Page 143 of If Only In Our Dreams

I was ready to make that leap.

Because for the first time in my life I trusted that there would be someone there to catch me.

And I knew that at the end of this terrible jump I’d find that Ben’s arms were still wide open. That his chest was warm, and his heart was thumping, and he’d do what he’d done since the day we met—and give me somewhere safe to call home.

Nancy’s phone was pointed toward me—for my personal social media. And the group of reporters that had been added to the guest list—per my request—were equally armed with cameras and phones of their own.Go big or go home, right?Some of them had both, probably live streaming, if I had to hazard a guess.

Which was good.

Really good.

Exactly what I wanted.

Except that it was still fuckingscaryto be scrutinized like this. Especially considering what I was about to do. What I’dbeen psyching myself up to do ever since Miles had dropped me off at the airport with a final hug and told me I was required to open my present when I came back home.

You’ve done this a thousand times.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

Everything is fine?—

Eyes, eyes, eyes. So many eyes. So many that the room felt small. So fucking small. I couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t—I searched the crowd, looking for something familiar in this space that I’d owned for years, but had never felt like mine.

It was only when I spotted a man with auburn hair that I was able to suck in a real breath.

I knew that my eyes were playing tricks on me.

That there was no way that Ben was here. It was Christmas Eve for god’s sake. Even if he’d scored a plane ticket, it wasn’t like he could just drop everything and fly across the country on a whim.

But for a moment, as I closed my eyes, I let myself believe he had. That he’d flown out right after me. That he’d made his way here, just to be with me on Christmas Eve. That he’d chased me, even though I wasn’t running anymore—at least…not from him. That Ben Montgomery had performed a Christmas miracle.

The crowd went quiet as the first wispy notes of guitar filled the air. I squeezed the mic tight, tapping my fingers against it to count the beat as I waited for my turn to join in. It was my first song—one of my most popular. Sad and angsty as the rest of them.

When I’d written these I’d been in my early twenties and my heart had been a gaping, open wound.

I opened my eyes, searching the crowd for the redheaded man I’d seen earlier. I couldn’t see him though, but that was fine.It let me believe the illusion that Ben was here just a little bit longer.

When the song ended the room erupted into a chorus of applause. I smiled, heart thumping as the next song began, and I melted into my stage persona like I always did. This song was less haunting—a little more revenge-fucky.

And as I bounced around the stage, belting into the mic, I let the reality of the situation finally set in.

If all went well, this would be my last time performing these songs.

I said goodbye with every warbling word. Said my thank-yous as I slid across the stage, Christmas lights flickering high above me. The city lights winked below from the view through the window, the same way they had when Ben had been here—when he’d entered my world without hesitation, despite the implications it brought with it.

By the third song the audience was really feeling it. It was hard to get celebrities to join in. A lot of them liked to “play it cool” but tonight they played along. Bobbing their heads, grinning. A lot of them even mouthed the words along with me as another song began to play and I amped up the performance level even more.

I was sweaty and grinning—the leather I wore clinging to my skin as tightly as the glitter my makeup artist had painted on. Louder I sang, higher I climbed, saying my goodbyes to the stars I couldn’t see, to all the places I’d toured—to the world beyond them.

If this was going to be my final performance, I was going to make it count.

Go out with a goddamn bang.

I finished my set, and by the time I was done the crowd had moved in close. They’d kept their distance at first, but by the time the last twang of the guitar sounded, they were pressedtight to the stage like glittery sardines. Nancy stood at the back of the room—beside the reporters. Her phone was still up, and I could see tears glinting in her dark, expressive eyes.

She knew what this was, even though no one else did.

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