Page 67 of Wish You Would

It had to be.

Because in what reality did it make sense that I had the time of my life onstage, and then I got to fall asleep next to the most perfect being on the planet?

In this reality, apparently, because there she was, curled up on her side, curtain of dark hair like silk over the white pillowcase. Soft snores brushed past her lips with each exhale.

I smiled to myself.

She’d been exhausted last night. I could see it in the purple smudges under her eyes and the yawns she tried to hide. But she’d insisted on hanging out with the band and me after we finished the set. I’d hopped behind the bar to check in with Dante and the waitresses, popped into the kitchen to make sure the cooks were good. Everyone insisted they were fine and shooed me off. So, the band and I grabbed the corner booth and a round of drinks.

Snuggling deeper into my pillow, I traced the curves of Parker’s face with my eyes. She’d been at my side last night, talking and laughing with the band for over an hour. It was euphoria, the high of performing combined with Parker’s fingers tangled with mine beneath the table.

But then Ryan opened his stupid mouth.

“So, you joining us on the road, or what, Gigi?”

I froze, drink halfway to my lips. All eyes were on me, varying degrees of curiosity and hope aimed my way. Under the table, Parker’s fingers tightened around mine. I stared straight ahead, vision blurring as I tried to calm the feral blend of happy and devastated inside me.

“I, ah,” I started, setting my beer bottle down slowly, carefully. “I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about this already.”

“Right, but after that?” Ryan gestured toward the stage, eyes wide. “You gotta be dying to change your tune.”

My heart lurched as if reaching for the mic that still stood center stage. As if demanding I listen to it, listen to the glow still warming my insides. It’s been so long, it seemed to say. It’s been so long since we’ve been this close to the sun.

Yeah, well, I thought, logic taking over. You get too close to the sun, you get burned.

I should know.

“Sorry, man,” I said to Ryan, ignoring the heat of Parker’s eyes on my profile. “My tune remains unchanged.”

There’d been half-hearted attempts to change my mind over the next hour or so, but I stayed firm. I had my reasons, I’d said. I was sure they’d find someone in time for their summer tour.

Now, lying in bed next to Parker, regret was sharp inside my chest. I pulled my pillow tight against my body in an attempt to dampen it, but it would not dull. After all, my bones still vibrated with rhythm, my blood still sang the melody. I thought I’d put that part of me to rest a long time ago, but here it was. Resurrected.

I wanted nothing more than to bury it again.

Squeezing the pillow tighter, I pressed my face into it, surprised when it was damp. When had I started to cry?

“Gigi?”

I started. Lifting my head, I found Parker’s sleepy gaze on me, concern creasing her brow.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “Good morning.”

“Why are you crying?” she asked instead of returning my greeting. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” I sat up and rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes, scrubbing any trace of those traitorous tears away. “I’m okay.”

She sat up, too, and, even in its conflicted state, my heart skipped a beat as I took her in. Hair mussed, pillow creases on her cheek, sleepy eyes. God, I could lose myself to her forever. Night after night, morning after morning, letting that soft smile, those warm eyes, soothe my ragged nerves, my battered heart.

Her brows dipped as she looked me over. I straightened my spine and wiped any trace of angst from my face. Or, at least, I thought I did. Apparently, I missed a spot, because Parker looked unconvinced.

Tossing the pillow barricade between us aside, she scooted closer, draping her bare leg over mine. Then, she took my hands, which I hadn’t even realized had been twisting the sheet. “Gigi,” she said, and there was so much in the way her voice wrapped around my name, so much that pulled at the tangled mess in my chest, threatening to undo the knots. “Talk to me.”

I couldn’t take the earnestness in her eyes and so I looked down, cataloguing the way our fingers wove together. “I,” I started, unsure of where that sentence was going. I didn’t know how to verbalize it, the mess inside me. I didn’t know how to tell Parker everything without making her see me differently.

Because she would.

If she knew the truth, why I was throwing all I had into Heathcliff’s, why I kept turning Patti Mayonnaise down, she’d see me differently. That warmth in her eyes would cool.

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