Chapter 30
The elevator ride to the twenty-fourth floor has been excruciatingly silent.
Actually, the entire car ride back to the hotel was this way.
After our appearance on The Mike Monahan Show yesterday, Savannah and I have been dragged all over the city.
Appearing in a multitude of shows, radio interviews, podcast interviews, content shoots, and even a magazine interview.
Everywhere we go, we’ve been asked the same questions over and over and over again.
Today at LNX Upfronts was no different. It’s the annual event where Live Network Exchange showcases its upcoming programming slated for the new season—entertainment, news, sports, and any other content they plan to have on their broadcast channels.
I lost count of the number of times Savannah was asked if her return was a permanent thing or if it meant we were back together.
Like together together. Each time, she handled it with more grace than I expected, especially after the fiftieth time it was asked, and said, “No, I’m just here to help out an old friend.
” Then she’d glance my way with a brief smile before turning back to the person standing in front of her.
That smile chipped away at my resolve every time I saw it.
I hated that her return to the ring was being equated to us getting back together—by interviewers, fans, and coworkers alike.
Savannah should be able to come back without it being solely based on me.
Stepping out of the elevator, she picks up her pace down the hallway.
Last night I let her get away, but tonight I have questions—a lot of questions.
If we’re going to work together, we need to be on the same page about some things.
Starting with that damn picture of her and Jaxon from Crew’s wedding.
Okay, maybe that isn’t any of my business, it won’t hinder us working together, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to know the truth.
I’m shocked when she pauses outside her door after I call out to her.
I’ve tried to start the conversation so many times over the last two days, but every time the words get caught in my throat.
And right now it’s no different…I think back to last night in the car after the final interview, when I invited her to dinner and she refused.
When I tried to persuade her by saying that she needed to eat, she said she would eat, just not with me.
Her brow raises, her impatience growing with each passing second that I don’t say something. She undoes the straps of her shoes, slipping her right foot out of the black high heel, and then her left. A sharp inhale accompanies a slight grimace when she puts weight on it.
“You should get that looked at,” I say, and her eyes snap up to meet mine.
“I told you, I’m fine. I’ll be better once I don’t have to wear heels for fourteen hours straight. Now what do you want?”
“I-I, uh…” There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to say, but nothing comes out. “Never mind. G’night,” I say, stuffing my hands into my pockets and walking down the hall.
The entire sixty-second walk to my room, I wrestle with whether to continue on the path forward or turn around, knock on her door, and just lay it all out.
Everything. Past and present. The only thing that stops me is knowing that’s not a good idea.
When she left two years ago, when I made her go, that was the end of everything—the end of us.
We said what we had to say in those final moments, and when she told me she didn’t love me, it was her way of saying she was done.
She wanted me to let her go…so, I did. Right?
No.
I haven’t let her go, not really. Savannah Williams still has a hold on me.
She stole my heart years ago and never gave it back, not even the day she walked out that door.
And now, seeing her, being forced to stand beside her and pretend like everything is okay, has only intensified the longing I’ve felt in my heart.
I wave the keycard over the lock, gripping the door handle, but I don’t go inside. For one more glance down the hallway, I’m torn between doing what I should do and what I want to do.
I have so many questions—so many things I want to hear about from her and not just from the hushed conversations our friends have when they think I’m not listening…
I heard about how she became the cheer coach at her old high school, how Bodhi graduated from law school two weeks before Blake got married, how Laine opened a restaurant in Celestia, and, of course, all about Crew and Amara’s big day.
I heard about them all, and every time something came up, I’d quietly send some congratulatory message or gift.
Now, I’m standing outside my hotel room, and all I want is to hear her voice. Not the one I’ve been hearing all day—not Savvy Skye. I want to talk to Savannah.
I turn on my heel, taking the first step back down the hallway, when my phone rings. Brody. I stare down at the screen, debating whether or not to answer. Perhaps this is a sign I’m not supposed to turn around, that I should go inside and leave her be.
My shoulders fall with a heavy sigh, and I unlock my hotel room again. I answer the phone, “What?”
“Good to hear your voice, too, Brooksy boy. How’s it going?” my best friend asks.
I scrub a hand down my face. “You know how it’s going.”
“Well.” Brody chuckles. “If that Monahan interview is any indication—”
“You didn’t tell me about Jaxon.” Actually, none of them did. They were all at the wedding, but never told me Jaxon was there. Neither did my sister, but that’s a conversation I’ll have with her later.
“There was nothing to tell.”
“Not from where I was sitting.”
“John, nothing happened,” Brody says, and his use of John shocks me.
My best friend never calls me by my first name.
“Jaxon was there, she was there. They’re friends.
They had maybe a five-minute conversation and took a picture.
She’s allowed to take pictures with her friends.
” He sighs, and I can practically see him pacing the length of his bus, Rae somewhere in the background, pretending like she isn’t listening to the conversation.
She’s probably even texting Savannah about it as we speak. “Have you guys talked?”
“Not really.”
Brody grumbles under his breath. “How do you expect to work together if you can’t even speak to one another?”
“What am I supposed to say, Brod?” A humorless laugh escapes me as I sit on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, I don’t know. You could probably start with an apology.” He cuts me off when I start to ask him what for. “Apologize for telling her to get out—”
“She said she didn’t love me.”
“Because you told her to.”
“Her shit was packed. Crew was there. She was leaving regardless.” Brody sighs on the other end of the line, and I do the same. Honestly, I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more—me or him. “I have to go.”
“Brooks, talk to her.”