Page 38 of Someone to Have
“The monologue,” Bryan’s voice rings out. He doesn’t sound annoyed anymore. That’s a good sign, right?
The monologue—oh yeah, I’m not finished yet. Taking a deep breath, I turn back to the audience and glance toward the back of the theater. If Eric is still there, he’s lost in the shadows, but I imagine I feel him silently cheering me on. He’s one hell of a hype man. I begin my rehearsal piece, and with my nerves more settled, it goes on better than I expected.
“Thank you, Taylor,” Bryan says when I finish.
I wait for a word or two of encouragement, but when it’s clear I’ve been dismissed, I nod and murmur my thanks. It will have to be enough.
“Let’s take a five-minute break,” he announces as I walk off. “Then we’ll finish up.”
“That was awesome,” Ellie Seidel, who’s starred in a number of our local productions, tells me as I pause backstage.
My knees have gone weak again, but I return her smile as I place a hand on the wall for support. “Thanks. Your audition piece was amazing, as always,” I tell her. “You’re a shoo-in for one of the leads.”
She shakes her head. “I’m actually hoping for a moresupporting role. I want to be involved, but…you know Bryan directed the fall play, and…” She frowns. “Do you know him well?”
“We’re coworkers. This is the first time I’ve tried out for anything. I haven’t been on stage since?—”
She makes a face. “Yeah, I was in sixth grade that year,” she says.
“The sixth graders were in the front row.” I cringe, remembering that horrible moment like it was yesterday.
She laughs softly. “I’ve got two kids now, so I’m kind of old-hat at being puked on.” She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I’m sure you’ll be part of this production. Just remember, you have talent and you rocked your audition. Don’t let anyone take that from you.”
“Thanks,” I repeat, confused by her serious tone but appreciating the words of encouragement.
She walks away, and I head down the hall toward the prop room. I want to text my book club friends and let them know I did it. I’d like to text Eric, but a message feels inadequate to express how much I owe him. Maybe I’d have managed through it if he hadn’t shown up to support me, but I don’t know. I’m glad and grateful, no matter what.
As I walk in, I flip on the lights in the prop room, the old fluorescent bulb casting a slightly dingy glow over a maze of costumes, battered furniture, and plastic bins stacked along the walls.
“You killed it,” a familiar voice says behind me.
I yelp and jump about three feet in the air. My phone skitters across the scuffed wood floor, the clatter echoing in the otherwise silent space.
Eric picks it up and moves into the room, handing it to me. A faded black hoodie molds itself to his massive shoulders, and his dark jeans look way too good on him for my peace of mind.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He flashes an almosthesitant smile. “I wasn’t sure if non-theater people are allowed backstage, but I wanted to congratulate you. You did it.”
“I did it,” I agree, still breathless. My heart hammers against my ribs in a wild rhythm that has nothing to do with the performance. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind one ear, my fingers brushing my overheated cheek. “Actually,wedid it. I’m not sure why you came, but you kept my head in the game.”
His thick brows draw together. For a moment, he looks almost wounded, which makes my chest ache in a way I don’t know how to name.
“I’m here because I’m your coach,” he says, like that explains everything. “Oh, and Rhett had a pop quiz in English today. He’s thrilled with his eighty-five,” he adds, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. It’s the kind of smile that could make a girl forget every other guy she’s ever known. “I thought you might want to know.”
His grin is contagious, and I feel myself relax as I smile back at him. “He texted me earlier about the grade and to say good luck. It’s fantastic, Eric. He’s going to keep improving.” I wrinkle my nose. “Just like me. I know the audition wasn’t perfect. I’m sure everyone could hear my voice shaking, but--”
“You were amazing.” He reaches up and touches one finger to my bottom lip, sending a jolt of heat straight through me, as if my nerves have been rewired to react only to him. “But you’ve got to stop chewing your lip to bits. The abuse this thing takes is a crime.”
I don’t think anyone has ever touched me so gently. Like I’m something worth handling with care. His skin is warm and my body reacts like I have zero control over it. Every inch of me feels suddenly, achingly aware of him—his nearness, his touch, the quiet intensity in his eyes.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I tell him, placing my hand over his, holding on like I’m afraid I might float away ifI don’t.
“The talent is yours, Tinkerbell.”
I shake my head. “What does it matter if I’m too much of a chicken to let anyone see it?”
“I saw it.”
The words fall between us, rough and low. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for a heartbeat that stretches on for days. My heart stumbles, equally terrified and hopeful that I’m misreading what I see in his eyes.
