Page 88 of Wish You Would

I still didn’t know.

“She told me to take the gig,” I started, hoping that if I talked it out, it would make sense. Even though an entire night of thinking hadn’t done the trick. “I told her I wanted it, but I wasn’t taking it. That I was choosing her. She told me to take the gig.”

Across from me, Luke remained quiet. So, I kept talking. “I thought it was the right thing, you know? I love her. I don’t want to hurt her.” I shrugged, confusion like a tidal wave inside me. “So, I chose her.”

Luke shifted. I looked up to find him watching me with sharp assessment. There was something he wanted to say. I could sense it. But he was holding back. Now wasn’t the time for that shit.

“Out with it, Lucas.”

Assessment turned to annoyance and, despite my misery, I grinned. Fucking with him never got old.

“Well, Georgia,” he started. I lifted my chin, refusing to take the bait. “I think I’m missing a very important piece of this puzzle.” Planting an elbow on the counter, he leaned in closer. “Why?”

“Why, what? Why—”

“Why do you have to choose? Why is it the band or Parker? Why not both?”

I stared at him, body abuzz with confusion. I couldn’t understand how what was clearcut to me was not to anyone else. How could they not see? How could they not see what joining the band would do to everything else—everyone else around me?

“You weren’t there,” I started, dropping my gaze. I picked at the crust of my sandwich. “You didn’t see the damage I caused the last time I—” I swallowed against a sudden swell of tears. “The last time I was so selfish.”

“What was so selfish about what you did?”

My eyes shot to his, disbelieving. “What do you mean? What wasn’t selfish about it?”

“You were a kid, going after what she wanted. You were a kid, starting her own life.” His gaze locked on mine, blue eyes burning. “You were a kid.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen.” Shadows played behind his eyes as if memories of his own came a-knocking. He shook them off and continued. “You cannot tell me that your brother is okay with this guilt prison you’ve locked yourself in.”

At the mention of Vaughn, I thought about the last few conversations we’d had. Luke was right; my brother was not okay with it. But my brother was also a goddamn saint who would do anything for the ones he loved, including encouraging them to go after their dreams, even at the expense of his own.

No. I shook my head. “He doesn’t get a say,” I told Luke. “He’d peel his own skin off and give it to me if he thought it’d make me happy.”

Luke’s face paled. He looked from me to his sandwich, then pushed his plate away. Despite myself, I smirked.

Shaking his head, he stood. “Seems to me,” he started, “that you have two choices.”

“Yeah,” I said, but it sounded more like no duh. “I know. The band, or Parker.”

He frowned. “No.” He put the bread back into the breadbox on the counter, then faced me again. “All or nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” I shook my head. “Weren’t you even listening?”

“I’ve been listening for months.” Opening the fridge, he grabbed the mayo and lettuce and put them inside. “I’ve heard everything you said—and everything you didn’t say.”

“Would you stop talking like a hippie-ass yoga dude and say what you mean?” I snapped. “Enough of this talking in circles shit, please.”

He shut the fridge and faced me. “Fine.” Brushing his hands over his pants, he pinned me under his stare. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been ignoring your own wants and needs. Everything you have, you’ve thrown into the bar. Which, don’t get me wrong, as an investor? Big fan.” I scowled. He grinned. “But as a friend?” His eyes warmed. I squirmed beneath the compassion there. “It’s been hard to watch.”

“How else was the bar going to succeed?” I slid from my seat and marched across the kitchen, refilling my mug with the remaining coffee. “Vaughn could’ve done everything, sure. But he’s been doing everything for years. And I’m here. Finally, I’m here. So, yeah.” I faced Luke, mirroring his stance. “I’ve been busting my ass so he didn’t have to. I’ve been busting my ass so you could succeed. I—”

“What about you, though?”

“What?”

He tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “What about you?” he repeated. “You’ve been working so hard you’ve forgotten to be happy. Or you’re not letting yourself be happy. I haven’t quite figured out which it is.”

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