I let go of her and reached across the coffee table to pull some tissues from the box. I handed them to her and she held them, staring down at the tips of her toes, smiling through tears.
I sat there, watching her in silence. I felt like I should tell her I was proud of her. I knew how hard it was to battle against yourself. To wrestle your desires down every single day of your life to do what you know is best. But I didn’t have the strength to talk about it.
I probably never would.
Sometimes the hardest place to live is the one in-between. And sometimes in-between is all you’ll ever get.
She wiped at her nose. “I should go,” she said after a moment, starting to get up. “I don’t want to cause any more problems for you with Sloan.”
I laughed a little and sat back in the chair. “Sloan and I broke up. The night you left.”
She blinked at me, perched on the end of her cushion. “Was it…because of me?”
I shook my head. “No. Not really. I just couldn’t give her the life she deserved.”
Lola sat there, clutching the wads of tissues I’d handed her. “I’m sorry, Jaxon. But you know it’s probably for the best, right?”
“I do,” I said quietly.
“This business isn’t the greatest for relationships.” She looked away from me for a moment. “I never told you this but…” Her eyes came back to mine. “When I met you, you kinda reminded me of someone.” She shook her head. “Just someone I used to know. A dancer…”
She trailed off and it was a long moment before she continued. “I think that’s why I was always drawn to you, you know?”
I let out a small laugh through my nose. “I get it. If I ever met someone who reminded me of Sloan…”
I’d probably never meet someone who reminded me of Sloan.
I just wasn’t that lucky.
Lola wiped at her nose with a tissue. Then she looked around her like she’d just remembered something. She reached down and picked up her tote bag. “I forgot to tell you. I brought you something.” She sniffed as she pulled a folder out. “Feel free to say no. It’s just Ernie mentioned that you’re having a hard time writing, and I thought…” She took a deep breath. “Here.” She handed it to me.
“What is it?” I asked, taking it.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I wrote some music when I was in rehab.” She laughed again. “I wrote a lot of music. You inspired me, Minnesota.”
I snorted, despite it being a bad joke.
I opened the folder and looked at the sheets inside.
“If you sing them, I’ll get royalties,” she said. “And I need the money. I wrote them just for you, and Ernie says they’re good…” She trailed off when I didn’t look up to answer her.
My eyes pored over the verses. The music danced around my mind like lightning bugs. I flipped the pages, hearing the songs in my head.
They were good. I mean, they’d need a few tweaks here and there to make them mine, and some of them weren’t finished, but…they were amazing.
I looked up at her. “How many are here?”
“Twenty-two?”
I almost choked on the laugh. “Twenty-two songs,” I breathed. I had to put a hand over my mouth. It was almost three albums’ worth.
My freedom. She’d just handed me my freedom.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You’ll take them?”
I nodded, my eyes tearing up. “Yes. Of course.”
“’Cause I know you write your own songs and you—”
“Lola, it would be an honor to sing these.” I looked her in the eye and she stared back at me almost shyly.
“My name is Nikki.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
“My name. It’s Nikki. Not Lola. Will you call me that from now on?”
I had to muscle down the knot in my throat. “Yes. Yes, I’ll call you that. And you call me Jason.” I paused for a long moment. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you too.”
I looked back down at the music in my lap and a jab of sorrow overcame me. I had my way out now. I’d need a couple more songs, but that was nothing. Hell, maybe Lola would help me. My label would stagger the releases. Probably one a year and a tour to support each. But three more years wasn’t ten.
But it didn’t make any difference for me and Sloan.
Lola peered around the room like she could tell I was broken and she didn’t want to stare at the cracks. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding to the paper-wrapped painting I had propped against the wall.
I cleared my throat. “It’s just something I bought.”
“Oh. Can I see it?”
I nodded and she got up. When she peeled off the brown paper to look, she gasped. “Wow. That’s a really cool photo of you.”
I looked up and had to clutch a hand over the punch to my heart.
It was me.
Sloan had painted me.
I stood in the lake, in my waders. It was that day in Ely when I’d been putting in the dock. It was the moment right before I’d kissed her.
Tears threatened, and I had to put a hand on my mouth.
She’d painted this from memory. It was like seeing the moment through her eyes. This was how she had seen me that day, smiling and happy.
I’d been happy because she was there.
And I’d never be that happy again.
She wanted to get rid of it. She’d dropped this off to be sold and then left on a date.
The tears in my eyes rolled down my cheeks and I let them.
“What’s wrong?” Lola asked.
I shook my head. “My life is a mess,” I said, talking to the canvas.
She laughed a little. “Someone smart once told me you can start over again. Start now.”
But it was too late for starting over. I still couldn’t make Sloan safe. Not unless the public was suddenly more interested in buying magazines with pictures of me and her in them instead of me and Lola. And I’d done my job too well. Ernie said she hated me, that he couldn’t even mention my name without her face going hard. She was dating. She was moving on.
The damage had been done.
Chapter 45
Sloan
♪ Proof | Jaxon Waters
Adrian had two hands behind his back. “Pick one.” He smiled and his green eyes creased at the corners. We were sitting in a steakhouse waiting on appetizers.
Adrian held open doors for me. He pulled out my chair and ordered me a glass of wine that he seemed to know a lot about. He was funny, charming, and engaging. Intelligent, successful, and attractive. And he was trying very hard to show me a good time.
It totally wasn’t working. I couldn’t stop thinking about Zane’s letter.
Adrian waited for me to pick a hand. I pointed unenthusiastically to the left one. He put a full-size bottle of vanilla creamer on the table in front of me. I cracked a small smile. We’d stopped at the gas station on the way over and he’d caught me putting a few single-serve creamers in my purse.
“Smooth,” Kristen said from across the table. “But she likes the little ones.”