51. THE ONE WHERE SHE STAYS
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
THE ONE WHERE SHE STAYS
Comment: So, do we think they’re gonna rip our hearts out this weekend and tell us it was all a silly lil joke?
Comment reply: Listen, don’t say that
Comment reply: I hope they know my sanity is hanging by a thread and that would be it for me
“Please don’t hate me,” Frankie pleads.
I stare at the vintage marquee above the theater.
West Parker.
The final show!
“I could never.” I sigh, staring in a daze.
Frankie’s newly formed band, still without a name, has the chance to play for a manager the bassist knows in New York City. She’s been traveling back and forth the last few weeks with Syn, writing a few new songs, and finding their overall sound.
From the few clips she’s shared, I think they’re onto something…
She’d arrived in Gatlinburg a few days earlier and had gotten the text two minutes ago that they all needed to be in New York by Friday morning at the latest.
“Wait, this flight has a layover in Charlotte! You could meet me there, and then just come with me for the weekend.” She sounds excited by the idea, but I’m so traveled out the thought alone overstimulates me.
“Or! You can still go to the cabin for Thanksgiving! You know everyone would love to have you, even if I’m not there.
I’ll probably be able to fly back Monday or Tuesday, the latest.”
“I think I should just go home, Frankie. I can spend Thanksgiving with Hilda. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the company.
” I know she was looking forward to spending some time with me after being apart the last few months…
and I was too, but there’s a piece of me that’s not ready to go.
One that doesn’t want to say goodbye to West yet.
As usual, Frankie seems to read my mind. “You could stay with West for Thanksgiving, you know?”
Staying with West and his family for Thanksgiving? Absolutely not. That’s… That’s crossing some kind of line.
Tour’s over tomorrow, my contract’s up, and I have a new job in Boston to prepare for—one I didn’t ever think I’d find, let alone have it find me.
West’s career is about to blow up… It already has. He’s getting emails every single day about new brand deals, requests for big shows, and talent agencies foaming at the mouth to represent him.
I’ve started to ignore those same offers coming in for Hex.
We’re going to be too busy. Long distance is too hard. I’m bound to get hurt. These are only some of what the anxiety continues to tell me, although there’s this small, very quiet reminder that I don't want to live with knowing I never tried.
West isn’t like the others.
He’s not Dylan.
He’s not the father I never knew.
He’s not my mother.
But just because he’s not any of those people, doesn’t mean he can’t hurt me too.
“JoJo?” Frankie whispers softly, waiting for me to respond.
“Yeah?” The word comes out with a breath.
“You should stay with West for Thanksgiving.” She’s using her serious voice.
It softens, wilting into a pretty melody like she’s preparing someone for bad news.
“There’s a 5:00 a.m. flight Friday morning.
You can use the weekend to settle in back at home…
” Her words trail off, and I know she’s not done.
“Or, I dunno, you know the girl watching after Grim’s taking good care of her if you want to stay longer too. ”
I look back to the marquee at his name, burying my free hand in my puffy black coat’s pocket. “I can’t.”
But I could…
Frankie sighs. “When are you going to stop telling yourself you don’t love him?”
I can’t feel the hand holding my phone anymore, so I switch it with the other. I don’t know what I did with my gloves. I thought they were in my coat somewhere, but when I’d fled from West on the stage, I didn’t spend much time thinking about how cold my hands might be without them.
It’s the end of November in Northern Michigan, and I overheard someone say there might be light snow in the forecast on Thanksgiving.
“When I start to believe it,” I tell her as the theater’s squeaky side door alerts me to someone’s exit. I face the noise and watch as West appears, pulling a tan Carhartt over his gray hoodie. He’s traded his signature backwards hat for a beanie, which I am also a very big fan of.
His lips pull into a small sideways smile when he sees me.
I have this urge to meet him halfway, but I don’t, because Frankie’s in my ear again. “He’s a good guy, Jo.”
“That’s the problem,” I say before West’s too close to hear. “I don’t wanna hurt him because I don’t know how to love someone properly.”
West watches me, eyebrows pinching together. Where are your gloves? He mouths when he’s close enough I can read them.
I shrug, and he starts searching through his hoodie and coat pockets.
Frankie doesn’t say anything, and before she does, I keep it that way. “I gotta go, though.” I reach out and stop West’s search, pinning his gloveless hands against the pocket of his hoodie. “Love you.” I hang up, slipping my phone into my pocket.
The heat off West’s body warms my hand, and I almost crack, letting myself step into him, but instead I force both into my coat. “Everyone gone?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from the things Frankie said.
You’re leaving. You’re getting on a plane and going back to your real life.
I have no idea what my “real life” looks like anymore.
And isn’t this my real life too? Isn’t West an important part of this new version I’ve quickly built over the last two months?
“Yeah.” He nods once, shoving his hands into his pockets too.
West glances up at the marquee, and all I can do is stare at him.
At his sharp jawline. His light blue eyes glistening under the lights.
The small scar he has on the bottom of his chin.
It isn’t noticeable unless the light hits it just right.
I asked him about it one night, running my fingers over the delicate skin, finally finding the courage to ask about the others I know came from the accident.
I expect this one to have come from hockey too, but he surprises me when he says tells me it’s from Micah soaping up the dock at their family lake house and not telling him before he ran full speed to jump off.
“How’re you feeling, Hotshot?” I ask. Seeing West live out this dream after everything he’s been through fills me with a sense of joy I wish I could bottle up and save for the bad days to come.
If I went back and told the Jo I was months ago what was around the corner, she would have laughed in my face.
West Parker, the hotshot stand-up comedian, who people only like because of his backwards hat, dimples, and nice ass, got me to fall for him.
I should probably update my list.
West doesn’t look at me when he answers. “I don’t think any of it feels real yet. We haven’t stopped in months, and every day there’s some new crazy shit happening.”
How real is everything going to feel next week when Thanksgiving’s over, and West and I are no longer pretending to be in a relationship for our online audience?
How real is it going to feel when we record our last video tonight?
I’m already mourning the loss, making this feel more and more like a real breakup the closer we get to the expiration date of our contract.
I follow West’s gaze to the marquee, but when I do, I feel him shift to me. I slowly look back to him, unable to fight the draw of his attention.
“How’re you feeling, Joey baby?” West asks, and I try to ignore the way he’s staring at me and how it always feels like he’s able to read my intentions before I decide on them myself.
I breathe a laugh, biting the inside of my lip. There are so many things I can say, and a million different ways I could lie if I wanted, but what’s the use? If I can’t be honest with West after everything we’ve done, then who can I be honest with? “I’m scared,” I finally admit.
When the words are out, I don’t know how to feel. I’m not easily cracked open, always worried if I show someone the pieces of me that aren’t perfect, they’ll leave.
Being self-aware doesn’t mean I’m healed, it just means I have an excuse.
“Of?” West asks, turning his back to the sign with his name and giving me his undivided attention.
Everything.
I’ve always been afraid of everything.
Afraid someone’s going to leave.
Afraid to disappoint people who don’t care about me.
Afraid I’ll never amount to anything if I’m not the best at everything.
I can’t think of a time where I wasn’t scared.
I’m pretty sure I’ve lived my entire life in a constant state of fight or flight. It’s exhausting, and I wish I could turn it off, but that’s just not how it works.
Everyone thinks I have it together, that I’ve always got it figured out—I do, for the most part. I’ll always find a way to make something work, but what they don’t see is the sleepless nights, the isolation. They don’t see the bad stuff because I don’t let them.
“Of what comes next.” Of who I become next. I’ve kind of liked Joey.
West nods, and he finally breaks whatever standoff we’re in by reaching out and bringing my hood up over my head.
His warm fingers graze my cold cheeks as he tucks my hair inside the hood.
“Me too.” He cups my cheek, and I feel like a moth to a flame, chasing the heat of his touch.
“I’ve kinda gotten used to having my friend Joey around. ”
Ha! Friend…
I close my eyes and take a breath of the crisp air.
“Give it a few days and you’ll find a new friend.
” I say it like a joke, but it’s actually a very real fear of mine…
That I’ll never get over these two months, and West will move on like it never happened.
His familiar scent calms my mind, and when I open my eyes a few seconds later, he’s still staring at me.
This time his eyes are sharper, more serious than they were before. “A few days?” West scoffs, wagging his head gently. “Joey, I’ll be pining after you in this life and whatever comes after it.”
If I could melt, I’d be a puddle.
He runs his thumb over my cheek, trailing to my bottom lip.
His eyes flick from where he’s touching to my eyes.
“I’ve never met anyone like you.” I watch his throat bob, and I wonder if he’s swallowing down the words I know he’s been trying to say for weeks.
West loves me, but he won’t tell me because he’s scared I’ll run—there’s still a chance I will.
“I think you might be one of my favorite people ever.”
I wish I was the kind of person he could tell without being afraid.
Hearing West say those things does have a large part of me wanting to flee, escaping before I let my heart lose completely.
There’s no point, though… My heart lost a long time ago.
Now I’ve got to face the mess I’ve made, but I don’t want to do that yet.
The piece of me who wants to run might be big, but the other who’s afraid to say goodbye to West is bigger.
“What if I stay for Thanksgiving?” I’m shocked at how quickly I ask the question, not spending minutes or hours chewing on it before I allow myself to ask.
“Frankie has to go to New York for a last minute band thing. Like an important one, so…” I trail off.
West couldn’t hide the shock on his face if he tried. His eyes grow wide and he cocks his head to the side like he thought he might have misheard me. He slips his hand to my forehead, the other sliding behind my neck, where the hood is starting to hold some warmth. “Joey, are you feeling okay?”
I swat his hand away, rolling my eyes. “Never mind, I take it back.” He drops the one on my forehead but doesn’t free me from the gentle hold he has on the back of my neck. I don’t mind it, especially when I try to wiggle away and he tightens his grip.
“No, please.” West scans the empty street, and when he feels like the coast is clear, he pulls me against him, putting his other hand back on my face before he presses his lips against mine softly.
“Please stay.” His whisper vibrates against my lips as he kisses them again.
“I want you to stay. We don’t have to think about what comes next yet. ”
Two more days. I can have two more days with West.
“Okay.” I slide my hands under his coat, connecting them at the small of his back before returning my lips to his.
West tilts my head back and deepens our kiss into something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt.
It’s different from the first one he’d given me—the one in Boston that had me agreeing to go back to his hotel room.
It’s different from the one we had in New York City, and it doesn't have the same desperation as the one in Detroit.
This kiss has the ticking clock in the back of my head slowing, giving us the time we need to disappear just one last time.
My hood falls down, but not even the cool night air can distract me from the way West kisses me, or how the hand he’d moved from my cheek falls to my back, holding me against him as he tells me what he can’t with words.
No one kisses someone like this if they don’t love them.
I shiver at the thought, but West takes it as me being cold.
He softens the kiss, getting greedy at the end with a few more light pecks before sliding his hand to the back of my head, pulling me against his chest. “Fuck, Joey.” West chuckles a deep rumble and wraps his arms around me, finally giving me the opportunity to melt into him.
I take a deep breath, wishing I could get my brain on the same page as my heart, but they’ve never been on the same page… Why start now?
“I don’t want to intru—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” West interrupts.
Pulling back far enough to meet his gaze, my nerves settle the second our eyes connect.
“Seriously, though. It’s your first Thanksgiving with your family in how long?
” I ask, sliding my cold hands underneath his hoodie, trying to get as close as I can without putting my icicle fingers against his bare skin.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it—” I start, but West’s hands are on both sides of my cheeks again, forcing me to look and listen.
“No, it doesn’t. Stop. I want you to stay. Can’t that be enough?” His question stops my hands from traveling up his sides.
West waits for me to say something, his eyes darting between mine.
I bring one hand out from underneath the warmth of his clothing and place it over one of his cupping my cheek. “You are enough.” I can’t help myself. I push up on my toes and plant a quick kiss on his lips. This is only delaying our goodbye, but I can’t find it in me to care. Not right now.
I need more time with West.
Movement across the street at a bar catches my attention as a group of drunk patrons stumble out.
It reminds me we’re out in the open, and anyone could have seen us making out under the big West Parker sign.
I swallow and peel West’s hand from my face, stepping back to let his other fall to the side. “There’s a 5:00 a.m. flight Friday morning.”
West nods, shoving his hands into his Carhartt pockets. “Book it.”
The clock with less than twenty-four hours spins back, adding just over two days to our countdown.
The last forty-eight hours begins now.