Page 82 of One Short Summer

I’m not sure how, but somehow, I manage to make it there, the door securely closed behind me, before the first tear falls. Before I came to Brooksville, I’d barely cried in years. Now, for the second time in two days, I can’t blink fast enough to keep up with the tears that are falling at a rapid rate.

My vision blurs as I aimlessly stumble over to my bed. The only thing I want right now is to close my eyes long enough to push the pain away. To be able to forget the last hour, to not remember the realization of having my chest feel like it might explode out of excitement and love at one moment, just to be ripped apart in shreds, mere minutes later.

I don’t even want to scotch-tape my heart right now. Better to leave it broken the way it is since it will never be the same again without him anyway.

How could I be so stupid to think for even a moment that we could somehow make this work, that he actually loves me back?

The tightness in my throat is almost painful as I will the nausea in my stomach to disappear. The last thing I need right now is to throw up.

Sobbing into the comforter, I close my eyes, ready for the pain to drag me under.

* * *

I wake up to someone saying my name.

When I open one eye, I look straight at Gabe.

He’s a lot closer than I anticipated, and I jolt back instinctively. I’m about to smile at him, when everything that happened comes back to me.

Goodness, I can’t remember the last time I cried myself to sleep.

I must look like total hell. At least I feel like it.

“You okay? I knocked several times and got worried when you didn’t reply.” He looks me over, and I feel his gaze everywhere.

My body wants to respond to his eyes on me, and I’m unable to stop the warmth from spreading. I guess my body hasn’t gotten the memo yet that our best friend doesn’t like us the same way we do.

Traitor.

“Sure.” The word barely makes it out of my clogged-up throat, and I have to clear it several times before trying again. “I found some pictures and got sad about leaving. I’ve never had a break this long before, so it feels different than normal.”

There. Not a lie but not the whole truth either.

He’s quiet for a minute, his jaw flexing with tension. I’m trying to read him but fail miserably. He doesn’t seem happy, but I have no clue if it’s because of me or his phone conversation with Hudson. And I sure as hell won’t ask him about that.

His gaze travels to the already packed boxes on the floor. “Do you want me to put those in the closet?”

I nod. “Sure. Thank you. I’ll go and pack the rest.”

A sudden urgency to get everything wrapped up here, so I can put this chapter of my life behind me, slams into me. It’s so strong, I feel like I just got an energy kick from something potent, almost making me a little frantic.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll be gone, ready to get back to my old life where I know what to expect. Where I can keep my heart safe from any more losses. In no way will I get involved with anyone anytime soon. Maybe never again. I’m tired of being disappointed and hurt, and it’s obvious my career is in the way, one way or another.

This has proven, once and for all, that I’m not meant to be in a relationship. It’s too much, my life and I too peculiar, especially for someone like Gabe, who’s looking for a white picket fence, wife, and the average two-point-five children.

That’s not me, and we both know it.

Now, I just have to get through tonight, soaking up every single second with him like the masochist I am, before saying goodbye.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Monica

ONE MONTH LATER

My phone vibrateson the dresser in front of me and I pick it up without glancing at it. One huge upside of this tour is that I have my own dressing room. People are buzzing around outside my door like they’re in search of their sanities—which, some of them probably are. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years in the show business, it’s that there’s a fine line between excitement and pure madness, especially in the last few minutes before the curtain opens and the show starts.

The best motto everyone should adapt to and live by—on as well as offstage—is “Fake it till you make it.” It sounds easier than it is, and granted, doesn’t always work either, but it’s hands down the best advice out there.

---