Page 85 of Wish You Would

I put my hand to my chest, my heart aching. Silently, I urged time to speed up, for the song to end, so I could wrap her in my arms. So, I could protect her from whatever was hurting her.

Finally—finally—the song reached its conclusion, the gentle strains of Tommy’s guitar accompanying Gigi’s final note. Then the lights went out. The audience erupted. Cheers vibrated through the air. In the dark of the stage, Gigi fell into my arms.

“Hey,” I murmured against her temple as she buried her head in the crook of my neck. “Hey. It’s okay.”

Over her head, I caught Halle’s eye. Her brows dipped in concern. She all right? she mouthed.

I communicated the best I could without letting Gigi go. I don’t know, I telepathed. I got her, though. Halle nodded her understanding, and veered the rest of the band away before they could reach us, giving us some privacy. I passed her a thankful smile and turned my full attention to the woman in my arms.

“Baby,” I whispered, lifting Gigi’s head from my shoulder. My heart cracked right down the middle as I took in the tear tracks down her cheeks, the anguish in her eyes. I wiped her tears away with my thumbs and let my palm linger against her cheek. “How about we go outside?”

She nodded and let me lead her around the perimeter of the bar until we reached the exit. Once outside, we sat on the bench below the open sign. Gigi leaned her arms on her knees and tangled her fingers together, fixing her eyes on them. I waited, giving her time to collect herself, to catch her breath.

After a couple minutes of quiet, the door swung open and a group of women came out, bringing with them a burst of sound and laughter. They started up the walk, but stopped when they caught sight of us.

“Oh, hey,” one of them said. “You’re in the band!”

Gigi looked up, the neon lights catching her surprise.

“You were so good,” another woman said, the earnestness in her voice endearing. “We’ve been coming to Patti Mayonnaise shows for years. Their last singer was good. But you—”

“You’re better,” the third cut in. “You made me cry.” The last part was said with a tinge of accusation, and it pulled Gigi out of her head.

Laughing, she said, “Yeah, well, you aren’t the only one. I made myself cry, too.”

The trio awwed and reached out to give Gigi reassuring shoulder pats and arm squeezes, proving once again that no one was more supportive than a group of drunk women.

“So, are you the new singer, then?” the first woman asked, her heavily-lined eyes hopeful. Her friends backed up her question with a chorus of Oooh and You should be. I held my breath, watching Gigi’s profile. They’d given voice to the very question I wanted to ask. The question on the tip of my tongue and the edges of my heart.

Instead of answering, Gigi smiled and shrugged. “Thank you guys so much,” she said, a masterclass in avoidance. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

There was another chorus of praise and positivity, then they sauntered away arm-in-arm, singing “Wonderwall”. Gigi stared after them. I stared at her.

Once they were out of sight, she sighed and returned her gaze to her tangled hands. I slid closer, enough for our thighs to touch. “They’re right, you know,” I said, bumping my shoulder against hers. “You were incredible.”

Her smile was half-hearted and aimed at the ground. “Thanks.”

My heart squeezed tight. She was shutting me out, closing up shop. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. Exhaling, I reached over and covered her fidgeting hands with mine. “Gigi. Talk to me.”

She looked at my hands on hers for a moment before relenting and flipping hers over to link our fingers. Then, still not glancing my way, she spoke. “I want it, Parker. I want it so bad.”

“So say yes,” I cut in. “It’s yours if you want it. You know it is. Just say yes.”

A humorless laugh cut through the air. “Yeah?” She glanced my way, the first time she looked at me since we came outside. “And what about us?”

I frowned, confusion like cobwebs in my brain. “What do you mean? This is not an either-or.”

She spun to face me, her dark eyes bright with a myriad of emotions. “Except it is,” she said. “It always is.”

I turned my body toward her, our knees bumping between us. “Do you think I’ll leave if you take the gig?”

Her gaze traced over my face, searching and hot. As if she’d find the answer in my eyes. Like my face was a magic eight ball. All signs point to yes, or Try again later. I stared back, giving nothing away.

“I think I’ll leave,” she finally said, the words so quiet I almost didn’t her them. “It’s what I do. I leave and I hurt the people I lo—” Halting, she pressed her lips together. With a quick shake of her head, she went on. “I’ve hurt too many people I care about already.” She looked down, her lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, too.”

As she spoke, I heard Vaughn’s words. The one time she led with her heart…

“Gigi—”

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