44. Penelope
forty-four
penelope
“You all ready, boss?”
“I think I am.”
It’s a loaded statement, filled to the brim with gun powder and lead. The explosion could either make or break me.
Still, our words and our smiles are soft around the edges, which makes me think this could be the start of something wonderful.
It’s five in the morning, but it’s no surprise that Anthony is already awake. He doesn’t sleep much most nights, not unless we’re in the same bed. I was up so late last night tossing and turning that I didn’t want to wake him. I did consider seeking his refuge, but thought better of it. Because this? This is for me . Stepping out into the persona I’ve been building from the ground up, and letting myself flourish with what I’ve created.
I’m just lucky to have him along for the ride.
Ant insists on lofting my suitcase to the front door. Aaron is picking me up, and will drop Lucy, Juliet, Claire, and I off at Logan to catch our flight. The guys are all meeting us later on, but the girls insisted on being my cheer squad from the beginning. The imposter devils try to make me wonder what I did to be so lucky, but I have too many people in my corner whose cheering drowns them out.
We stand at the front door without saying much of anything. The sky is still asleep, but a steady buzz hums like lightning through my veins.
“What do you have on the agenda for today?” I ask him.
“Aside from being in attendance at rockstar PJ Layne’s first public event?” he says, trying but failing to mimic my signature single-brow lift. He can’t do it. Both of them go up and I giggle silently. “First, I’m going to finish A Shot in the Sun . I have like, two chapters left. I need to be prepared for my big author visit.”
My cheeks flame. Ant has been steadily making his way through my books. I think he stayed up the first night of break after I fell asleep to read one of them in one shot. He’s on four of seven right now, which has me nervous, despite the high praise he gives me after each and every one.
“Then, I’m finishing up a project at the house. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours, but I want it done before Christmas.”
At this, he blushes. But I don’t get much time to linger on why.
“But! I have seventeen different alarms set.”
He pulls his phone from the pocket of his black joggers and shows me. Impressively, I do count exactly seventeen. He puts his phone back, shoving both hands deep into his pockets.
“Do you have your luggage?”
“Already in the car,” he nods. “I’m driving myself so that when we get back, I can take you home with me.”
My chest aches with the thump of my heart against my ribcage.
I write so often about these overwhelming feelings, the ones that take over my characters’ bodies in different manners; fireworks and chokeholds and coming up from a near drowning to get your first breath of fresh air. Never in my life did I think I’d get to feel them all at once.
But all in the same, my body is none of those things. Aside from the tightness in my chest, which I fear might be my heart trying to wrestle its way to Ant’s, I am filled with immense peace. A calm laps through my body like low tide, telling me that this is exactly where I’m meant to be. I’m a little bit frightened, but overwhelmingly settled.
Headlights pierce through the otherwise darkness of our still slumbering neighborhood, and we both inhale at the same time. I look up at him and he looks up at me. I wonder if he’ll kiss me. I wonder if waiting until after would be sweeter.
Anthony grips my bicep and gently pulls me into him, banding his other arm around my back so tightly, I know I’ll feel him with me for the whole plane ride. The soft kiss he drops to the crown of my head sends a rush of warmth down my spine.
“See you on the other side?” he asks, pulling away, his grip on my arm not wavering.
“Yeah. See you on the other side.”
“Claire, what do you think about Pen’s hair?—”
“Shhhh, two more pages.” It’s a strange combination of whisper, demand, and sob—which is fitting. All of the emotions I packed into Finn and Delilah’s story are meant to have the reader crying through the epilogue. Tears streamed down my face while writing it.
Lucy and Juliet put the finishing touches on my hair—big, soft waves that contrast my everyday. It’s fitting, because I’m not going on that stage as Penelope Barker. PJ Layne deserves her own style.
“You bitch ,” Claire sobs. I hear the case to her Kindle snap shut before Claire steps over to the makeshift beautification station we’ve set up in my hotel suite. When she steps in front of me, she has matching tear tracks running down her face. “They… I… It’s the best book you’ve ever written, Pen. They’re beautiful . I can’t… I need a mental health day to process!”
I know she’s my friend, but Claire was a PJ Layne supporter before she even knew her favorite author was me. My smile competes with the warm fuzzies in my chest for size.
“Thank you. I put my whole heart into them.”
She shakes her head and disappears to find tissues and gather herself.
“I’m halfway through, and my heart hurts for them,” Juliet concurs, spraying a shining mist over my hair before combing her fingers gently through it.
“You really did put your whole heart into them,” Lucy nods.
I tense. It isn’t an accusation, but there’s still a knife tip roughing up the edges that Ant and I have smoothed out recently, picking like a scab that I haven’t quite let heal all the way.
“Do you think he’ll notice?” Juliet whispers. “Better yet, is he even going to read it?”
I swallow the lump in my throat that appears at the thought.
“Yep. He finished A Shot in the Sun today.”
I have a stream of his thoughts in the form of text messages to prove it.
“That was my first of yours,” Lucy sighs. I know she’s only trying to make me feel better, but in my heart, I’m still torn. Especially when Claire comes out of the bathroom, makeup washed from her face, and starts singing Finn and Delilah’s praises.
“They just… Pen, I already knew your story going into this book, but the way you describe her hurt made me want to hug you all over again.”
I let her. And then, all of a sudden, we’re in a giant hug pile. Me and my three best friends, who have stood by me through all of the ups and downs of my Anthony Ellis rollercoaster.
A knock on the suite’s door ends our little love fest, but before Lucy goes to fetch it, I pull us back into a huddle.
“Listen, I know I’ve already thanked you guys a million times over, but I have to say it again. Having you here—in New York City, away from your families right before Christmas—to support me at my first author event, means the absolute world to me. I…”
I don’t cry, I don’t cry, I do not cry.
And yet, tears clog my waterline and swim up my throat, sluicing around my words.
“You guys having my back makes me better. I couldn’t stand up there if it wasn’t for you sitting in the front row.”
I let Rafe in, and he gives me the rundown. A limo is picking us up to take the crew over to the event in an hour. The guys should be landing soon, but still, I check my phone. My last text to Ant was a few hours ago. Even though he set a ton of alarms, I still sent him a text to remind him. I know how he can be in the middle of a project. He’d responded right away— Right on schedule, boss. About to head home. —and I’d be lying if I said home didn’t twine a pretty pink bow around Ant and me in my mind.
We drink champagne like classy women in the back of the limo, take tons of selfies in our gorgeous new outfits, and it reminds me of what I never did in high school. I didn’t go to prom with friends or a date, and this is filling a hole in my heart I didn’t realize was there.
We arrive at the hall before the crowds, giving us time to take photos with the marquee that says A Night with PJ Layne in block movie theater letters.
There it is. My name in lights.
All of the books on store shelves and on websites and in PR packages have led up to this moment. I haven’t let myself be “in the wild.” It’s like this one singular decision makes it all real.
Because after we take our photos—me with the girls on our cell phones, and a few that Rafe does for marketing purposes—I see the crowd.
There is a small gaggle of women waiting to do the same thing I am—take photos in front of the sign. The star inside my chest shines outward with a little bit of apprehension and a lot of pride. And, okay, maybe those pesky tears are back.
Because when a woman approaches me and asks if I’ll take her photo, she has no idea that the woman whose name she’s posing in front of is holding her phone.
“Are you guys here for the PJ Layne signing?” I ask.
“Yes. She is hands down my favorite author of all time. I know the tickets weren’t really public, but I figured if I wait outside afterward, I might be able to spot her and get my books signed. Did you get tickets?”
“We did,” I say, eyeing the tote she’s holding labeled Just One More Chapter that is filled to the brim with my books. Jealousy fills her smile, but it doesn’t waver. She calls my friends and I lucky, then poses with her group for photos.
“Where did you come in from?”
“Montana.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Just for this?”
“Just for a glimpse,” she smiles. “And, okay, we turned it into a girls’ trip.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I beckon Rafe over, whisper in his ear, and ask for her email. Her face turns white as a ghost, her hands trembling when I tell her that I can get her into the event.
“You-you’re serious?”
I smile and nod, then do a head count. Rafe transfers five tickets to her phone. This woman hugs me like I’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket.
“You have no idea how much this means to me.” Tears fill her eyes and I tilt my head. “I’m going to overshare because I’m so overwhelmed, but PJ Layne’s books gave me hope again. I lost my fiancé a month before our wedding, and I didn’t think I’d ever find a love like that again until I picked up One More Day . She writes hope into all of her happily ever afters. I haven’t found him yet, but I know there’s someone out there for me.”
I don’t allow myself tears. But today, I can’t seem to stop them.
I shuck them away from my waterproof makeup job and hug her tightly.
“Can we get a photo together?” I ask. She lifts her brow in question, but humors me. After Juliet snaps a few with both of our phones, I break the news. “You are why I write,” I choke out, clasping her hands in mine. Her eyes widen, hands shaking in mine.
“You…”
“Mhm,” I nod, biting my bottom lip to shield the rest of the tears before I ruin my makeup.
I assure her that I’ll sign her books during that portion of the event, but ask for a copy of her favorite. I’ve signed thousands of books, but this one brands itself into my memory as I personalize it with a line from its text— You are deserving of a happy ending .
We hug goodbye, and then realize that more of a crowd is starting to form.
“Alright, superstar,” Rafe says, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Guys, I’m starting to freak out,” I whisper.
We’re standing backstage, where the girls will stay with me until the last possible minute.
“What if no one shows up? What if no one cares that I’m doing a public event? What if?—”
“Breathe,” Lucy interrupts, placing her hands on my shoulders. She makes me do three five-count breaths, before tugging me to the curtain. When we peek out, the entire auditorium is packed. There isn’t an empty seat in the house, save for the few up front with reserved signs for my people.
“See? The people love you.”
“They love your books,” Claire adds.
“This is the best choice, Pen. Take what you’ve earned and live out this dream,” Juliet smiles.
I offer them an appreciative smile, knowing no amount of extra sappy words are needed just yet. I’ll save them for the end of the night, when the eight of us head to dinner.
“Are the guys here yet? I didn’t see them.”
“Sam said they landed,” Juliet says, pulling out her phone.
“Aaron said they’re on their way,” Lucy adds.
“Yep, Nathan’s location says they’re a few miles out.”
Claire holds up her phone with the Find My Friends app displayed, showing them in transit.
I check my phone, a little disappointed that I don’t see anything from Ant. But I have to shake out my nerves, because sooner than I expect, the girls are ushered out into the auditorium, and Rafe is giving me a pep talk.
I go over the softball questions that were preselected, re-rehearsing my answers. I chug half a bottle of water, knowing that I’m going to sweat it out before I have to pee. Suddenly, I’m clipped into a mic-pack, given a hundred different directions, and ushered to the stage right wing. The sound of the microphone clicking on kickstarts my heart, but I hear the introduction underwater.
Something about PJ Layne and First public appearance and Select audience . I tune it all out, and when I close my eyes, I see Anthony. He’s standing on an empty stage, wearing that soft smile he seems to have recently acquired that he only dons around me.
The words he’s told me before echo loud and clear because I’ve etched them onto my heart.
You can do it. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let that fear hold you back anymore. Don’t hurt yourself because of a what-if. Take a chance on you. You’re worth it.
It’s the You’re worth it that pushes one foot in front of the other. The You’re worth it that leads me out onto that stage to thundering applause that drowns out everything but the Anthony in my head telling me to take a chance.
I take it all in. The ocean of a crowd, standing on their feet, all for me and the worlds that I’ve created. But before I let myself take any more of it in, I seek him out.
My eyes zoom to the front row where seven seats have been reserved for my friends. I see Sam and Juliet wearing huge smiles, Lucy beaming and Aaron cupping his hands around his mouth to cheer, Claire’s hands clapping together furiously while Nathan cheers in a more reserved fashion, and one empty seat.
My stomach falls to my shoes.
The Anthony Ellis in my head is the only one in attendance.
He isn’t here.