Page 39 of I Just Want to be Yours

The last word is barely out of my mouth when she says, “You do not disappoint me—or Matt for that matter. I don’t even think you disappoint your mom.” She takes in a breath like she’s choosing her next words carefully. “As for your dad . . . I don’t think you’ve disappointed him any more than he’s disappointed you. You both want different things, but at the end of the day, it’s your life Jackson, and you only get one.”

How does she do that? How does she always know how to spin things to make it so different than how it is in my head? I could tell her I love her. It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue. Ever since I admitted it out loud to Mya, the thought, the feeling—the fucking declaration—has grown into something too big to hold onto.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not like this. So instead, I blow out a breath, and say, “Thanks.” Running a hand through my hair, I add, “You know how your blog made all this possible?”

Margot snorts. “I still find that hard to believe, but sure.”

I could roll my eyes. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her, or how many times Dave tells her. She doesn’t think her blog was the big reason we got our break. I think she wants me to feel like I did this on my own, but a lot more than that goes into it. Sure, it’s hard work, but it’s also luck. And in my case, some of my luck came from her and that post.

Ignoring her comment, I make my point. “All I can think about is how easy it would be for someone to undo that. One article, one viral video on a bad day, one blog post. That’s all itwould take for people to turn their backs on us and write us off.”

“Jackson, you can’t walk around determined to be on your best behavior all the time. That’s exhausting. You’re not the Prince of England, you’re arockstar.Your fans want the real you. If you’re genuine and authentic, they’ll love you. It would be impossible for them not to.”

I hope she’s right. “The Prince of England thing doesn’t do it for you?”

She laughs on the other end of the phone, and I wish I could bottle that sound. “No,” she says, the smile still evident in her voice. “I like you messy and uncensored.” There’s a pause before she adds, “Why would you think you’ve disappointed me?”

I close my eyes, wishing I would have kept my mouth shut. “Because I’m not there.” It’s an oversimplified answer, but I can’t get into this with her right now. I can’t confess all the ways I feel like I’m coming up short before I take the stage.

“Jackson, you’re touring the country doing what you love. That could never disappoint me. If anything, it’s inspiring.”

She’s too good. Too supportive. Too understanding. It all feels like a debt I’m determined to pay back, and I don’t even know where to start. How do I pay her back for something that feels priceless? She’s giving me what no one else ever has, and part of me knows I’ll never be able to tip the scales.

“Hey,” she says when I haven’t said anything. Her voice is soft and sweet, and the vice in my chest loosens at the sound of it.

I clear my throat as I blink back to reality. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says lightly. “Go play your show and enjoy every minute of it knowing you’re doing exactly what you should be doing. You’re doing exactly what we all want you to do.”

I know she’s excluding my parents from that statement, butI don’t care. I don’t need my parents’ approval when I have Margot in my corner. She makes their absence feel small.

“I—thank you.” I scratch the side of my head as I glance at the door to the venue, knowing my time is probably up. “You make everything better.”

There’s another pause, and I wonder if she’ll comment on how I’ve never said anything like that. I’ve felt it. I’ve thought it. But I’ve never said it. I’m trying to be better about that.

She doesn’t, though. Eventually, she just says, “So do you,” and the newfound thickness in her voice has my own throat bobbing as I swallow.

We say our goodbyes, but even after she’s hung up the call, I stare down at my phone for a long moment before slipping it back into my pocket. So much was left unsaid between us. I definitely held back on my end, and I wonder if she held back on hers. Is she looking at her phone wishing she would have said more the same way I am?

Maybe I’ll never know.

Blowing out a breath, I walk to the metal door and yank it open. The energy has shifted since I stepped outside. There’s an electric current in the air from everyone gearing up for the show.

Marty comes out of nowhere, hooking an arm around my shoulder. “It’s about time you decided to join us!” He pulls me to where the other guys are standing backstage with Brian and Mya.

Dave has a bottle of Patron in hand, and he raises it when he sees me. “Did you hear Mya got rid of all our shirts? I hope that gorgeous girlfriend of yours knows what a fucking rockstar you are!”

Marty finally releases me, and I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah,” I say with a breath of laughter. “I think she knows.”

My eyes dart to Mya, and she beams at me with a wink.

Dave pours us shots in plastic cups, and we all raise them before shooting them back. The tequila warms my throat on the way down. When I spoke to Margot, it felt like I was with her. She has this way of pulling me from whatever I’m in and consuming my every thought. I like the feeling of getting lost in her, but now it’s time to get lost in the music.

22

margot

I triedto stay up for Jackson. I wanted to hear how his show went, but I ended up falling asleep on the couch. When I woke up at 3:00 a.m. to the glow of the TV and still no sign of Rae or Matt, I dragged myself to my bedroom.

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