Page 41 of Knot Just A Fan

“You look stunning,” I say at last, our eyes locked as if each is trying to read the other without giving anything away.

And she does look stunning. She smells like a decadent dessert you want to take your time with. Her eyes sparkle with that anticipation of something she’s waited ages to receive.

But that’s just it—that’s what I can’t fathom. Eight years we worked, and played, and grew, and followed success until it followed us. And not once could she pull herself away from her life in Edinburgh to come see us. I stopped inviting her after the first five years. We talked on video chats weekly, but rarely was it more than five minutes. Just a catch up, every Wednesday. We kept ourselves enmeshed in each other’s lives, but not, I’m sure, each other’s hearts.

She looks me up and down, that pink pout so much glossier than I’ve ever seen it. She used to be the girl with her hair up in a ponytail or down in a loose braid, strands slipping out, lashes wet with the rain as we hiked along the coast or up a Welsh hill, or huddled together through the London streets after watching a club gig.

I’ve applauded her career climb over the years, and watched her change through a laptop camera, but seeing her in person, holding her hands again, makes one thing abundantly clear: This woman has not waited for me. And I never asked her to. She has someone else. And I want that for her.

“You’ve changed,” I whisper, still looking into her eyes, looking for that same girl I saw in the flesh over my shoulder before I disappeared through airport security. But she’s notthere. Part of me smiles, while part of me dies. Maybe that’s just life.

She leans in and I think she’s going to kiss me on the lips. At the last second, they swerve away to my ear, her perfume I don’t recognize slipping into my head like a burglar sliding into an unlocked window.

“You haven’t,” she says. She pulls back, our hands still grasped between us. Her smile reaches her eyes now. Is she telling me all she came to say? That she’s moved on, but I’ve been the fucking idiot, holding a place for her in my heart, in my bed, in mypack, while she’s long since known she had places to go that would never include me?

As if reading my mind, Willow says, more loudly, “I can’t wait to finally see you guys in action again. The shows I’ve seen online have been so electric. The real thing’s going to blow my mind.” I think her peripheral vision’s clocked Ash, who is now holding a newspaper up to hide his face in an over-the-top comedy way. Pretty sure he doesn’t read French.

Willow lets out a big sigh and looks down at the carry-on suitcase she’s brought. “This is me. Ash told me my room’s right next to yours.” Her voice sharpens slightly and she cocks her head, her highlighted hair much straighter than I’ve ever seen. That perfume lingers in my nose. It’s lovely. But I don’t know it. “I was hoping I’d be with you, Gray.”

I smile. “You haven’t been around me after a live gig in a long time, Wills. It’s not pleasant. Believe me, I fall into bed and turn into a golem. Any fun to be had will bebeforethe show.”

As soon as I say this I realize what it sounds like.

“Ohh,” she says with a self-conscious giggle. An actual giggle—the first thing that reminds me of that girl I used to know. “Well, I’ll go have a quick shower and then knock on your door.”

I plaster a smile on my face and release her hands. My stomach is in a knot as I further realize I don’t want to sleep withWillow. I don’t want to kiss Willow. Because my match is across the English Channel, sitting in a cold flat, wondering why.

Willow is still the beautiful girl who could beat me in a foot race. Who could swim across the lido faster than I could get halfway. Who sang pop songs while I tried to work out the chords on my guitar.

She’s still my first kiss. My first everything.

But first … doesn’t always mean forever. Nor should it. If we change. If we grow.

If we don’t grow together.

The sparkling of her white teeth and the beautiful bejeweled necklace at her throat tell me one positive: her business is doing well. Very well. I’d already picked this up over recent years from all the hints she dropped, not so subtly, on our video calls.

But seeing it is something different. She’s used to this lifestyle, and she’s probably glad I’ve seemingly joined her in it.

I want her to be well taken care of. And she’s taken care of herselfverywell.

Does this give me some relief, given the current massive cock-up Arcadia Echo’s in? Yes. But the guilt is still thicker, that Briella’s alone, uninsured, unprotected.

Suddenly I am so tempted to ditch the tour and fly back home and get her. But I shake myself from this thought.

Back to Willow, though—does she want to be free of any Plan B Echo has been for her? I’m not sure.

The want in her eyes is alive and dancing, and the pressure in her fingertips is obvious, as she reaches up and curls them around my neck, pulling me down into a closed-mouth kiss before she takes her case to the lift and waves happily in Ash’s direction, just as he lowers his paper.

From across the lobby I exchange a look with our manager and let out a sigh that draws a sharp pain from my pinched nerve.

It should be easy to tell someone who isn’t in love with me that I don’t want her that way anymore, either. But Willow knows how I feel about my father, about what he did to my mum. She knows that I’m pliable.

I walk over to Ash and lower carefully beside him, back board-straight. “I’ve totally fucked us.”

“She’s still hot to trot, then?”

I nod. “Think so. I wish she would just acknowledge the truth. We’re not the same anymore.”

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