Chapter 46
Rayne
I Know It Won’t Work—Gracie Abrams
The problem with wanting something more than anything else is that sometimes you lose sight of how much you have to sacrifice to get it.
We were so focused on the band finally finding a label that we didn’t think about what it might mean for Easton and me.
It’s kind of ironic that we’re probably going to end up swapping cities.
First I was in LA, and he was in Boston. Soon I’ll be in Boston and he’ll be in LA.
I never gave a second thought to the fact that our time together in Boston might be limited.
Now I wish I had. There’s a sharp pain in my chest as I stand in front of Easton’s house, staring indecisively at the door.
I’ve been standing here for quite a while because I don’t dare to knock.
If I go in, decisions will probably have to be made, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that. I’m afraid I won’t.
“Hi.” I hear Willow’s voice behind me, and I can tell she’s smiling.
I turn around and force a smile. “Hi.”
I haven’t seen Willow in weeks. She’s been traveling a lot and is hardly ever home. The fact that we’re meeting on the porch right now, just like the first time, feels somehow significant. It’s like we’ve come full circle. Except I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing.
“Won’t the guys let you in?”
I shake my head, a tiny white lie, because there’s no way I can tell her I’m just too scared.
“Good thing I have a key.” She steps past me and opens the front door. I want to follow her inside, but it’s incredibly difficult because my throat suddenly feels tight.
“Rayne, are you coming?” Willow gives me a questioning look from the hallway.
“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders and enter the house.
Everything is the same as always, but only on the surface, because today everything is different. The atmosphere in the house is more tense than usual, more excited. It’s no wonder.
I’d like to say that I’m one hundred percent happy for Easton and the band, and I mostly am.
Really. But there’s also this fear that ties my stomach in knots because I know what’s coming.
What has to come. That’s why it would be a lie to say something else.
I’m happy because their dream is coming true, but I’m only ninety-eight percent happy.
The other two percent is pure reluctance, and that makes me a terrible friend.
I take my time removing my coat and boots before going into the living room. I can hear Willow squeal with excitement; Easton must have just told her the good news. I want to turn around and run away so we don’t have to have this conversation. But that would be unfair and cowardly.
So I pad into the living room in my socks, where Willow is holding Easton in a vice-like embrace, repeatedly telling him how incredibly proud of him she is.
“Hey, Sunshine.” Beck spots me first. His eyes are shining, and he’s literally vibrating with excitement.
“Hey.” I walk over to him and hug him first, then the others, tightly and a little too long, telling them how happy I am for them, how great this all is, and that they deserve this offer more than anyone else in the world.
Then I come to Easton, and the lump in my throat suddenly feels so big that I can’t get a sound out.
For the second time today, I just want to cry.
Without a word, he pulls me toward him. I guess he can sense what’s going on inside me, or maybe he feels what I’m hoping for but at the same time don’t want to hope for.
“We’re going upstairs for a minute,” he says to his friends, then grabs my hand and pulls me out of the living room.
The stairs creak under our feet, and I fight back the tears burning in my eyes.
I’m terrible. I should just be happy, and I want to be, because he really deserves it. He deserves everything.
As soon as he closes his bedroom door behind us, I burst into tears. Salty streams run down my cheeks.
“Hey, please don’t cry,” he says, sounding as if he’s about to cry himself. Which somehow makes everything worse.
“I’m sorry.” Sniffing, I wipe the tears from my cheeks, but it’s pointless because more immediately follow.
“You don’t have to be sorry.” He reaches for me, his hands stroking my back soothingly.
“Yes, I do. I’m terrible. I’m happy for you, I really am. I’m so proud of you! You’ve worked so hard for this. And that’s incredibly great!” I sob into his chest, clearly not finding it great at all.
“You’re not terrible!” He sounds a little helpless, and I immediately feel even worse.
“Yes, I am!” I break free from his embrace and step back a little because his touch only makes everything worse, because it reminds me that soon this might not be possible anymore.
My head is a mess. I know I have to think clearly, calm down, but I can’t.
I’m breathing too fast, my heart is racing, and I can’t stop crying.
“I’m standing here with you, crying, instead of celebrating with the band.
I’m terrible and selfish and . . . God, I hate this. Why am I like this?”
“You’re not terrible,” he repeats firmly.
I just shake my head.
“You’re not selfish either.”
“Yes, I am! Your dream is finally coming true, and all I can think about is that soon you’ll be in LA and I’ll be stuck here in Boston, and that thought alone hurts like hell!
” My voice gets louder with every word, and I lose control, even though the last thing I want is to argue with Easton.
But I’m feeling too much and I need to get it all out, otherwise I’ll go crazy.
“Do you think I feel any different? Do you think I haven’t thought about that?” he snaps, suddenly just as angry as I am. Although it’s more despair than anger. Or a mixture of both.
“No, but—”
“They might not even take us,” he says, interrupting me. “Maybe we’ll fly to LA, get to know the people, and in the end it turns out they don’t want us after all. Maybe it’s not the right fit.”
“That’s silly. It’ll work out! They’d be stupid not to take you, and you know it.”
“I don’t know. But maybe—”
“Oh no, don’t you dare! Don’t say that!” I shout.
His chin juts forward defiantly and he glares at me. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Of course I do. You were going to say that it might not be right for you, that this whole label thing might not be worth it.”
Easton is silent, and that’s answer enough.
“Don’t do it,” I beg him. “Don’t try to convince yourself not to take it. Not for me. You want this. You all want this. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. Don’t ruin it because of me.”
“If it were just about me—”
“It’s not just about you. It’s about you and your best friends, your brothers, damn it. And even if it were just about you . . . You’ve been fighting for this for so long. For ages. This is your biggest dream, Easton.”
“But it’s about you too, Rayne! It’s about us. What if they sign us? What if we move to LA? What will happen to us then?”
“I don’t know, okay?” I yell at him, even though he hasn’t done anything wrong, and I hate myself for being like this.
I want to stop, but I can’t. Suddenly it’s back, that horrible fear of losing him.
Maybe it was there all along, somewhere beneath the surface where I couldn’t really see it, where I could deny that it existed. Now I can’t deny it anymore.
He’s going to leave and I’ll be alone all over again.
Different this time, but in a weird way, the same.
I’ll be alone, and when I think about it, I can’t breathe; everything hurts.
My palms are getting clammy, my forehead is throbbing painfully, my vision blurs, and it takes a second before I can see properly again.
None of this is fair, especially not the words that come out of my mouth next.
I want to stop them, stop myself, but I don’t know how.
I’m losing control, and I’m ruining everything.
Because fear is consuming me. Quickly and without mercy.
“Maybe it’s fate. Maybe we were only meant to be together for a limited time, maybe . . .”
“Don’t start with that bullshit,” he whispers.
I grimace because it was just a stupid attempt at an excuse anyway.
But I had to at least try, right? Easton takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand.
Part of me wants to pull away, but my body fights against the urge.
My fingers intertwine with his of their own accord, and everything inside me suddenly calms down.
“You and me, we’re real, Rayne. We’re real. I love you. And whatever happens in LA this weekend, we’ll work it out, okay? We’ll find a way.”
My lower lip trembles as I look at him and nod. I have to nod, there’s no other option. He has to be right.
“We wrote to each other for months without seeing each other. And somehow it worked, and now . . .” He pauses and the expression on his face changes. He has an idea, I can see it. “You could come with us,” he blurts out. “If we really move to LA, you could just come with us.”
His eyes light up with hope, and I want to say yes.
God, I want to say yes so badly that it tears me apart inside. But I didn’t leave LA for nothing. I didn’t come to Boston for nothing.
One tiny little word, three letters, but I can’t bring myself to say it.