Page 137 of Wingwoman
Hope laughed, but the sound wasn’t exactly a happy one. That was the thing about Hope. Her joy was hard-earned. But when you heard that true laugh of hers? It made it all the more precious how rare it was. Like finding a piece of treasure after digging for weeks.
“Why not sing one of your new songs?” She inclined her chin toward my notebook.
My stomach gave an aching lurch to my throat and my skin went clammy. “Nothing is finished.” It was humiliating to admit that out loud.
“You have a few weeks. Besides, you could always sing the song about your mother. It’s beautiful and I’m sure Vivian would lov—”
“No.” I answered far too quickly, acutely conscious of the way my voice sounded far too strangled.
“Why not?” she asked, innocently enough. Other women might have gotten the hint and changed the subject. Avoided that question altogether. But not Hope.
She didn’t hide from uncomfortable conversations.
I could lie. Make up some reason about how it’s not relevant enough to their wedding. But looking up into her wide, brown eyes and seeing the way her teeth skimmed over her bottom lip… I couldn’t lie to her.
At least not anymore than I already had.
“I wrote that song for me. And for you. But parading my mom’s legacy around like that? Making money off the pain of losing her…” I cleared my throat against the thickening of my vocal chords and shook my head. “It’s just—”
“Too vulnerable?” She finished my thought.
“Something like that.”
“What would your mom say about that if she were sitting here right now with you?”
Not this again. I coughed out an incredulous sigh. “But she’s not here with me—”
“But if she were.” Hope wasn’t deterred by the raise in volume of my voice. Or the knit of my brow. She stood her ground firmly, but still gently enough to honor what I was going through.
Weirdly, I don’t hate it.
“I think she’d tell me to get my head out of my ass.”
“And?”
“And…” I gulped, not wanting to admit the truth of this. “Vulnerability sells records. Records that will help pay for this rescue she loves… loved… so much.”
Hope gives a quiet nod. “Well then. Josh?”
“Hm?”
Leaning forward, she cupped my jaw. The soft rasp of her painted fingernails on my stubble sent a shiver down my spine. “Get your head out of your ass. Vulnerability sells records. Records that will house and feed so many horses that need you.”
Then she slid her thumb across my cheekbone that was now damp with a single tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed.
I studied her for several long seconds, which only made her tip her chin higher and scrutinize me right back.
“Come here,” I rasped and tugged her into me so we were embracing.
I dipped my chin to her shoulder. Then holding my phone out in front of us, I clicked a few selfies. My damp cheek pressed to hers, unshed tears still in my eyes.
I wanted to remember this moment.
This moment where she pushed beyond my vulnerability and made me confront one of my many demons.
I wanted this moment forever documented so that years from now when Hope was long gone and just a wisp of a memory, I could look back and remember not only her, but also me. How I looked through her eyes.
“There,” I said, texting her the images. “Post those. But don’t you dare use that app. You’re gorgeous exactly as you are. If I wanted to be with an airbrushed Kardashian, I would be.”
