Playing with Fire

His eyelids fluttered shut. He was giving up. I could practically see the fight evaporating out of his body.

I wanted to drop to my knees and beg him not to.

Convince him to give me everything I needed so we could be together.

But it wasn’t on me.

It was West’s commitment to make.

His fight to win.

I turned around and walked away.

This time, I didn’t look back, as I left both the love of my life and my old, insecure Grace behind.

Slipping into bed that night was surreal.

The lack of sound Grams usually made around the house was jarring to me. Moving objects, snoring, talking, breathing—all those things were missing, and the loud quiet leaked into my bones like poison.

Karlie had texted me earlier, asking if I wanted her to drop in for a spontaneous slumber party. Nineties-themed movies, cheap wine, and this or that games. As tempting as it was, and as much as I wanted to get away from the chaos teeming in my own head, I knew my new self was better than running away like that.

I needed to see tonight through—and come out of it a better version of myself.

Still broken.

And wonky.

Asymmetrical.

But also whole.

And independent.

Stronger than I’d ever been.

As I tossed and turned in a bed that felt strange without West in it, after making sure the doors were locked, and the TV on, its static light dancing across my face so I wouldn’t feel quite so alone, I had a feeling I was on the right path.

It was going to be a bumpy one, for sure, but wherever this road was taking me—I was ready.

Grace

I threw myself into both work and school for the next week.

The premiere for A Streetcar Named Desire loomed large, casting its shadow across everything else in my life.

West was discharged from the hospital three days after I’d visited him. I sent food and get-well cards while he was at the hospital, but I hadn’t summoned the courage to visit him again. The ball was in his court now.

A couple days after West got back to Sheridan, he showed up in the middle of rehearsal. He was still banged up, his face puffy, and a few pounds down, but that didn’t stop my breath from catching when he appeared between the grand double doors of the auditorium, flashing his signature cocky grin, a candy stick peeking from the side of his mouth.

I was onstage when I saw him. Aiden stomped in with a dummy package of meat. The scene was our first encounter as Stanley and Blanche. Even though I knew I needed to retune my mind to the play, I couldn’t help but follow West’s movements with my eyes as he took a seat directly under the stage, in the front row, watching me with his cool, attentive eyes.

“H’lo. Where’s the little woman?” Aiden rumbled, puffing his chest.

I finally realized how West had felt when I came to see him fight all those weeks ago. We couldn’t be in the same room and not be consumed by one another somehow.

Pretending to light a cigarette and puff on it, I tore my gaze from West, throwing myself into the role.

“In the bathroom.”

Aiden shot his lines at me, and I quipped mine right back. We had good chemistry onstage. The more time had passed, the more I began to forget West was there and allowed myself to drown in the sweet magic of performing.

When the scene came to an end, with Tess walking in delivering her lines, Finlay clapped from his place in the first row, next to West, springing up to his feet.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that was utter perfection. Take five. Grace—don’t go too far, please.”

I nodded, hopping offstage. West sauntered over to me. My pulse jackrabbited, pounding against the side of my throat. We stood in front of each other. I waited for him to say something, anything, to relieve me of the gushing rip-your-veins pain that I experienced every time I thought about him.

He was already turning back to being his old, beautiful self.

“Tex.”

“Maine.”

He grinned. I rarely called him that, but when I did, it always had a dazzling impact and made me feel like a siren taking her clothes off for the very first time.

“Look at you,” he whispered in awe.

I ducked my head down, blushing. “We’ve been workin’ pretty hard. Thanks.”

“We? I’ve only seen you. Were there other people?” he said matter-of-factly, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.

Ask me out.

Tell me you can’t live without me.

That I’m not the only one feeling like I’m walking around with half a heart.

He shoved his fists into his front pockets, shifting from foot to foot.

“Wanna grab coffee later? As friends,” he rushed to clarify. My heart sank. Friends. Of course. I’d told him I wouldn’t settle for anything less than everything, and he figured I wasn’t worth it. That was fair. I needed to come to terms with that. I couldn’t ask him for something he was incapable of giving me.