Page 52 of Big Boss
But as I make a move, a set of fingers wraps around my elbow.
I turn and stare at Jackson, who is glaring at me like he wishes I didn’t exist.
Well, tough. I don’t have any energy left to deal with this guy coming at me again, so I straighten up and reach over to his fingers, forcing him to peel them off my skin one by one.
“Let go of me.” I say to him, trying to sound dangerous but more likely than not just sounding scared.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, then rubs his hand across his jawline. “Haven’t you done enough?”
I take a shaky breath. “Absolutely I have. Everything here seems fine, so I’m going to go.” I point to the doors. “Outside. Bye.”
But then Jackson puts his body between me and the doors and stares at me like he’s waiting for the punchline.
I don’t say anything else, but I’m not exactly going to push this guy out of my way, either. He’ll move because he doesn’t want to make a scene any more than I do. So I wait and stare at him, until he gets uncomfortable enough to move.
It shouldn’t take this long. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making people uncomfortable.
The moment drags on, and finally I decide I’d better speak up if I want him to budge.
“I don’t think you understand. I only came to make sure this event worked out, and now that it has, I’m going to go home and try to forget that I was ever here.” I swallow my pride and let the rest of it out. “I don’t belong here, and I don’t want to make any kind of scene, so if you could please move out of my way and let me leave…?”
Jackson stares at me for a few more moments. Then he shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. But I don’t think I can do that, Erica.”
18
Tate
It’s toobright for me to see anything other than just vague shadows and shapes with the stage lights in my eyes. I can’t see any individuals in the audience, but I can definitely hear them. The noise and surge of the crowd presses in on me in a way that I had all but forgotten.
I put down my guitar and move back to the microphone. “I want to let you know that the song you just heard is from my new album. It’s coming out soon, and all of the proceeds from this endeavor are going to benefit First Steps, so I appreciate your support.”
The waves of cheering and applause roll over me, and the nausea from my bout of stage fright gradually begins to subside. It’s going to be okay. It turns out I can do this, that I’mnotbroken.
Even if I’ve spent most of the last couple of decades of my life feeling that way. Defective. Like I would be forever haunted by the ghosts of cringe-worthy songs past.
And it turns out all I had to do was allow myself to get really, devastatingly hurt in order to really be creative. Looks like Jackson was right and I found a way to utilize my pain for my own well-being after all.
I guess there are worse things than being able to convert my emotional suffering into music. It’s the first music I’ve managed to create in forever, and I want to check in with Jackson to see what he thinks about the song I played.
I wouldn’t let anyone hear it before tonight, but I could feel the way the music was supposed to go. It’s that same sort of sixth sense feeling that I get about whether a band is going to be good or not. I could tell that the song was coming together in a way that music hasn’t done for me in ages.
But also thank goodness that’s over with. Now all I need to do is make small talk with the various donors and then check in with my real friends about their thoughts.
As I make my way through the crowd, I spot Jackson near the back of the room. He’s standing at the doors and scowling, and it better not be at me.
I untangle myself from the handshakes of the well-wishers as best as I can and head over to him to see what the matter is. But then I see what he’s upset about. Well, it’s more of awhoissue rather than awhatissue.
Erica Ridley, in her fancy gown with pockets, is enough to make me pause, devouring her with my eyes for a long moment before I can move again.
I approach the two of them slowly because it feels like if I make the wrong move here, I am going to lose her forever. Assuming that hasn’t happened yet.
“Jackson.” I give him the universal guy head nod for good measure.
At the sound of my voice, Erica spins to face me, her hands knotting into little fists like she might take a swing at me.
“Miss Ridley,” I say softly. I don’t move any closer to her. The last thing I want is for her to feel any more anxious than she already does. I am going to have to be careful to make things better, not worse, this time.
She stares at me like I’m an apparition, even though she’s the one who pulled the disappearing act. Erica has been ducking my calls and working at off hours to avoid having to see me in person since the post-sex debacle of a morning, and I try my best to figure out how she’s going to handle being here with me now.
