Chapter 23
Ingrid
It’s like the moment I left the bubble of Wittmore and Jefferson’s arms, I jumped straight into the fire. No more slow paced college town with their greasy bars with cheap drinks and quiet campus. I travel straight to New York and into the final leg of the tour.
There’s no hiding now, not from the interviews, the media blitz, the endless headlines about ticket sales and broken records. They keep calling it the biggest tour of all time, the kind of event people will talk about for years.
I do my part. Teasing the surprise guests, hinting at a few legendary collabs. Every day, another celebrity posts about how they managed to score tickets, how they “wouldn’t miss it for the world.” It’s dizzying, and if I’m being honest, I’m back in my limelight. The place where I shine.
Madison did her magic, getting the photographer that Jefferson pushed to back down, quelling the press with other, juicy teasers about the show that manages to distract them.
And then there’s Jefferson.
He’s caught in his own whirlwind–the rush of graduation week. Apparently, there are long-standing Wittmore traditions. A final night where they pass the torch from one senior class to the next, where everyone is decked out in black and gold.
I see it all secondhand–on their feeds, in tagged stories. Skin shiny with sweat, beer bottles raised high, wide grins and loud chants. The smiles are big, but there’s a wistful edge too, like they know it’s the last time they’ll ever all be together like this.
It feels like something I’d write in a song.
I marvel at how Nadia looks effortless, the perfect shade of red lipstick flawless even at two in the morning.
Twyler is in the middle of everything, tiny and wide-eyed, Reese always at her side.
Even Shelby, who’s younger and not graduating, pops up in photos, squeezed between them like she belongs there too.
And the guys… I’ve learned a lot about the men Jefferson thinks of as brothers.
Reese with his type-A intensity. They all look up to him.
Axel, his tattoos and piercings less about rebellion and more about capturing every moment with joy.
Reid has a quiet steadiness, his personality showing up in his clothes or music, just happy to be with his friends.
And then there’s Jefferson, the center of it all, whether he tries to be or not.
“They look cozy,” Madison remarks, peering over my shoulder at one of the photos.
We’re in the back of the SUV on the way from the hotel to the arena.
She taps her nail against the screen where Jefferson has his arm slung over the back of a couch, a brunette tucked into the group next to him. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Craig’s girlfriend,” I remind her. “Remember, we met her in the bathroom at the Frozen Four victory party?”
“Oh, right. He’s, what do you call it, second string?”
“Second line.”
I’m not jealous of the girls, but there’s a sting knowing that they aren’t followed around by paparazzi or trailed by security guards. With me gone, they can go out and live a normal life. And I can’t help but wonder if Jefferson feels freer without me there.
Still, I ask, “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” she asks.
“Assume Jefferson’s doing something wrong?”
We’ve both done our best to pretend things between us are back to normal, but when she stirs up shit like this, it’s hard to play nice.
“I didn’t say anything,” she replies innocently.
“You didn’t have to. It’s obvious that you think that just because Jefferson is standing by another woman, something sketchy is going on.”
There’s a beat that stretches between us that is only filled with the sound of a bus rattling by.
“Fine,” Madison says, turning to face me. “I can ask you the same thing. Why do you always assume that a notorious campus player has changed his entire personality for you?”
The city blurs past the tinted windows of the SUV, yellow cabs weaving through traffic and neon signs flickering in the reflection on the glass. I tuck my knees closer, feeling the gentle bump of the car over the uneven streets, the hum of the engine under my thighs.
“He’s done nothing to make me not trust him.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters, “That you know of.”
It’s a loaded comment and I’m tired of the bullshit. “Receipts, Mads, or it’s time to shut up.”
She hesitates, leaning back into the leather seat as the SUV makes another slow turn down a crowded avenue. “Fine, Ing, you want to know who you’re really dating?”
“Enlighten me.”
“He has a list of people he wants to sleep with. He’s carried it around for years, and you were number one on that list.”
I stare at her, waiting for the bomb to drop, because what she just said isn’t it. “It’s no surprise Jefferson had a crush on me. He’s admitted he’s a fan. People have celebrity crushes. It’s not a big deal.”
The look she gives me makes it clear she thinks I’m an idiot.
“Yeah, well, that’s why he left you that note on your locker.
He was shooting his shot, aiming for another notch on his hockey stick.
” She smirks at the gross innuendo. “It was the one and only time you’d be in town and he made a play.
Thank god you didn’t fall for it, although he ended up getting another opportunity. ”
The hum of the tires on the asphalt and the distant wail of sirens fill the space between us. She has no idea I met him that night, that I’d been curious enough to find out more. We hadn’t had sex, but there’s no doubt in my mind he would have if I’d wanted to.
Was that all I was? A celebrity conquest?
No. No. I don’t believe that. We didn’t have sex for weeks, and it was on my terms.
“Who told you this?”
“The girls,” she admits easily. “After you two were snuggled up at the Frozen Four after party. They knew how much he was into you and were excited to see him actually make a move–although, from what I gather, not exactly surprised. According to them he’s always been a huge player…”
My gut churns, and I turn away from her.
“I’m sorry, Ing,” she says. “I just thought you’d want to know who you’re dating.”
“I do know who I’m dating.”
But the words don’t land as strongly as I want them to.
The SUV eases into the parking garage, the noises of the city falling behind. I don’t look at Madison. I can’t, not now. What I can do–will do–is focus on the night ahead and give my Flock the best damn show I can.
“Thank you,” I breathe, ignoring the sweat dripping down my back. The crowd is a sea of moving bodies, all abuzz over my lyrics. My voice feels like it’s rubbed raw, my legs weak, knowing it’s almost over. “There would be no tour if it weren’t for you.”
“We love you, Ingrid!” The chorus of support and adoration bounces back at me.
The concerts have gone off amazingly. Huge stars showed up on stage, sharing the spotlight with me, filling the arena with energy and awe.
Every night has been a whirlwind, but tonight–tonight is the last. Any lingering thoughts of relationships, the future, men, their motives, fade behind the roar of the crowd.
He’s texted me every night, telling me he watched the shows online.
I send back thank yous, brushing them off with “busy” or “tired,” whatever excuse keeps me focused.
I need time to think, and right now, there’s no time for anything but this.
The stage behind me has fallen dark, other than twinkling lights that mimic stars.
A stage hand walks over and hands me my guitar, and I loop the strap over my head and shoulder.
“I know you love the hits, and I love them too, but it didn’t feel right closing down this show without giving you a little gift of something new. ”
The first chords vibrate in my chest. It’s a familiar feeling, one that I experience every time I let one of my songs fly for the first time. It starts with an acoustic beat, then the band moves in quietly behind me.
“You walk me down the empty streets
Actin’ like this could repeat
But I’ve been the girl in someone’s dream
And I know how this ends
You’ve got charm, you’ve got the game
Silver tongue and a well-known name
I let you close, but not too far
You don’t get to say you had me
I pulled you into shadows, gave you one good kiss
Your hands said maybe, but baby–
I told you what this is…
You can call it magic, call it fun
But when the sun comes up, I’m already gone
We burned for a moment, sharp and quick
But don’t mistake it for a promise
Don’t pretend it ever was his
You got a taste, but boy—
That’s all this is
You look like you’re used to 'yes'
Used to hearts and little wrecks
But I’m not here to be undone
By a jersey and a jawline
So I told you not to follow me
Told you go win your stupid ring
I’ve got stages, you’ve got stats
And we both know what that means
You can keep that moment, seal it with a grin
But don’t rewrite it, don’t spin it–
You know what this is
You can call it magic, call it fun
But when the sun comes up, I’m already gone
We burned for a moment, sharp and quick
But don’t mistake it for a promise
Don’t pretend it ever was his
You got a taste, but boy–
That’s all this is
Don’t look back like we missed fate
Don’t paint hearts into empty space
That was a kiss, not a vow
And I’m not yours, not now, not ever
You can call it magic, call it fun
Say I’m the one that slipped through your lungs
We danced like fire, but I don’t burn for this
Keep the spark, not the wish
You had your shot, now it’s missed
You got a kiss, but babe–
That’s all this is
Just a kiss in the dark…
That’s all this is.”
The final note hangs in the arena like a secret shared with a thousand strangers, who give me, give the lyrics a chance to breathe before the applause takes over.