CHAPTER 24 (2)

The fact that she’s here, that she’s changed, that she can still turn me on without even touching me, pisses me off. Jacob hollers, and I ignore him, cutting through the half-drunk crowd to backstage. “Wasn’t sure you were coming.” The woman who runs open mic night looks at her list. “You want in after her?” I glance at Emily. “Next one.” I stalk to the edge of the stage. At this new angle, I can see Emily swaying with her own music, the spell she's weaving on the faces of the crowd. Tightness works through my gut. We’re going to talk about this right the fuck now. How she’s here. Why she’s here. Why the fact that she’s here is affecting me so goddamn much. My gaze lands on the small silver handbag sitting on an unused speaker. It’s familiar, and I reach for it. When Emily comes off stage, beaming and sweating from the spotlight, her attention goes to the speaker. “Where’s my—” I hold up the bag, and her eyes flash. When she swipes for the bag, it falls between us, the contents spilling out. “What are you doing here?” she demands as we both drop to the ground. She reaches for her phone, her face a breath away from mine. “Leo’s is my place. I should be asking you the same thing.” I retrieve one of the cards and hold it up in the half light. “It almost looks like you. This you. Whoever she is.” I grab her bag and straighten. She rises too, her gaze lingering on the purse in my hands as if I might run away with it. “What would your dad say if he could see you like this?” I press. Emily’s close enough I see her breasts heaving under her low-cut top. “I don’t care.” I’m not even mad at her. I’m mad at me, at the way she affects me still, at the fact that I left her for my dreams but also so the sweet, smart girl I craved like a drug could grow up without my influence. But she’s not here. That girl is gone. “Besides,” she goes on, “he doesn’t know everything that happens in the world.” A single piece in a twisted puzzle clicks into place. “He doesn’t know you’re here.” There’s a hint of panic in those eyes, a vulnerability I catalogue, memorize. I feel the power shift between us, like I’m suddenly gaining the upper hand. “Where does he think you are?” I ask. She looks like she wants to deny me, but there’s no point lying. I can find out. “Columbia University.” The next act on stage is playing something down tempo. Now that she’s close, I smell her. She’s memories and dreams, gold and glory, and parts of me that were dead five minutes ago suddenly ache. “You shouldn’t be so surprised to see me,” she goes on. “You saw me at auditions. Couldn’t believe I’d actually get in?” It’s my turn to be back on my heels. “I thought I imagined you.” Her brows pull together. “Why would you do that?” I don’t fucking know. Because I wanted you here? “Whatever,” she says, realizing I’m not going to answer. “Give my bag back.” I open it and tuck the license back in. When I do, my fingers close on the round glass shape on a chain. I lift it high between us. When the glass flashes in the light, my gut twists. Hard. The pendant is flat, cut in the shape of a heart. At first, I think it’s purple glass, but when I look closer, I see it’s two pieces of clear glass edged with dull gold binding the edges together around the dark-purple thing inside it. To preserve it. I can’t place it, but familiarity and nostalgia wash over me in uninvited waves. “What is this?” I demand. “A reminder that I’m not the person I was. That’s the last question of yours I’m going to answer because I don’t owe you anything. You walked away from me.” The pain and accusation in her voice has my chest tightening, but I remind myself she’s fine. She got over me fast. “I know Jacob’s my mentor and he’s your roommate,” she goes on, “but we can stay out of each other’s way.” The way she looks when she says it, the hint of vulnerability in those dark-rimmed eyes, the waver in those gloss-slicked lips, tells me the earnest, honest girl I knew isn’t gone. Not entirely. It makes her ten times harder to ignore. I steel myself, unwilling to show what I’m feeling as I drop the pendant into the bag and hold it out. “He likes you,” I mutter grudgingly as our hands meet on the fabric. “Jacob?” Her brows lift. “I like him, too.” But her gaze drops down my body before flicking back up. “Don’t worry about me. I’m sure your girlfriend is more than enough to keep you occupied.” “My what?” Doubt has her licking her lips. “The girl who was climbing you in that practice room.” Knowing it bothered her has adrenaline surging through me. I should correct her assumption, tell her Mariah wasn’t my girlfriend then and isn’t now. But for some fucked-up reason, I need to remind her what went down between us might be over but it happened. More than that, it mattered. I step closer, inhale her scent as I brush her hair back behind her ear. To her credit, she doesn’t back away. She’s all grown up? Fine. I’ll treat her like it. “You want me to pretend I don’t know you?” I murmur against her ear. “That I never kissed that mouth? Never slept in your bed?” Never made you laugh. Never stared at you in utter awe for how beautiful you were, the way you saw the world. I force those thoughts away because they’re stirring up feelings I can’t stand. “Never watched those eyes get big when you imagined me fucking you, when you practically begged me to do it?” The little shiver that overtakes her has me wanting to drop my lips to her jaw, see if it’s as soft as I remember. Applause in the distance tells me the previous performer has wrapped up, and someone shouts at me to take the stage, but I can’t move. She pulls back first, tucking her bag under her arm and sucking in a breath. “That’s exactly what I expect. This is my fresh start. No one’s going to mess it up. Not even you, Timothy Adams.” As she disappears down the stairs, I don’t feel anything like vindicated. The only thing I can think is that I’d give everything I have to hear her say my name again.