Chapter Twenty-Seven
Russ had come to work early that morning, because he couldn’t sleep. He kept checking and rechecking his phone, hoping that Shelby had called back, and hating himself a little for how much he cared.
Clearly he’d done something to push her away, and until he figured out what that was, he didn’t know how to go about winning her back.
He was distracted, too, with worrying about what came next, after he sold his share of the bar.
He knew in his gut that doing so was the only choice.
Shelby had been like a wake-up call, reminding him that he had to make better decisions if he was going to be happy.
But would he stay here in Paris? Move home to Australia?
Find a new place to put down roots? And was there something wrong with him that, for a fleeting moment the other night, he had wondered what his life might look like on American soil?
He was just wiping down the bar when the front door opened, spilling light and noise into the quiet darkness of Le Maison Grog. “Not open yet, mate!” he said before he’d looked up, annoyed at himself that he’d forgotten to lock the front door after he’d entered.
But then he looked up and froze, because in the doorway stood Shelby, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. His surprise immediately melted to concern.
“Shelby?” he said, hurrying around the bar toward her. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”
“What’s happened?” She barked out a laugh. “What’s happened is that I was a complete idiot, and I didn’t see what was right in front of my face.”
He didn’t know what to say because he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.
“Okay,” he said, now just inches from her.
He longed to close the remaining distance, to pull her into his arms, but maybe she wasn’t there for that.
Maybe she was here to deliver in person the message she’d left on his phone.
“My husband showed up yesterday,” she said flatly, and his heart sank. Her husband. He’d known her divorce wasn’t quite final yet, but he’d thought it was just a matter of paperwork. Hearing the words from her lips now made him realize that there was more to it than that.
“Oh,” he said, taking a step back. “I see. What did he say?”
“He told me he wanted to try again.” She took a step toward Russ, again closing the distance between them. “He told me he wants me to come home.”
Russ tried not to let his hurt play out on his face. “Well. If that’s what you want, I’m happy for you.”
“It’s not what I want, though.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.” She reached up and touched the side of his face, sending a shot of electricity sizzling through him.
“I want someone who only wants me to be me, not some idealized version of who I could be. I want happiness without the weight of someone else’s expectations.
I want someone I can share the joys with, but also the failures, someone who wants to carry the sadness with me, not just the happiness.
I want a future that I shape myself, not one that has already been drawn for me.
I want to stop playing the role I think everyone wants me to play and to figure out who I am. ”
“Who you are,” Russ said softly, “is wonderful. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”
She stared into his eyes like she was trying to ascertain the veracity of his words. He stared right back, because he meant them with all his heart.
“The thing is, Russ, I think I need to be alone for a little while,” she said softly.
“Oh.” Disappointment coursed through him. “Yeah, of course. I understand.”
“But,” she went on, “I also want you.”
He peered down at her, not sure he’d heard her right.
“I have no right to ask you to wait for me, Russ,” she continued.
“And no reason to expect that you’ll still be here when I get my head on straight.
But I feel something for you that isn’t like anything I’ve felt before.
And I hope…” She trailed off, seeming to search for the words.
“I hope that once I figure out who I am, you might like to get to know that person, too.”
Russ swallowed hard. And then, because it was the best response he knew, he gently took her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers, tenderly, slowly. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes and they stared at each other for a moment. “I would like that very much,” he said.
“Okay,” she said softly. And then, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in Le Maison Grog, wondering whether he’d ever see her again.
It was four o’clock and they were two hours away from the doors opening for the seven-thirty show. Jackson wouldn’t go on until nearly nine, after an opener named Stephen Kellogg, a singer-songwriter he’d always liked and respected.
They’d caught up an hour ago when Stephen had arrived at the arena for sound check, but he’d stopped himself before he’d spilled his guts about Julia to the poor guy.
It wasn’t up to his opening act to fix his mistakes.
Jackson was old enough now to know that he had to solve his own problems. It was just that he had no idea how to solve this one.
He had hurt Julia, and he hoped that it wasn’t too late to make things right with her.
But how would he navigate the next chapter, the one in which he fell in love with her as she died?
Was he brave enough to take that journey?
Would she even want him to? Maybe she’d never want to talk to him again, especially once she realized he’d been dishonest with her from the start.
There was a knock on the greenroom door, and when Jackson got up to answer it, it was Henry McGee standing there with his granddaughter, Melanie.
The old man was dressed in a suit and tie, and he looked as nervous as a teenager going on his first date.
“I can’t thank you enough for the tickets, Jackson,” Henry said, still hovering in the doorway like he wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to enter.
“Celeste is on her way with her grandson.”
“Come in,” Jackson said, pulling Henry into a spontaneous hug and then giving Melanie a quick hug, too. “I’m glad you two are here; I wanted to talk to you about how we’re going to do your song for Celeste.”
“And your song for Julia,” Henry said with a smile.
Jackson’s heart raced. He had called Henry last night to ask whether he’d be up for accompanying him on piano as Jackson sang the song he’d been writing for the past few days.
It was his grand gesture, his apology—and he knew he’d have to perform the song at the start of the show, because the moment the lights went up and Julia saw him onstage, she’d realize he’d lied.
Hell, she’d probably know it the moment she walked into the arena, because it was his face plastered on the concert posters and T-shirts.
He wanted to make sure she knew that was the only thing he’d been less than forthcoming about.
From now on, he planned to be an open book for the rest of the time they had together. “Thanks again for doing that, Henry.”
Henry smiled. “Anything for love. And thank you for allowing me to stay onstage with you for ‘City of Light.’ ”
“Anything for love,” Jackson echoed, patting Henry on the back.
He was as nervous about that part of the evening as Henry was.
What if Celeste didn’t recognize the song?
What if her response wasn’t what Henry hoped?
It would break the old man’s heart. “Is your husband coming?” he asked, turning to Melanie.
“Your grandfather mentioned the other day that you’d invited him. ”
“Actually, I tried calling him earlier to tell him not to come after all, but he didn’t pick up and his voicemail was full.” Melanie’s reply sounded strangely hollow. “So I guess he’ll be here.”
Jackson and Henry exchanged concerned glances. “And is that okay with you?” Henry asked.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Melanie sighed.
“But you know what? This is your night, Grandpa Henry. We shouldn’t be talking about Gilles right now.
” She glanced at Jackson, and her face reddened.
“Also, maybe we could not talk about my disintegrating marriage in front of my favorite rock star from the nineties.” Melanie turned to Jackson with an embarrassed smile.
“And on that note, I’m going to go get a drink. ”
Jackson smiled and waved to the catering table, which was full of liquor bottles. “Help yourself to anything here.”
“Actually, that was just my excuse for getting out of here before I humiliate myself even further.” She leaned over and kissed Henry on the cheek. “I’ll see you after the show, Grandpa Henry. Good luck, both of you.”
She strode out of the greenroom, and Henry turned to Jackson with a sigh. “I never understood what she saw in that man. She loves him, I think, but sometimes love isn’t enough to fix things when you’re simply not right for each other.”
Jackson shook his head, trying to push away the doubt that was nibbling at the edges of his mind.
Was it enough to care about Julia if there was no room in her life for him?
If all her thoughts were tangled up in the future she wouldn’t have?
He swallowed hard. “Relationships are complicated, aren’t they? ”
“I suppose that’s why we write the songs we do,” Henry said with a smile. “And why people listen to them. None of us have figured this out yet.”
“But you have, haven’t you?” Jackson asked. “You’ve loved Celeste from the day you met her.”
“But look at all the mistakes I made along the way,” Henry said. “Knowing you love someone isn’t the same as having it all figured out.”
“Do you regret it? Spending your life loving someone who wasn’t there?”
“Not for a second. To love fully and truly is everything, Jackson, no matter how it turns out.”
Jackson swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well, then, I hope that tonight Celeste remembers that.”
“And I hope,” Henry said, patting Jackson on the shoulder, “that your Julia does, too.”