Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PATTY
“ Y ou and Connor broke the internet.” Alicia’s voice cuts into my thoughts, making me reach for the noise-canceling headphones I have stashed in my bunk cubby. But before I can put them on, I hear Lou respond in an excited voice.
“Did we? What are people saying?”
With every comment Alicia reads, my mood darkens until I’m a black cloud. No, a black hole. Any joy gets sucked in and vanishes forever.
Seeing Nash tonight was a sucker punch if I’ve ever had one (and I have). But seeing him hug Lou, try to kiss her, ask her out—a million times worse. It was like having my heart rolled over by a bulldozer and the remains set on fire.
How have I gotten to a point where Lou has access to my heart at all, let alone so much control over it?
Alicia makes a comment about Connor and Lou’s wedding, and I turn my back to the thick curtain separating my bunk from the rest of the bus. Lou’s answer—“I think the internet’s got it covered.”—does little to help.
I can’t stop thinking about her face, how shocked she looked. I can’t stop thinking about how she moved her face at the last possible moment so he kissed her cheek, not her lips. Her panicked eyes flashed to mine multiple times, and each time, I knew exactly what she was saying.
Nash, on the other hand, brought her roses and tried to kiss her on stage. The guy doesn’t know her at all. If he’d taken two minutes to do a Google search, he’d know daffodils are her favorite, followed by sunflowers, then tulips. And she isn’t a grand gesture kind of gal. She said so in a social media “Ask Me Anything” video, and even though I didn’t know what AMA meant until a week ago, I do now. Because I cared enough to check.
He didn’t.
Did she actually want him there?
I know she said at her parents’ that she didn’t trust me any more than anyone else, but that was denial. I know it was. It hurt, but I could look past it because I know how new this all is to her.
And then tonight, we almost kissed in her dressing room. She blew me a kiss as she passed my table. I’ve never seen her tease anyone else like that. She was flirting with me.
But then she teased Nash tonight and flirted with him. Was that all for show, or does she like him?
I rub my forehead, grateful for the pitch black of my bunk. I don’t know what I’ll do if she likes him. I’ll have to ask to swap buses with Rafael, make him her permanent bodyguard. Being on a bus while she flirts with Nash is more than I can handle. I may not have any plans with the girl, but I’ve had enough self-punishment to last a lifetime. I ain’t adding this.
Besides, I should have talked to him, shouldn’t I have? It’s weeks before I expected to, but shouldn’t I have jumped at the chance the second I saw the guy? Why didn’t I? Am I not ready to face him yet, to fix the past, secure my future? Or am I not ready to say goodbye to my present?
I lay in bed, rubbing my forehead long after Lou and Alicia’s laughter has died down. I hear Lou wish Alicia a good night, and then, a moment later, I hear a whisper outside my bunk.
“Good night, Patty.”
I stifle a groan.
What does it mean that she stopped to wish me good night when she thought I was already asleep? And why can’t I stop caring?
I roll onto my stomach and try to sleep.
And when I wake up early the next morning, it’s with renewed focus: stick to the plan, don’t think about how we almost kissed, and avoid Lou at all costs.
But when I leave my bunk and find her sitting at the kitchenette with her guitar on her lap, I brace myself.
She hasn’t seen me yet, so focused is she on picking the strings as she hums Last Train to Midnight . So help me, if she starts singing that song, I’m gonna get so rooted to this spot, I’ll grow leaves.
And of course, she starts singing.
Her voice is soft at first, just a murmur over the quiet hum of the bus, but it pulls me in like a riptide. I can’t move. Can’t blink.
She leans into the melody, her fingers effortlessly plucking the strings, her brows drawing together like the song is pulling something out of her—something deep. And then she closes her eyes.
That does it.
The sight of her—stocking feet, curled into the leather couch, lost in the music—does me in. The golden morning light sneaks through the cracked blinds, slipping over the curve of her shoulder, catching in the waves of her hair. But it’s not the light that keeps me there.
It’s her .
The way she tilts her chin ever so slightly when she reaches for a higher note. The way her fingers move with absentminded precision, like the guitar is just an extension of her. Like this moment, this song, is the only thing that exists.
When the last note lingers in the air, she exhales, like she’s just surfaced from somewhere far away. And then her eyes flutter open, locking onto mine.
She looks almost nervous. Self-conscious.
“How long have you been watching?”
“The whole time.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Any notes?”
“Not one,” I say, wishing I could lie. “It was perfect.”
Her smile cuts through me like a laser.
This is gonna be harder than I thought.
From Augusta to Atlanta and all over Arkansas and Alabama, I avoid talking to Lou more than I have to. I hang out in my bunk when she and Alicia chat, and I stay away from green rooms, dressing rooms, and lounges. If it doesn’t pay my bills, I don’t do it.
The hardest part is the look of hurt in her eyes when I don’t talk or tease. I’m like a robot with her—answering specific queries but not engaging beyond her immediate need. The only exception is during a show. When the stress gets to her, when she stumbles, I can’t stop myself from being there.
“Looks like someone hit the guac a little too hard tonight,” I say when I can see she’s beating herself up for tripping over an exposed cable that should have been covered.
I see the smirk twitch her lips, but then I also see her eyes tighten. As Bailey plays a fiddle solo, Lou flips her mic over to my channel and says, “Oh, is someone acknowledging that I exist? Color me surprised.”
“I thought you’d appreciate me taking a step back to give you and Nash space to plan your lives together.”
“Hardy har har,” she says before flipping her mic back over to sing.
It takes a lot of skill to be able to jump from a conversation like this back into her music, but Lou is already a seasoned pro. I probably should stop arguing with her, riling her up, but I’ve seen firsthand how it helps her. The occasional compliment does, too. I may be able to keep my distance, but I can’t see her need something and not provide it.
That should make me feel better about myself, shouldn’t it? Maybe I’m not as selfish as I thought.
Wrong. Because making her happy feels too good to stop.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but she gets better with every show. When she talks to the crew or to Alicia on the bus afterward, though, I can hear how tired her voice is getting. I find myself putting honey in her tea and turning the humidifier on in her suite when I get onto the bus before her every night. I’m sure she thinks Alicia does it for her, just like I’m sure she thinks Ash or Jane sent her the slippers.
I’m okay with that.
I don’t need credit—heck, I don’t deserve it. I just want to see her happy.
Because I’m a sap. A sucker. An absolute fool.
I take comfort in knowing that at least no one else knows I’m falling for her.
No one but Sean.
SEAN
Why are you letting Nash flirt with your girl all over the internet?
PATTY
She’s not my girl. They can do whatever they want.
SEAN
You know fans keep posting pictures of you as her bodyguard, right?
PATTY
What? Can you see me in them?
SEAN
I can. No one would know it’s you.
PATTY
You sure?
SEAN
Pretty sure. But you knew that was a risk. And it won’t matter soon anyway, right?
PATTY
I don’t know.
SEAN
Because you’re afraid of leaving your girl?
PATTY
You’re embarrassing yourself. You sound like some teeny bopper.
SEAN
And you sound like a boomer. Who are you?
PATTY
I don’t know, man.
How’s the road?
SEAN
It’s been a long haul. These seven-game roadies are a drag.
PATTY
You had good wins against Greenville and St. Louis.
SEAN
And a crappy loss against Knoxville. Springfield’s gonna be a tough barn tomorrow night.
PATTY
We’ll be driving through Springfield tonight. Wish I could stay a couple days and watch you play.
SEAN
You’re not missing much. I’m getting too old for this game.
PATTY
You’re not too old. You’re 33. Bobrovsky’s 36.
SEAN
And I’m not Bobrovsky.
I’m not feeling bad about this, just saying how it is. Don’t feel some way I don’t need you to feel about this.
PATTY
Don’t tell me how to feel.
SEAN
Are you sure *you’re* not the teeny bopper?
PATTY
Boomer.
SEAN
Time to load onto the bus. Don’t let Nash steal your girl.
I don’t answer. His comment doesn’t warrant one. It’s silly. She’s not my girl.
But Sean is one of those guys who likes to intuit, who’s in touch with feelings and can talk about them like it’s not oral surgery. And I’m that guy’s emotionally walled-off brother.
I drop my phone onto my bunk and rub a hand over my face. I should sleep—should at least try—but my mind is too tangled up in Lou—her voice, her guitar, the way she stops outside my bunk just to whisper good night like it means nothing.
Like she doesn’t know she’s undoing me with every whispered word.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the dark ceiling, willing myself to feel nothing. Willing myself to let go of wanting more. Wanting her.
But I can’t.
Not when she’s still out there, curled up on the couch, the tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the phone telling me she’s texting someone (is it Nash?). Not when she keeps disappearing every day and writing songs in her suite that aren’t about me.
Are they about him? Is he inspiring love songs in her?
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This has to stop.
Tomorrow, I’ll avoid her. I’ll keep my head down and my distance. I’ll make sure I’m nothing more than her shadow, slipping into the background where I belong.
But for now, I lie awake and listen for her. And I hope—stupidly—that maybe she’s not thinking about Nash.
Maybe she’s thinking about me.
Maybe she’s listening for me, too.