Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
When neither of say a word—me out of embarrassment, Mike out of his natural quiet calm—Sam growls out a dramatic, “Gross!” and slams the door, stomping off for the front door, furious and without a backwards glance.
I let my head slump down, pressing my forehead against the back of Mike’s leather headrest. “Well that was awful.”
“Hey, hey,” he says softly. “Come here.”
I sniffle and scootch over a little so I can lean closer. He turns, his eyes nothing but certainty and calm. “It’s fine. We’ll work it out. You just focus on the tryout. The rest of this shit can wait.”
The thing is, looking deep into his eyes, I believe him. Because I trust him. Because I love him with my whole heart. I push down my emotions and nod, smiling a little, almost in spite of myself. He winks at me again and then leans in for a kiss. A long, dreamy, sexy, yummy kiss.
A rapid angry knocking on the window ruins the moment.
My eyes pop open and I pull away. And in that instant, I tumble down to Cloud Negative Nine.
Because there, looking outraged and angry, stands not Sam but…
…my mom.
The one thing I’ve always been able to do, as soon as I pick up my violin, is focus. No matter how I was feeling or how I was doing or what was going on in my life.
Until today.
My tryout goes by in a messy blur. I play the notes, I turn the pages, but my mind isn’t on the music at all. And then, just like that, it’s over. The new conductor and the deputy directors take notes, tell me thank you, say the nice soothing things.
Walking out of the audition, I don’t know if I did well or badly. I don’t know if I hit every note or none of them at all.
And now I am sitting in the back of my parents’ car again. My mom isn’t speaking to me. My dad is distant. Mike didn’t say a word after I finished. And Sam won’t reply to my texts.
I have a made of a mess of everything. And I don’t know what to do.
And so I put in my earbuds, find Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor. And let the tears slip down my cheeks.
CHAPTER 9
Mike
Things are fucking tense with Sam at home that night. We’re waiting for word on the auditions, but that’s not what’s bothering him. It’s me. And Jess. And me and Jess together.
Nothing I do—not ham and pineapple pizza, not two hours of Project Runaway reruns, not special-ordering Lagerfeld new Swarovski crystal rhinestones for his in-progress pride vest—seem to help one fucking bit.
Until I make us both a hot chocolate with a whole bag of marshmallows like I used do when he was a kid and say, “Talk.”
He sits down across from me. Eyes set and hard. I can see he’s pissed. Pissed and confused and maybe betrayed. All of which is totally understandable.
So I go first.
“I was going to tell you. Of course I was going to tell you, son. But you hadn’t been in the door thirty-seconds before you figured it out yourself.”
His eyes soften. He takes a marshmallow from the bag and dips it into his mug. Progress.
“Of course I did, Dad. It was like I just walked into a soap opera. The desire was so thick it was like angel food cake.”
I lift my hands. “Still. I was going to tell you. I was about to tell you. Alright? Don’t bust my balls for being quicker on the draw than me.”
He huffs but then nods with understanding. “I get that. But that’s not really what’s bothering me.”
“What then?”
He nibbles his lip and fusses with the mascara on his lashes. “What I want to know is this: Is it real? Are you happy?”
Two questions. Two big questions. Two questions. “I can’t speak for her. But speaking for myself? Fuck. Yes. It’s real. And I’m happier than I can even remember being.”
Sam smiles a little, looking down at his cocoa. “It’s real for her, too. I can see it.”
I sure hope so. I think so. But she’s got me as upside down as a teenager. “You think?”
“Pfffft, yeah. For real, for real. I can see it on her face. And honestly, Dad, I’d have been so freaking stoked all along if only you’d told me what was going on. But instead I come home to find my bestie playing Mommy Dearest and my dad looking like he’s never known love before.”
Goddamn it, this boy. Every once in a while, he cuts right though it all to say the thing that needs to be said. Because have I ever known love? Like this? Until now?
No. Not even close.
I lean back in the dining chair. “I do love her. And I have loved her. But I didn’t want to get between you two. And I had no fucking idea that she felt the same.”