38. Knox
Knox
There’s nothing more I hate than waiting. I’ve played in game sevens of playoffs, overtimes, shootouts with everyone in the building on their feet, and none of that gets under my skin the way sitting outside this audition room does.
At least on the ice, I can do something.
Hit someone.
Score.
Shift the momentum.
But here?
I’m stuck in a hallway that smells like dusty books and burnt coffee, staring at a closed door while the woman I can’t stop thinking about stands on the other side of it, fighting for a dream that has the potential to change her life.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do to help her.
I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, trying to remain calm even though I’ve been counting every second she’s been gone.
She didn’t ask me to come for support. I just grabbed my keys and followed her to the elevator.
There was no damn way I was going to let her walk into this building alone with how nervous she looked this morning. Sure, she tried to act like she had it all under control, but I saw the tension in her muscles and the way she smiled, as if already bracing for disappointment.
The door opens at the end of the hall, and another girl steps out, clutching music sheets to her chest. She rushes past me without bothering to look up.
A few more minutes drag by before the door opens again, and Chey emerges.
The moment I see her face, I shove away from the wall.
Her gaze lands on me, and for half a second, her expression eases.
Her tight smile tells me everything before she even says a word, and my gut flips.
“Are you done?” I ask.
With a nod, she shifts her purse from one hand to the other. “Yeah.”
When she doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “So, how’d it go?”
Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I don’t know.” There’s a pause before she continues, “I really don’t know what to think.”
We head toward the exit. Her steps are slower than they were going in, and I match them without thinking.
“Well, they didn’t throw me out,” she says, trying to make a joke. “I suppose that’s a positive.”
“They wouldn’t have dared,” I mutter. “Or they would’ve dealt with me.”
Her lips tremble before she leans over and presses a quick kiss against my cheek. “I appreciate that. But I’m serious, Knox. There were people in there with real credits. Broadway. Tours. Lead roles.”
“And?”
She glances at me as if the answer is obvious. “And I’m just… me.”
I stop walking.
She takes another step before realizing I’m no longer beside her. When she turns back, her brows pull together. “What?”
“You did it.”
Her frown deepens. “Did what?”
“You walked in there and gave it your best shot.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
She looks at me like she wants to argue, but I don’t give her the chance.
“You went in there even though you were scared. Even though you could’ve easily turned around and walked out. That means something, Chey.”
She remains silent.
As she stands in the middle of that hallway, looking so damn unsure of herself, I realize this is about more than just cheering her up. She needs someone to remind her that what she did today matters.
“We’re going out tonight and celebrating,” I tell her.
Her brows lift. “What exactly are we celebrating?”
“That you put yourself out there and tried something new. You didn’t let your mom or the show or anybody else decide your future.”
She continues to stare at me.
“That’s worth celebrating,” I tell her.
Her expression softens. “You really think so?”
“I know so, babe.”
She hesitates before nodding. “Okay.”
“Good, because I already made reservations.”
“You did?”
“Yup. Gold Coast Table,” I say, starting down the hall again. “Nice place. You’ll like it.”
She huffs out a small laugh, and hearing it loosens something inside me.
By the time we get home, she’s still quiet, not at all like herself, and I hate it.
The second we step out of the elevator, I back her up against the wall and kiss her, slow at first and then deeper, until she stops thinking and starts feeling. Until her hands slide into my hair and the tension in her muscles finally drains.
All that matters is getting her out of her head and giving her something else to focus on. When her breath hitches and her body tightens just before unraveling, I know I’ve done exactly what I set out to.
After that, we finish getting ready and then head to the restaurant. No matter what happens with that audition, tonight is about Chey taking the first step toward the future she wants to build for herself.
The restaurant is the kind of place that has fancy white tablecloths, mood lighting, and soft jazz drifting through the space. We’re shown to a table near the window with views of the city. The conversations around us are low enough that it almost feels private.
Even though Chey stares at the menu, I can tell she’s not actually seeing it.
“Hey,” I say. “You okay over there? Having a hard time deciding between the beef Wellington and the seafood special?”
She looks up, clearly pulled from somewhere far away. “Huh?”
I reach across the table and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”
“Oh.” Her attention drops back to the menu. “Yeah… sorry. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. I’m not exactly good company tonight.”
“This has nothing to do with you being good company. It’s about taking time to celebrate what you did today. You showed up and went after something you wanted. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you for that.”
The waiter stops by our table and takes our order. After the food arrives, Chey barely touches her meal. She just pushes it around with her fork, lost in whatever loop is running through her brain.
I watch her for a minute before saying, “You’re overthinking.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not. Really.”
“You are, babe. I can tell.”
With a sigh, she sets the fork down. “I can’t stop replaying the audition. Every note. Every look they gave me. Every quiet comment they made to each other. Every second I stood there thinking they were going to realize I didn’t belong and ask me to leave.”
The words are like a kick to the gut. What I hate most is that some part of her believes them.
“That’s what you still don’t get. You do belong on that stage. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”
Her lower lip quivers before she glances away, trying to wrangle her emotions back under control. “I know you believe that. And I’m so appreciative to have you in my corner—”
I lean forward, cutting her off because this feels too damn important to let her brush aside.
“You know why I believe it? Because I heard you sing. And the way it made me feel…” The words catch in my throat because I’m not great at this kind of shit, but I force them out anyway. “It gave me goose bumps, Chey.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine before dropping again.
“You didn’t see the other women. They’ve been doing this their whole lives. They have training and credits. They know people.” She swallows. “I walked in there, and all I could think was… they’re going to see right through me.”
My jaw tightens. “See what?”
A humorless laugh falls from her lips. “That I’m nothing more than a reality star. A storyline. I’m the girl who cries on TV and starts drama on cue.”
My fingers tighten around hers, and for a second the noise of the restaurant fades until it’s just the two of us.
“You know what I see when I look at you? A woman who walked into a room full of people who intimidate the hell out of her and she had enough gumption to sing anyway. I see someone who’s talented enough to make an entire room go quiet but just doesn’t know it.
” My thumb strokes over her knuckles. “And, yeah, I see the woman who’s been stuck living everybody else’s version of her life for too damn long. ”
Tears glisten in her eyes.
“You walked in there today when you could’ve easily turned tail and ran,” I continue. “You did something that scared you. That matters.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I squeeze her hand. “We’re still celebrating you tonight.”
That pulls a genuine smile from her. It’s small but real. The kind she doesn’t give the cameras. And seeing it feels better than any win I’ve had all season. Better than a hat trick. Better than hearing my name chanted from the ice.
With her hand in mine and hope flickering in her eyes, like she just might believe me, it means everything.