Page 78 of Enticing the Enforcer
It’s an apology that, two months ago, would have had me swooning, but now, I just laugh, short and sharp. “Wrong? You were wrong for every time you belittled me, for every moment you said my music was trash and had no longevity. Where you tried to convince me that real art, real music, requires pain and sacrifice. That it has to hurt to get it down on paper.” I feel a wave of emotion bubble in my chest. “So you’re admitting all of this and what do you want? A round of applause?”
“I’m not asking for applause. I just needed to tell you I’m sorry. I should’ve tried harder, and maybe, there’s the opportunity for us to try again.”
“Seriously?” I shake my head, letting the high from the tour armor me. “You had your chance. You made your choice. I didn’t stay, and I didn’t look back. This,” I gesture to the glittering crowd around us, my people, my night, “this is my life. You don’t get to decide now that you want to be a part of it. Not after I’ve healed and moved on.”
His jaw tightens, bitterness cutting through his words. “Moved on? Into another man’s bed, sure. But where is he tonight, Ingrid? Where is he on the biggest night of your life? Because I’m here, babe. I showed up.”
That’s when the nail drives in that Jake will never understand me. I take an easy breath. “I’m not defined by a man and his support. I’m definitely not defined by a wanna-be hipster who spends more time on his hair than on his music.” I lean in close, my voice low and sharp enough to slit. “Jefferson isn’t here because he doesn’t need to make my achievements about himself. He trusts me to stand on my own two feet–something you never could–and now that I’ve outgrown you, you can’t stand it.”
His nostrils flare, but I don’t give him the chance to answer. I step back, raising my voice just enough that the nearby circle of guests turns toward us. “So, Jake, thanks for the apology, but you don’t get to claim me now. You had your chance, and you blew it.” I flash him the kind of smile meant for cameras, not ex-lovers. “But stay awhile, enjoy the free champagne, consider it my parting gift.”
Pushing my shoulders back, I turn on my heel and head back into the fray. I don’t look back, not even when it kills me not to watch him die a little inside, because the only direction I’m moving now is forward.
24
Jefferson
The last weekwent by in a whirlwind, and now that graduation is over, it already feels like things are different. No more classes. No more practices. No more countdowns on the schedule that kept me anchored for four straight years.
My parents flew back home this morning. It was good having them here, showing them my world for a couple of days without interruptions. I promised I’d visit before I head to Florida and start the season, but the truth is that I don’t want to think about hockey right now.
I want to see Ingrid.
The next date I’ve got circled is the fundraiser for the Flockton Foundation in Miami next week. I’d hop on a plane tonight if I hadn’t promised Coach we’d spend time with the new players he recruited for the fall.
Ingrid and I have only texted here and there–short messages, both of us busy. I miss her. Badly. And not just her body or the way she feels in my hands. I miss her laugh and smile. Her quick wit and intelligence. And it sucks that I haven’t even seenthe final show on the tour. I know it was a spectacle, but the last twenty-four hours have been packed: the ceremony took up most of the day, followed by dinner with my roommates and their families. This morning I went to breakfast with my parents and then drove them to the airport. By the time I got home, I had to help the guys start cleaning out the kitchen.
I’ve done my best to avoid spoilers, although it’s nearly impossible. Everyone’s said it was insane, a total blowout, but the biggest thing I keep hearing, whispered in every recap, is that she sang a new song.
That alone is enough to keep me off the internet until I can see it for myself.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going upstairs to eat pizza and have phone sex,” Reid calls as I pass through the kitchen, three greasy slices balanced on a paper plate. Half the kitchen is packed up in cardboard boxes.
“So what if I am?” I shoot back. God, if only. It’s been a week since I’ve gotten off. My hand just isn’t cutting it anymore.
“Stop.” Shelby slaps her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Relax. I’m just going to watch last night’s concert.” I wink. “Pants on.”
“Stop winking at my girl.” Reid picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at me. I dodge it easily and grin.
“Oh, watch it down here,” Shelby says, straightening on the couch. “I want to see it too.”
I hesitate, then shrug. She’s right. It’s better on the flat screen anyway.
We settle in–me in the armchair, Shelby tucked under Reid’s arm on the couch. She knows every lyric, even the deep-cut tracks. She’s singing under her breath the whole time, and it’s weirdly comforting, hearing someone else love Ingrid’s music as much as I do.
When the lights on the stage dim, I sit forward. “I think this is it,” I murmur. “The new one.”
Behind the stage, the backdrop transforms into a midnight sky glittering with stars. A stagehand crosses to her and hands her a guitar. She adjusts the strap, lays her hand across the strings. She looks so casual–like this is second nature–but I can see it. The nerves, tucked just beneath the stage smile.
Her voice comes through the speakers, soft and certain:“I know you love the hits, and I love them too, but it didn’t feel right closing down this show without giving you a little gift of something new.”
Then she begins.
“You walk me down the empty streets
Actin’ like this could repeat
