Page 114 of I Just Want to be Yours

She huffs. “What about school?”

I shrug. “Take classes online.”

“And my job?” She bites her thumb.

“You’d have to quit,” I say with a nod.

She frowns, and her hand falls to her side. “But I like my job.”

My lips lift as I push off from the counter. Walking around the island, I stop when I’m directly in front of her. Holding her face in my hands I say, “No one is asking you to give up anything. I just want you to know you have options.”

“Options.” She repeats the word like it had never occurred to her.

“And I can still be an accountant if you want, but I’d make you tell Brian. He can be a real asshole when he’s mad. You should have seen his face when I told him I was coming here instead of recording.”

She pushes me away with a shake of her head. “Would you stop? You’re not becoming an accountant.” A low chuckle escapes me as she steps away, and she smiles at the sound. “Wait,” she says, registering what I just said. “What were you supposed to record?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “Did you block the band on all social media?”

She nods.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I curse. “Um, we—well, I guessI—sort of went viral for a song we haven’t recorded yet, and now Brian wants to drop the single as soon as possible. I’m delaying it a few weeks by being here, and . . . he wasn’t happy with me.”

“You chose me over the band?” Her voice is so small when she asks that I almost don’t hear her.

“I’d choose you over everything.”

She looks at me more carefully, and she looks like she might be on the verge of crying again. I want to close the space between us, but the way she’s looking at me has me stuck where I am. “Jackson, you don’t choose anything over the band.”

“Except you.”

A tear slips from her eye, and she quickly wipes it away. “Can I listen to the song?”

My eyebrows cinch. “What song?”

“The one that went viral. The one you’re supposed to be recording right now.”

My heart pounds in my chest. I was hoping she had already heard it. I mean over four million people have by now. It would have been nice if she were one of them. Reaching for my phone, I try to shake my nerves as I pull up the video Mya sent me weeks ago. I click on the link before sliding my phone over to Margot and bracing myself for the worst.

The song is basically a love song to a girl who has already broken my heart, and there’s no mistake it’s about her. All the lines I whispered against her naked body in New York are in this song, and she knows those were for her.

After the intro, my voice starts to play, and I hate listening back to it. I don’t think my voice necessarily sounds good or bad, but it sounds likemy voice,and that alone makes it weird. I was hoping Dave would be the one to do vocals. It would have been an easy way to separate myself from it, but after it went viral, that wasn’t an option.

I watch her listen to it until I can’t anymore. Resting my elbows on the counter, I stare at my clasped hands in front of me because it feels like a safer option. She started with a soft smile when she heard the melody, but it slowly fell the longermy words washed over her. There’s nothing bad in the song. I wouldn’t write anything bad about Margot, but it’s a balance of love and heartache.

When it ends, I don’t look at her right away. I can’t. Writing the song was one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. Singing it in front of the band? No problem. I don’t even mind singing it in front of a crowd of people. But sitting here with Margot and listening to it leaves me feeling raw.

“Jackson,” she says softly, and I force myself to lift my gaze.

There are tears in her eyes again. I hate seeing her cry. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown her the song.

“Jackson,” she says again with a shake of her head. “That song is incredible.”

Something in my ribcage relaxes, and I feel like I can finally take a breath. “Thanks.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’sincredible.The way it sounds upbeat, but the lyrics gut you. It’s the type of song people will want to sing in the car, but . . . it’s heartbreaking.” Her eyes lock on mine on the last word like she’s finally piecing it all together.

For once, I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say, so I just look at her. I just wait for whatever conclusion she’ll inevitably come to. She knows I want her to come with me. She knows I love her. She knows I wrote that song about her. She has all the information, and now it’s up to her to decide what she wants to do with it.

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