Page 14 of You Rock My World
Her admission tugs me in two opposite directions: it’s unexpected, strangely endearing, but also unsettling. She’s stepped into my private pain and made it her own, without invitation or permission. I feel exposed in a way I’m not used to.
“Do you need to ugly cry often?” I tease to lighten the mood. But I want an answer. I want to learn what makes Josie cry—and I’m afraid I’ll also want to maul someone if it’s a who and not a what.
Her lips twitch like she might laugh. But then her face crumples, folding in on itself like a piece of paper crushed in a fist. She hides behind her hands, and it takes me a second to realize she’s crying. Not the quiet kind of crying either. She’s breaking apart in front of me, and I don’t know what to do.
I’ve seen people cry because of my music before—fans overwhelmed at shows, tears streaming down their faces in the front row. It’s always moving, sure, but also distant, a step removed. This is different. Josie isn’t a stranger in a crowd.
She snorts mid-sob. “Sorry, it’s been two years. I should have learned how to control it.”
“Two years?” I ask gently. “What’s been two years?”
Josie shakes her head, her face twisting as another wave of emotion crashes over her. She dives into that bag of hers, pulling out an old tissue and blowing her nose loudly.
I don’t press her again. Whatever she’s carrying, she isn’t ready to share. Should I say something else, or let her cry it out?
Josie laughs into a sob. “Technically, it didn’t even happen to me. I’m not the one who has the right to fall apart every time I think about it.”
I have no idea what “it” might be. Doesn’t matter. The way she folds in on herself stirs something protective in me. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her. We hug, kneeling in front of each other on the elevator floor. At first, it’s clumsy and unfamiliar. I’m not sure how to comfort her, and I worry I’ve crossed a line.
But then she leans into me, giving me her weight, and drops her head on my shoulder, crying quietly. Her tears dampen my shirt, but she can soak through a thousand shirts if it keeps her from breaking.
“Sorry,” she murmurs against my collarbone.
I drop a hand on her lower back. “Don’t be.”
The words surprise me. They feel like they’re for both of us. For her, permission to let go. For me, permission to be here, to hold her, to care—maybe to let go, too.
It’s as if someone turned a key in a lock I didn’t intend to open. Something deep inside me unravels, and silent tears stream down my face. I don’t wipe them away—there’s no room for self-consciousness here.
When Josie finally pulls back, we remain kneeling in front of each other, foreheads nearly touching, our gazes locked. It’s not just eye contact; it’s a shared understanding, a peek into each other’s souls.
Josie sinks back on the floor. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
“It’s that damn song.” I settle next to her. “I wrote it when I lost my mother.”
I’ve carried this piece of myself for so long in secret, it feels strange to let it out now, to give it to her. I expect to feel exposed or regretful, but despite feeling slightly rug-burned, I’m comfortable—lighter, even.
“I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Dorian.”
“It was a while ago, but it still feels like yesterday.”
“Yes.” She stares at the ceiling, blinking back more tears. “It never goes away.”
When Josie looks at me again, she finally gifts me one of her smiles. “Playing strip souls was a terrible idea. We should’ve stuck to regular strip poker.” She wipes her face, and adds, “At least then I could’ve confirmed how much your abs were retouched on the cover of your latest album.”
“You’re merciless,” I groan. “I felt ridiculous during the entire photoshoot. And I’ll have you know”—I pump my chest, Tarzan-style—“that my trainer would be devastated by your lack of faith in my upper body.”
She grins wider. “I am amazed you said that with a totally straight face.”
I study her grin. It lights up her entire face and eases something restless inside me. For the first time in forever, I let myself exist in the moment, wondering how someone I barely know has cracked me open and put me back together so completely. It’s unsettling and oddly freeing, like standing on the edge of a cliff and not fearing the fall.
9
JOSIE
September—Present Time
After leaving Dorian’s house, I swing by my niece’s dance studio to pick her up from ballet. As I pull into the sun-drenched parking lot, my brain whirls with the tsunami of revelations it has received today. I’m drowning in an ocean of Dorian’s secrets—the divorce, the long separation, everything he couldn’t tell me in the elevator.
