“You’re going to have to talk to him,” Brook said. “You know that, right? I hope you don’t think you’re going to get out of town without talking to him.”
Her stomach coiled tighter. “There’s really nothing more to say.”
“Yes, there is. All this…” She gestured to Giselle with both hands in a chaotic burst of waving. “All this…turmoil. You can’t live with that eating at you. You need to say what you need to say and get it out. You can’t control what he says back, you can’t control how he feels, but you can control what you do about how you feel. And keeping it all bottled up inside is not healthy, and you know it.”
Giselle stabbed a forkful of scrambled eggs. “I’ll think about it.” She heaved a sigh and glanced at her watch. “I need to get out. Are you up for a Twitter drop?”
Brook’s brows rose. “Really?”
Giselle nodded. The thought of randomly tweeting her location and having fans in the area show up for an impromptu, private, intimate mini-concert usually thrilled the hell out of her. It kept her grounded, kept her in touch, kept her real, kept her heart open, and reminded her of why she did this. Right now, she needed that reminder. Of why she’d walked away from Troy.
Right now, it kept her treading water.
“That is a great idea,” Brook said. “Tell me when, and I’ll put together the where and grab a couple of the hotel security guys.”
“It’s noon, and rehearsal starts at four. How about one thirty? I’ll stay half an hour.”
“Done. Who are the proceeds going to? Treehouse or Casa?”
“Didn’t we donate to Casa last time?”
“Pretty sure we did.”
“Then Treehouse.”
“Are you singing, or are you letting your fans sing?”
“I can sing today. I just don’t like singing after a concert.”
“Oooo.” Brook clapped and picked up her phone, tapping into some app. “Your fans are going to be sooooo excited!”
Giselle smiled, and a little spark lit up inside her. A spark she really needed right now.
Brook set her phone down, and that weird silence filtered between them again.
“Have you talked to Chad about this?” Brook asked. When Giselle frowned across the table at her, Brook added, “About Troy.”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“Because you need to talk to someone about it and you’re not talking to me—which is totally fine,” she added quickly. “I don’t expect you to talk to me about everything, I’m good with that. I respect that. I’m just really worried at the way you keep everything inside. Especially this. And to do what you do, to live up to the demands and expectations placed on you day in and day out, you need to be balanced. Your mind needs to be free and have room to move. Keeping this locked inside you isn’t allowing for that and, honestly…you’re scaring me.”
“Brook, that’s… I’m…” She exhaled. “Okay, look. I’m…different. We’ve known that from the beginning. I process things differently. I relate to people differently. You’ve seen me grow and change over the years. I’ve opened up, become more confident, which has allowed me to be more extroverted.
“Meeting up with Troy again has just, I don’t know, sort of pushed me backward a little. I’ve started acting and reacting in some of the unhealthy ways I used to—like trying to handle everything myself, shutting people out, making rash decisions. It’s—it’s just my way of protecting myself.”
Brook’s hand reached across the table and covered Giselle’s. “I hope you know you never have to protect yourself from me. I love you unconditionally. And I’ve always got your back.”
This was the kind of closeness that rattled Giselle to the core. It felt awkward and uncomfortable. And it terrified her. This was the kind of closeness that could tear her heart out if—when—it was lost. Yet there was nothing she wanted more. It was the kind of closeness she craved. And the conflict created a constant inner battle.
But she didn’t expect Brook to understand those twisted emotions—ones rooted in a traumatic childhood and a young life filled with repeated loss. So she smiled, turned her hand over, and squeezed Brook’s. “I know. I love you too. I’m sorry I make you worry.”
God, she was so messed up. So freaking broken. Even all these years and all her success later, she was still one crayon short of a full box. She still felt unworthy—of friends, of success, of love.
Brook eased back in her seat and picked at her fruit with a little grin tilting her mouth. “Did I already mention how totally, completely, raging hawt he is?” She fanned herself with her hand and rolled her eyes. “Like Vegas-in-August-during-a-record-heat-wave hawt.”
Giselle cut her a glare. “About two dozen times in three days.”
“Huh. So I have.” She frowned at her fruit. “Have you talked to Nathan?”