Andy looks disappointed, and Sam presses her lips together. “I can feel everything changing,” she says. She glances up and locks eyes with me. “Are you okay with all of it?”
I nod. “I’m ready for it.”
“You seem different,” she says.
I sigh. “I am different. I fell in love, I lost a reality competition, and I lost the boy.”
“You fell in love?” Danny asks, his brows way up high on his forehead.
I lift a shoulder, and I don’t add any more.
But I’m pretty sure that little proclamation sealed the deal.
Danny’s staying put. He doesn’t have to say it because I already know.
I’ll be starting my career fresh with a brand-new band.
I pack up my apartment as best I can and leave the rest for the moving company coming through in a few days to bring my stuff to LA. I fill an extra suitcase with my clothes, say tearful goodbyes to my family and friends, and then I’m back on an airplane heading back toward the new city I’ll call home.
It’s late afternoon Friday when I check back into the same hotel. I take a shower to freshen up, and I treat myself to a glass of wine to take the edge off.
I chuckle as I remember saying that the night we met when I ordered a Long Island iced tea.
I’m nervous.
I don’t know if he’ll show up, and if he does, I don’t know what I’ll say to him.
I said it would be our second chance, so this night represents a lot.
Unless he shows up just to tell me it’s over...a possibility I refuse to focus on even though it’s real.
I head down early to get something to eat, and I pair my dinner with another glass of wine. My food and wine are both gone and it’s still a good half hour until eight.
I order another glass. I might be getting just a little tipsy at this point, but I keep going.
I watch the clock on my phone as the minutes tick slowly by. Twenty-nine minutes.
Twenty-eight.
My third glass of wine arrives.
Twenty-seven.
I drink half of it down, and I stare at the television showing some replay of a football game. I’m not really watching, but the people next to me are, and they yell and shout at the screen.
I’m sitting in the same chair he sat in when I tapped him on the shoulder that first night.
Part of me wonders if I should’ve chosen another seat. He might walk in, do a quick sweep, decide he doesn’t see me, and leave.
And so, I keep turning my head toward the doorway to see if he’s coming.
Eighteen minutes.
I blow out a breath.
I finish my glass of wine.
Fourteen minutes.
I order one more.
Ten minutes.
My heart picks up speed.
My chest tightens.
My stomach forms knots.
Seven minutes.
Can time move backward?
It seems like it’s moving backward.
It’s a slow crawl to get to eight, and I try to remember why I said eight and not seven.
I can’t come up with the reason.
I finish that last glass and sign my bill, charging my wine and dinner to my room, which Ashmark has promised to foot the bill for. I chug some water.
I think about using the restroom because now I really have to go, but I don’t want to miss him if he shows up. I don’t want him to think I didn’t show because I was in the bathroom.
Three. Two. One minute.
I glance toward the door.
It opens, and my heart races.
Someone who isn’t Gage walks through, and my heart slows.
The knots in my stomach tighten.
The door opens again.
Not Gage.
I look up at the television screen.
Football game. Don’t care.
I glance toward the door. Not Gage.
Dang, that door opens and closes a lot.
I check the time.
Two minutes past eight.
He’s either late or he isn’t coming.
I pin my hopes on late.
Five minutes past.
I glance at the door.
At ten minutes past, I finally resign myself to the fact that he isn’t showing up. Maybe he didn’t hear my words the night of the finale, or maybe he didn’t feel them back. Whatever the case, he didn’t want this second chance, and it’s time to head up to my room and wallow in that for a while.
After I use the restroom, of course.
I saunter across the lobby, take care of business, and stare at myself in the mirror for a beat.
We were so incredibly happy for that one weekend. Why’d it have to end? Why’d we both have to be on the same show competing for the same ultimate prize?
Will I see him around Ashmark?
Maybe. We’re signed to the same label now, or we will be once the paperwork is all filed.
Will it be awkward when we do eventually cross paths again?
Probably. For me anyway—since I’m the one who lost everything in this equation.
I draw in a deep breath. I look up at the ceiling to try to ward off the tears stinging behind my eyes.
And then I walk out of the bathroom and start my trek across the lobby toward the elevators.
CHAPTER 59: GAGE
Shit.
I silently will the driver to just drive faster, but I don’t dare say it aloud. The one time I did, the guy got pulled over for speeding, and fuck if I have time for that tonight when I’m already running late.
I glance at the clock for the millionth time.
It seems like it’s speeding up as each minute past eight turns to another one, and she definitely will think I’m a no show—well, she will if she even bothered to show, something I still don’t actually know the answer to.
I was watching Ruby Ray and her band practice since they use our living room as their practice facility, and Rascal was asking my opinion on some riff in a song, and I lost track of time.
I don’t have my car here yet, and I ordered my Lyft just two minutes later than I’d planned to.
It was all fine. I was still on track to be on time.
And then we hit traffic. An accident on the other side of the road. Gapers staring at the accident as we drive by, causing huge delays.
And me, the guy running late to meet the girl for our second chance.
The car finally pulls up to the hotel and I bolt. I run into the lobby and scan the bar.
I don’t see her long, dark hair anywhere.
My eyes land on the vacant chair where I sat the night we first met.
I’m only fifteen minutes late. Did she run out of here that fast...or did she not bother to show up at all?
I scan through all the people at the bar one more time, my chest aching with disappointment.
What do I do now? Text her? Forget her?
I can’t forget her.
I won’t forget her. Ever.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn toward the lobby to slide into one of the chairs there while I figure out what to say. When I look up from my phone as I turn around, my eyes lock on a woman who seems to have paused mid-step on her trek across the hotel lobby.
Her wide eyes are on mine, and a switch seems to flip as I watch what appears to be devastation turn into hope.
The ache burning in my chest seems to dissipate.
Everything moves in slow motion. I take a step across the lobby toward her, but she’s still frozen in place.
I take another step, and I feel the low bass of my footstep echo all around me and inside me, all the way from the tips of my toes to the edges of my ears.