The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

Oh, my God.

I remembered how busy she’d been when he was finishing up his senior year because she’d gone to every one of his games, including regionals and state. He’d been on a traveling team too all summer. She’d mentioned he was disappointed about not making the team in college, but that had been years ago, and honestly, I hadn’t paid that much attention.

“He nearly quit school,” Jenna said. “So, y’all have to forgive me if I don’t want to watch his dreams die a second time.”

I couldn’t catch my breath. The ache in my chest was too constricting.

Failing at your dream once was awful, but to have it happen twice? I didn’t want that to happen to anyone, much less to Troy, and my desire for him to land the opening spot increased exponentially.

I stared at my friend, hoping she could see my conviction. “I can’t guarantee he’ll get it, but what I can promise is I’ll do everything I can to help him with his career.”

“Career?” She said it with disdain, before softening to a pleading tone. “Please, Erika. No one understands more than you how hard it is to make it in this town. The odds of it are so fucking slim. All I want is to protect him from getting hurt.”

I understood her concern stemmed from a good place, but . . . “I get it, but he’s an adult.”

Irritation flitted through her. “Yeah. One who still lives at home.”

Once again, she wasn’t exactly being fair. He was her only child, and she was rather attached. I smiled to soften the point I was about to make. “You’re telling me you’d prefer he didn’t? You seemed pretty happy when he came home from college.”

“Of course I was happy. Randhurst is ten hours away.” She set her drink down with a thud, but kept her hand wrapped around the can as she contemplated what to say next. “Look, I want him to be practical. Don’t get his hopes up, because if it doesn’t work out, it won’t just be devastating to him. It’ll be the same for me too.”

It was true you couldn’t fail if you never tried for anything, but what was the cost? “You want him to give up on his dreams just because he might not get them?”

“Are they his?” she accused. “Or are you pushing yours onto him?”

Her question cut right to the bone, possibly because there was truth to it. Troy and I teased last night how I was using him for sex, but was I also using him for this? To fulfill the dream I’d held for myself?

“Again,” I said tightly, “he’s an adult. He gets to decide what he wants.”

I stuck a nerve because her shoulders snapped back. She put her hand on her waist and her voice took on a hard edge.

“Bill needs back surgery. He’s been putting it off because he knows he’ll be out of commission for months, and I can’t run the company by myself. He wanted more than anything for Troy to step up, because . . .” Her eyes abruptly went wet with tears, but she blinked rapidly to hold them back. “Troy’s just as much his son as he is mine. It would mean a lot for him to take over, for Bill to know he was leaving all his hard work in good hands. Family hands.”

The kitchen was fraught with tension, and I sensed where she was going before she said it.

“Bill offered it to him tonight. The company he spent the last twenty years building.” Her stare was inescapable. “Troy turned him down. Want to guess why?”

I pressed my fingertips to the base of my neck. “Oh, Jenna.”

“This was an incredible opportunity he just passed up, all for a chance at something that I think, frankly, is a fantasy.”

With the way she was looking at me, there was no need to say it out loud. She blamed me for putting this fantasy in Troy’s head.

I opened my mouth to defend him, but she cut me off.

“Troy turned down what Bill and I hoped for, so he could follow this dream. So, I don’t want you to promise us anything, except you won’t let him get hurt. Can you do that?”

How the fuck was I supposed to answer that, as either his manager or the woman he was secretly involved with? Nothing was guaranteed in music or life. Certainly not in love.

Love?

I must have made a face because Jenna’s soured. “Yeah, I thought so.”

She left the half-empty drink on my counter, snatched up her purse, and headed for the front door.

“Wait, wait,” I said, catching her arm in the entryway, finally coming to my senses. She was upset, and she could argue she had a decent reason to be, but I’d let her control the conversation far too long. “I need to say something.”