I can’t think of one thing to say. And I should, because by now even a two-year-old could figure out that we are doing a Jack-and-Elena thing here and not Romeo and Juliet.
He continues. “That same author also said that love is not a product of reasonings and statistics, but it just comes—none knows whence—and cannot explain itself.” He pauses. “I didn’t expect it, never dreamed it, never aspired to it. But here it is. Yours.”
Juliet’s mother enters the stage, a startled look on her face. No one knows what to do.
“Go,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Adieu, my love.” After a long look, he climbs back down the trellis and walks away.
My soul cries for him to come back, to tell me those words again so I can soak them in, but he can’t; we can’t do this . . . whatever it is . . . in front of all these people.
I watch his shoulders, not able to tear my eyes away.
Chapter 34
JACK
The curtain goes down as the princess ends her last line, and a thunderous applause reaches our ears. Thank God! I’m so ready for this to be over so I can talk to Elena . . . instead of muddling and butchering poor Romeo’s lines.
“Great job!” Patrick exclaims, clapping. “Big success.”
Is he kidding?
Elena rises up from me, and I pull her back down. I scan her face, reading her, but since the messed-up honeymoon scene, we haven’t spoken a word; instead I’ve been lying here with a hard-on with her draped across me.
“Elena . . .”
“Not right now, Jack. I can’t.” She stands and runs to stage right.
Fuck. I still can’t get a read on her.
I head to my spot, an entire stage between us.
Laura calls out our names one by one, and we take our bows, the crowd on their feet, clapping.
Juliet’s name is called, and Elena runs to the stage and takes her bow; then I take mine. I clasp her hand in mine as we take our bows together. Whistles and cheers erupt, and I grin sheepishly. This part hasn’t been hard at all. The only thing on my mind was Elena. I didn’t give a shit about anyone else.
The audience claps for three minutes. “Jack, Jack, Jack” starts up in the bleachers from some Tigers fans, and I give them a wave. Devon smirks at me from the front row and gives me a thumbs-up. Quinn moves his gaze to Elena, popping an eyebrow.
Yeah. I don’t know yet.
Does she still want me?
Or has she had a good hard look at some of that darkness inside of me . . . and . . . shit—
Maybe I’m not worth the trouble?
Chaos ensues as some of the crowd pushes forward and jumps on the stage with us, Laura and Timmy and some of his friends he’s got tagging along to talk to me. They all have pens and playbills out. I wince but try to cover it up. Part of it, Jack.
“Cast party at the Tavern in an hour, guys!” Laura calls out, a wide smile on her face. “Free beer and pizza courtesy of Jack.”
Cheers go up.
She gives me a big hug. “Jack, thank you so much for doing this.”
“I hijacked your play for my own personal use—”
“Shut up. It’s you and Elena. The audience ate it up. A few reporters from the Tennessean were here. They inquired if they could interview you, and I said no.”
I hug her again. “Thank you. They always print what they want anyway.”
She smiles. “Well, there was nothing bad to say about you today. You and Elena . . . your chemistry . . . be still, my heart.”
I throw a look around the crowded stage just as Timmy and company arrive.
I don’t see Elena.
Two hours later, most everyone has left except for me and a few straggler fans still waiting in line to see me. I feel exhausted yet exhilarated after I finish the last autograph and selfie. Devon left with Quinn and Lucy already after saying their congratulations and goodbyes.
There’s not a hint of Elena anywhere.
Chapter 35
ELENA
I pop in the cast party super early, hug everyone, and eat pizza. No one mentions Jack, but you can tell by their questioning looks that they want to ask me what the heck was going on. Maybe it’s my face that keeps them from inquiring.
As soon as he walks in the door an hour later, I head out the back exit and drive back home. I need time to think, to process, and I can’t do it with him in front of me, wanting answers. I need space. I need home.
I fly in the house, whipping my costume off as I head to the bedroom, grabbing pajama pants and an NYU sweatshirt. One pour of whiskey later, I’m out on the back porch, heating lamps on.