Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

On an exhale, I close my eyes and press my palms into my chest, singing loudly and with all the heartache I assume Lewis is feeling too. I want to believe I’m not in love with Maxim anymore. It isn’t like we ever kissed or had sex, nothing of the sort, but I miss him. I do know that feeling. My craving for him is bone-deep. Our jokes, our similar likes, the time we spent together on the ice; it was nice. He was great, fun, and I miss him. I do. I just hate the rejection coursing through my veins. The first time I ever put myself out there for a guy, and it blew up in my face.

Exploded, really.

The scars from it, they’re invisible, but I feel them burn.

It isn’t only Maxim’s rejection that has left scars; it’s the pure humiliation of coming home with my tail between my legs. I didn’t actually tell any of my family I went—well, I told Ally, but no one else—but they all found out once my uncle Jakob dropped the bomb. Everyone knew Maxim didn’t care for me the way I did him, so of course I got a chorus of “I told you so” once I arrived home. Even though I am almost twenty-two years old, my parents scolded me like I was a child. I am aware that I live with them, that they paid for my school, and they also pay for a lot of the things I am doing right now because I am between jobs. That alone should have afforded them the consideration of being told where I was going, but I wanted to follow my heart. I wanted so badly for Maxim to love me and for us to start a life together, but I’m realizing that kind of stuff only happens in romance books. The kind my mom’s life is based on. I wanted my parents’ happily ever after, and well, I didn’t even get the prologue.

I got the sad, depressing version that I’m starting to think is actually my love life. I haven’t had much luck. I feel I can blame this one on Shelli. With us so close in age, we ran with the same people. Everyone always saw Shelli—How could they not? She’s a star—but it wasn’t the same for me. Unfortunately, I was used to get closer to my sister. The guys I liked usually liked my sister instead. The boyfriends I did have weren’t really into me, and as soon as I wouldn’t put out, they’d dump me. I’ve known this my whole life, yet I still stayed close to my sister. She was my buffer. I got to experience life, but I didn’t have to make it happen. She did, and I rode along beside her.

When she went off to Broadway, I didn’t have my buffer anymore. One would think that would push me into the spotlight where my siblings lived. But instead, I stayed in the background, almost like a recluse. I didn’t go to prom. I didn’t go to homecomings. I wasn’t the super-popular kid like Shelli; I was the loner writing in my journal in the back. I’d think of plays for the next hockey game, and when I showed them to my coach, who was always my dad, he’d gush over me and use them at practice.

I yearned for that approval. For once, I had something special about me. I was amazing, so I became obsessed with how the game worked. I spent hours upon hours watching footage with my mom and dad. I’d suggest ideas, and most of the time, they were taken to the coaches. I guess it was for the best since it’s what I want to do for a living, but because of that interest, I didn’t make much time for a social life. Which is the reason I flew to profess my love for a guy who obviously only saw me as a friend. If I had spent more time around people my age and put myself out there, I would have known that. Instead, here we are.

Sing it, Capaldi.

I press my hand into my stomach as I sing, the words hitting home. I let my guard down for Maxim. I was myself, and it was beautiful. I love how he helped me escape into that person. I felt so free. We were beautiful, but then he left. Without a care in the world. He was chasing his dreams, and I wasn’t supposed to be a part of them.

The door flies open, and my baby brother, Quinn, comes in with his arms up, singing the chorus as he acts out the song. Banging his fist to his chest, throwing his hands up, the whole nine yards. As if he wrote the song for the woman who wronged him. Exactly like how I want to do it, but I refrain. I close my eyes as he sings with Lewis, and when the song ends, Quinn falls onto my bed. I feel him looking down at me since I’m on the floor, and when the song restarts, I hear him make a noise of contempt.