One Song Away (12 page)

I hurry after Jake. I don’t see him in the corridor, so I make the turn toward the entrance. My steps slow when I hear a throaty giggle. I know that sound, and even though I try to stop before I see her, my body doesn’t get the message on time. I stand here frozen after she comes into view, and I can feel my face draining of blood as the images in front of me register.

Victoria.

Kissing Jake.

My
Jake.

Tears blur my vision. I blink and they fall, but I can’t even swipe at them. They haven’t seen me yet, so I sag against the wall, stumbling behind an alcove. I’m safely hidden, but barely standing. I want to run away, but I don’t have the energy to move.

“No.” It’s Jake’s voice. I close my eyes, letting his timbre wash over me. “No, Victoria.”

“Why not?” She hisses the words, syllables like claws. “What’s the matter with you?”

I fist a hand in my dress to keep from crying out. Is he…rejecting her? I fight every signal my body is giving me to leave, and try to stay still instead. Each breath is a ragged prayer.

“Victoria, I’m
with
someone.” He sounds closer, like he’s walking away from her.

“So?” Her voice rises; she sounds like she’s going after him. “
Everyone
wants me. You’re lucky I’m offering you this chance.”

Jake exhales loudly. “You may think that’s true, but when it comes down to it, I don’t want you.” New tears flood my vision. “I have a girlfriend, and if anyone is lucky, Victoria,
I
am. I’m lucky to be hers.” He pauses. “And I
am
hers. By some miracle I don’t understand, I think Claire Wright wants me, so I’m hers. No one else’s.” His voice is quiet but undeniably firm.

Victoria is silent for a long moment. She finally sniffs, and I hear a swishing sound. “You’ll regret this, Jake Cooper.”

He’s silent for a few seconds after she flounces away, then he laughs. It sounds like pure joy, mixed with relief. “No,” he whispers, “I won’t.”

My legs give out after I hear Jake leave. I sink to the floor in a puddle of gold fabric, letting my skirt billow around me. If I had doubts before and wondered if we were real, they’re gone. Vanished. I may not be able yet to put words to what I’m feeling for Jake, and what he’s feeling for me, but I know the truth as well as I know my own name: we aren’t faking it anymore.

Chapter Eighteen

As soon as I get home from work, I shower and then change into a pair of obscenely comfortable yoga pants and a worn, soft T-shirt. It has a hole in the hem, but I don’t care. All I want to be is comfortable, because tonight, after the longest week in creation, I’m finally, blessedly alone. I’ve been surrounded all week—by Sloane, my guardian angel, and by Mina, always watching my back at work. By Cassidy, her face in a constant frown as she watches me. Everyone I love knows I haven’t been myself for the last week.

Trudging toward my couch, I snag a blanket and my headphones. They’re a retro pair I snagged at a flea market, and I love them. They’re huge, and they must send some epic “go away” signal out in the universe because no one bothers me when I wear them in public. Tonight, I turn on something loud and raw, and huddle in the corner of the couch, the blanket pulled over me. It’s not really cold out, yet but the blanket is a comfort thing. And I need to be comforted after this week. Everyone has tried, but the hugs and worried looks get suffocating after awhile.

My phone buzzes once, then again. When I check, I see texts from Mina and Sloane, but I don’t make any effort to answer them. They know I’m at home. I haven’t been out except for work, a visit to my parent’s house, and one grocery trip all week. When I’m not working, I’m here, just trying to breathe.

A week. Is that all it’s been? I worry at my lip as the music pulses through me. A week since I overheard Jake affirming our relationship is real. A week since I eventually walked back into the ballroom feeling like nothing more than ashes and dust. I’ve held it together the last few days, but the truth is, I’m terrified. I don’t know how to accept the reality of my long-cherished dream coming true.

I feel like my entire center of gravity has shifted, and I’m cut loose, just drifting.

The first tears fall. I hate myself for them. I never imagined I’d cry over anything after leaving Nashville, but here I am, losing it alone on a Friday night. It’s my weekend off from Freshly Ground, so I have nowhere to be, which is fine with me. All I want is to stay here, alone.

I hear my phone go off again, and when it lights up, I glance at the screen and pause my music. It’s from Sloane.

Open up already! We’re here.

I sigh because I know she won’t give up easily. She’ll continue to linger until I let her in, and I might as well get this over with, so I go let them into my apartment. Then I turn and shuffle back to the couch.

“Okay,” Sloane says, marching in flanked by Mina, Brenna, and Cassidy. They’re all wearing fierce expressions. “We’re here to stage an intervention.”

I snort. “An intervention?”

“Yes.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “We’ve let you slide until now. But this is pathetic.” She glares at me. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Get off your ass now!” Sloane tugs the blanket away from me, and I pout. “Sophie, come on. This isn’t you.”

Cassidy sits at my feet. “Soph, I know you’re wigging out, and I don’t blame you. But you can be overwhelmed and still live.”

Can I? I’ve dodged Jake for a week and it feels like an eternity. He’s called me every night, and he’s tried to corner me several times at work. He asks me to stop and talk at work, but I won’t. I’m not sure what to say to him. It seems it’s one thing to pin your hopes on a fantasy, but it’s completely jarring when the fantasy comes true.

Every night this week, I’ve stared in the mirror. I’ve forced myself to say aloud that I
am
worthy of love, that even
I
should get a happy ending. I’ve swallowed down the fear, and tried to talk myself out of my natural impulse: running. I’ve always run, for one reason or another. Staying in one place is my problem. When I came home, I wanted to put down roots, and I have, so it’s killing me to think of tearing away from them.

I’m starting to believe a happy ending could be within my reach, and I’m starting to believe the girl in the mirror, but it’s slow going. I’m not a tragedy, but I
am
new at things working out in my favor.

“I don’t know how,” I whisper. I know it counterproductive to be scared of being happy. I know I’m being illogical, but I never claimed to make sense.

Sloane kneels in front of me. “Sophie, it can be done, one step at a time. Fake it ‘til you make it, like the rest of us do. Grown-up relationships are scary, but that’s life.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “And the first step is getting your ass off that couch and coming to Time Out with us.”

I glance around at their worried faces. Mina gives me a small smile, and Brenna nods. Cassidy’s eyes are pleading with me to stand up, to breathe, and to
try
. To believe I deserve happiness. I know I’m letting them down, but I’m so damn spun. I never really stopped to think how it would feel, what it would
do
to me, to know Jake cares for me, too.

I glance down at my wrist, remembering right after I came home, when Sloane put ours together so I could read the lyrics that have gotten me through rejected songs, breakups, weight gain, flat tires, friendships ending, and more. I survived all of those things. I can damn well survive
this
, because
I’m like those girls at the gala after all. I’m Sophie-Claire Wright. I’m a belle too, covered in iron. I’m a
rebel
belle, and I won’t let this, or anything, shake me. I deserve love and happiness.

No more getting in my own way.

No more being afraid to grab hold of what’s standing in front of me.

So I take a deep breath. I stand up. I breathe. I
try
.

___ ___ ___

A hot shower, a quick manicure, and a shot of vodka later, I step into Time Out in stiletto heels I’m not sure I won’t break an ankle in. I wanted to wear my cowboy boots, but Sloane insisted, and it was worth the smile on her face to let her doll me up a bit. I’m wearing a super cute dress I got at Goodwill just after I moved home, but I drew the line at any makeup other than concealer and a little blush to take away my death pallor. I have to admit that post shower and dressed up, I feel nice.

After a week of feeling off, I
need
to feel good again. I forgot what getting ready to go out could do for my mood. Turning the radio up loud and dancing around my room while I dried my hair may have been ridiculous, but it’s what I needed. By the time we arrive, I’m actually in a better mood.

We commandeer a table right in the middle of the bar. Sloane orders us a round of shots, save for Cassidy, who is here for moral support. I draw the line at corrupting my sweet sister. We gave her a sip of vodka at the apartment, and she nearly gagged, so I definitely don’t have to worry about her. And that’s reassuring. Wes and I had our share of misadventures as teens, so seeing Cassidy be so
good
, is comforting.

When the drinks arrive, we all hold ours up and toast to “living life.” I declare it a no-guy-talk zone, and insist on talk about anything but romance. Tonight, I don’t want to hear about kissing or hook-ups or anything like that. I feel bad because Brenna just got engaged, but I tell her that it’s nothing personal and I’m happy for her.

“So how’s work?” I turn to Sloane, who’s downing her shot.

She shrugs, grimacing after she finishes her drink. “Work. Chasing leads, fighting for credit on articles.”

I wince. “You’re still trying to prove yourself to Les, huh?”

Sloane nods. “Yeah.” Then she sighs but tries to shake it off. “It could be a lot worse, though. I mean, sure I’m a floater, but at least he’s finally assigning me a task other than getting his coffee.”

“True, true.” I take my shot, letting the burn spiral down. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab a glass of wine. Anyone want something?”

The girls all shake their heads, so I wander over to the bar. I nod to Anthony, who I went to school with, and place my order. Then I drum my fingers on the bar top while I wait. Even though I originally didn’t want to leave the house, this is actually fun. I’m glad to have my friends with me right now.

Anthony refuses to let me pay, claiming that he still owes me for all the English tutoring in high school, and I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and a thank-you. When I get back to the table, Mina and Sloane are chatting about Sloane’s upcoming marathon. Besides volunteer coaching at the high school for the track team, Sloane is also just as involved in
her
running as always. I love that about her. She’s stuck to her passions just like I have mine.

“You’re obviously going to win.” I sip at my wine, beaming at Sloane.

“You’re very biased.” She grins at me. “And very sweet.”

Before I can reply, one of my favorite songs comes on, and I’m on my feet before I even realize it. All the girls gape at me when I gesture at them to stand.

“Come on. We’re dancing!”

Maybe it’s the drinks. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s just being out of the house and feeling alive. Whatever it is, I feel better than I have all week. Once I’m on the dance floor, the feeling only increases. I dance, I sing along to the music, and I throw my hands in the air. I don’t care who’s watching, or what they’re thinking. My friends are all around me dancing, even Sloane, who is doing something I wouldn’t really call dancing.

I tip my head back and laugh, spinning around before I start shaking my hips again. Whatever the music, I just go wherever it takes me, moving in whatever way feels right. The songs change, but I can still feel the music all through me—the clash of the drums, the wailing guitar, the pounding of the bass. I’ll dance to anything, and the band plays a bit of everything.

I hold my drink over my head, trying not to spill it as I shimmy and sing along to the songs I know. Sloane and I make up lyrics for the ones we don’t know. Time folds in on itself as we shout the chorus to one of our favorite songs, and I realize this is what I needed. Just this, being here, free, with friends.

We dance to song after song, sometimes in a group, sometimes as individuals. I dance with Sloane, and we laugh when two guys eye us. Then we’re finally all too tired to keep going, so we troop back to our table. It’s been a few hours, and I’m parched. I’m glad I wore my hair up because I’m hot. After I order water and gulp most of it down, I listen to Brenna and Sloane talking quietly. Their conversation is a pleasant hum, and I’m just thinking how I’ll reach out to Jake tomorrow and explain why I’ve been such a space case all week when Mina comes back from using the restroom.

“Oh shit,” she says as she drops into the seat beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder. Her narrowed blue eyes and tone should be warning enough for me that something is wrong, but apparently it’s not.

I look up, follow her gaze, and almost lose my grip on the glass I’m holding. I immediately feel like echoing her words. A few deep breaths do nothing to steady the hammering of my pulse, or the sick feeling uncoiling in my stomach.

Jake is here.