Playing with Fire

I plucked the first card out.

So proud of you, honey pie.

Then. Now. Forever.

Your number one fan.

—Marla.

I flipped the card around. It was written on the back of a picture of Marla smiling to the camera, both her grandchildren sitting in her lap, the palm trees and ocean her backdrop. I grinned. She was having so much fun in Florida.

I took out the second card.

You removed the flame ring and became your own fire.

Thank you for teaching me strength.

—Karlie.

I turned the card. It was a picture of both of us hugging and smiling for the camera. What I loved about it, more than anything else, was the fact that this picture was taken after the fire. In fact, it was the only picture I’d agreed to take with Karlie since I’d gotten my scars. I had my old, gray ball cap on. I knew why Karlie chose this photo. It was the new me, before I’d upgraded to my current version.

Yes, I was scarred, and looked a little different, but I was no less worthy.

I took another card.

Vivien Leigh got nothing on your ass.

#SlayTonight!

—Tess.

And another.

Good luck tonight, Grace.

Your boyfriend sure knows how to make a grand gesture.

Reality is overrated. Say yes to magic.

—Professor McGraw.

My tears and mirth blended together, and I wiped my face and nose, laughing uncontrollably.

Proud of you, Shaw.

(for the record, I knew you had acting chops the day you pretended to be interested in me to get back at Jackass St. Claire).

—Easton.

And also this surprising card:

Grace,

Sorry I was a tool.

Thanks for not being a tool back.

—Reign.

There was one card left. It was the one I’d been waiting for. I removed it from among the croissants, muffins, and cookies.

I’ll walk through fire for you.

Love you.

—Your old flame.

I turned the card over. It was a picture of me I hadn’t recognized. Maybe because I’d never noticed when he took it. We were in the food truck. I was wearing my pink ball cap, laughing, my eyes closed, holding a slushie, biting the tip of the straw.

I remembered that moment. He’d been lying on the floor, looking up at me like he was stargazing. I’d felt beautiful. Vibrant. Alive.

Why did you break up with him? What have you done?

Washing my face in the kitchen sink, I hurried about, slipping into something comfortable and jumping into my pickup. It was the final rehearsal before the big night. Tickets were sold out, and Professor McGraw and Finlay were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The rehearsal went flawlessly, and when we retired home to get showered and ready, there was another basket waiting for me at my door, this time full of dishes that looked and smelled awful, so my guess was West had tried to make them himself. This time, there was only one card.

Tried something new.

Wasn’t very successful.

I did order you pizza, though.

Love, West.

“Don’t peek. It’s bad luck.” Tess swatted my butt as she walked past me in the backstage area. I didn’t listen. I shoved my face between the curtains, glancing around. The auditorium was jam-packed with people. Completely full. I didn’t recognize ninety percent of the faces. Probably out-of-towners who wanted to enjoy the show. But the front row was full of Sheridan University staff, including Professor McGraw, and there were people I’d gone to high school and middle school with. They were all going to see my new face in a few minutes.

My real face.

My scarred face.

Oddly, I was prepared for that.

What I wasn’t prepared for was West’s conspicuous absence. He was nowhere to be seen.

Tess shoved her face next to mine behind the scarlet curtains, pouting. “Seriously, Grace, what are you looking at?”

“West is not here,” I croaked. She tugged me backstage by my vintage dress.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Reign said he bought tickets.”

“Tickets? Plural?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. Like, a good amount of ’em. He’s probably bringing his eternal date, East Braun, and I know Reign’s coming, too.”

I laughed, before sobering up. “He wouldn’t buy the tickets just to help the play, right?”

Tess stared at me like I was insane. “This play kicks ass. We don’t need any help. He bought the tickets because he wants to show you off, silly.”

By the time I was on the verge of going mad about West not being there, the show was starting, and I had to shove my anxiety aside to focus on being Blanche. It was surprisingly easy. I forgot just how much I loved having eyes on me. How addictive people’s responses to what was going on onstage was.

Every laugh, gasp, and clap from the audience settled in my stomach, fueling me.

It was during my second scene when the doors to the auditorium opened and West walked in looking like a million bucks, wearing a tux, no less, his date hanging on his cast-clad arm.

It wasn’t Easton Braun.