalize the songs when she was back in Philly next.
The trip to my apartment was uneventful. So much of today had been spent guarding against the other shoe dropping, against a worst case scenario where things all went wrong.
But now we were in my living room, sitting on a bunch of pillows on the floor with a bowl of Goobers and popcorn beside us. The TV was off, but we didn’t need anything to keep us occupied other than each other.
She leaned against my chest. Her hair brushed against my cheek.
I stared into the fire crackling in the fireplace I hadn’t ever used before. After a few failed attempts, I’d figured out how to turn it on.
After the few hours in the studio, the sun had long since set. Our day was winding down, almost over. The ticking closer to five AM, when she’d be leaving, was marked by each heartbeat.
The silence of my apartment felt like a comfort now, but it also meant there was nothing to drown out my thoughts. What had once been a jumble of so many emotions all wrapped up in Bay now had a singular focus.
The question had been replaying in my head all day. It had started as a whisper, but now it grew louder until it was a roar in my ears. “What happens now?”
My arms wrapped tighter around her waist.
She stared straight ahead into the fire. “I don’t know.” She nuzzled her head against the stubble on my chin.
Neither did I, but I knew this couldn’t be the only night we spent wrapped up in each other.
A selfish sliver of my soul wanted her to lock the door and tell me she wasn’t leaving, that she’d made her decision and it was me, but that was a greedy dream that washed me with shame.
“The season ends in January. February, if my streak holds.”
Shifting, she peered over her shoulder, sadness clouding her gaze. “I leave for London the first week of November. The tour goes until the end of July.”
“Just in time for training camp.”
She slumped back against my chest and wrapped her hands around mine with her head tucked against my shoulder like she was afraid at any moment someone would burst into the room and tear us apart. “And I’ll be finishing up the next album.”
“I can come hang out with you after the season’s over. Join your roadie crew.” I settled my legs over her outstretched ones, trying to envelop her. The season was 17 weeks, half a year including training camp and playoffs. I’d buy a jet if I needed it to see her whenever she had a break, however short it might be.
“The two of us bouncing around from hotel to tour bus to hotel for a few months before you leave for another season.” She sounded far away, like we were already slipping away from each other.
A squeeze tightened around my heart like a fist constricting the blood flow.
“And you’d be happy with that? What kind of relationship would it be?”
I held on more fiercely. “Ours. Who says there are rules? It might not be perfect. But it would be ours.”
“A few days ago, you were ready to say goodbye to me and never look back.”
The mental ass-kicking for how I’d handled things intensified. My fear over what being close to her again might drive me to might now stop anything new between us before it began. I wouldn’t be satisfied with shared ice cream sundaes and a trip to IKEA. Desperation mounted to see her again.
“I was wrong. I should’ve handled it better.”
“After how I left things, I don’t blame you. How do you know I won’t screw this up again? Do I even know how to be in a relationship? You were with Alice. You were engaged.” She seemed to be talking more to herself than me, talking herself out of what we could have together.
“And I knew it wasn’t right. For either of us.”
She craned her neck and looked into my eyes. “And this feels right to you? My life isn’t my own. Hundreds of people depend on me.” Turning in my arms, she sat on my leg. “I’ve seen this play out with so many other people.”
“We’re not—
“Scheduling in a couple relationship days every month. Every dinner being interrupted. Every day another tabloid story or more paparazzi hunting you down. Schedules clash until seeing each other once a week turns to once a month, and then to once every few months.” She traced her fingers over my knuckles. “Until things fall apart.”
An urgency for her not to write us off gripped my heart. We wouldn’t fall into their traps. After a decade of mistakes, we could finally get this right.
“We’re not other people.” I licked my dead-of-winter-dry lips. “I’m not saying we do anything crazy. We don’t even have to put a name on this. But I want to see you.” I lifted her chin with my finger. “I can’t not see you.”
A flicker of pain flashed behind her eyes. Pain and longing—the same two feelings clawing their way through my chest right now.
“When can we see each other next?” She wrapped her arms around my neck and inhaled deeply, like she was trying to imprint my scent. “I need to check my phone. Holden uploads my calendar there.”
Hopping up, she went to retrieve her phone. The loss of her weight of her resting against me, the gentle curves of her body that fit to mine perfectly, her warmth overheating my body was sharp, and drove home how much I craved her near me.
I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket.
We reconvened. Bay sat on her knees between my legs.
She tapped away on her phone with her eyebrows furrowed. “I fly to LA tomorrow.”
I ran my hands over her thigh. Looking down at my phone, my muscles stiffened. “When are you back?” Meetings, practices, travel for games and the games themselves had all been uploaded into my calendar by Gwen.