And he’s still holding my hand. In a roomful of fans, bandmates, groupies, and journalists. That must count for something.
“I came with Ditra, she drove me.”
“Okay. I’ll get you home later if that’s what you’re worried about. Or she can come with us.”
“Er, I think I’d rather she not tag along. Let me find her and let her know.”
He nods. “While you do that I’m going to say hi to a few people and sign some things so everyone’s happy. Just come get me when you’re ready and we’ll take off.”
The way he squeezes my hand before he releases it reassures me that everything is okay and I’m not making a huge mistake by going off with him. Maybe there’s a way we can start over, after all. I may be jumping the gun, but if we still love each other, and if he accepts Lyric, then we could find a way to be together and make it work. People have gotten through worse circumstances and come out stronger.
It looks like Ditra gave up on her plan of hooking up with Reece because after scouring the room I find her still talking to the guy with the Mohawk. They’ve moved to a large chair in the corner and she’s perched on his lap, touching his spikey hair.
“So? How’d it go?” she asks when I approach them.
“Good, so far. I haven’t really talked to him much yet. He wants me to go have dinner and talk.”
“When?”
“Now. Tonight.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I think I’m going to go. Do you mind?”
She waves her hand at me. “Not a bit. I might be busy, anyway.” She leans her head against the guy’s head and the mother in me is petrified his hair is going to stab one of her eyes out. “How are you going to get home? Do you want me to wait around?”
“No, he says he’ll get me home.”
I ignore Mr. Mohawk’s sudden obnoxious laugh, hoping he’s just being a jerk and doesn’t have inside info about Blue having a rep for handing out I’ll get you home lines to various unsuspecting women. Ditra frowns and leans back up, straightening her shirt in the process which somehow has gotten all askew. “Are you sure? I don’t want you abandoned in Boston in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll be fine.” I hope.
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’m going to hang around for a little while, too. You go have fun, be strong, and call me!”
“I will.” I give her friend the side-eye. “You have fun, too.”
Hand-in-hand, we walk across the street to the restaurant in the hotel that Blue and the band are staying in for the weekend. We sit at a quiet table in the back that Blue thinks should hide us from concert-goers.
We don’t open our menus or ask each other what we’re having.
We don’t casually chat about the concert or the weather.
We stare at each other.
We hold hands across the table, like lovers do.
I concentrate hard to control the tremor of panic in my chest and take steady breaths. I knew it would be hard seeing him—exciting, confusing, emotional—but my body seems to have its own ideas. I have to shove away the fear and keep breathing or I’ll start to feel sick. And I want to stay present with him, no matter how many directions my body wants to run.
“You’re still wearing it.” He thumbs the beaded bracelet. It’s faded and tattered now, much like my heart.
“I told you I’d never take it off.”
That makes him smile. “I thought you would have taken it off so you wouldn’t be reminded of me every day after what happened.”
I almost laugh. I have a much bigger and better reminder of him in the form of a tiny person with his same soulful eyes.
“What did happen, Blue? I thought we were happy. We had such a nice time that night.”
“We did. It was one of the best nights of my life. Every second of us together is burned into my memory.”
I stare at our hands, at his thumb caressing my knuckles. “I don’t understand. Was it the apartment? Did it scare you? Did you think I was going to try to force you to move in? Give you an ultimatum? I wasn’t going to. I was willing to accept the way you wanted to live.”
“I know that.”
Patiently, I wait for him to give me more of an answer. I refuse to keep prodding at him and making myself appear desperate. Even though I am—I’m absolutely desperate for an explanation, something to make me understand. The air is thick between us; the silence expands like a balloon about to burst. The waitress brings us water and he asks her for a few more minutes. Our hands are still clasped, resting against the unopened laminated menus.