Those two titles for them make my heart bounce with delight, like a child frolicking through a field of flowers. But before she goes inside, she stops and hugs Miller. “I’m glad you’re not leaving.”
“Leaving? Where would I go?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. London, Boston. Somewhere.”
He tucks a finger under her chin. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. You’re always around, and I like it.”
A warning bell rings. I recall what she said a few nights ago, her sadness over Kirby moving to Boston. I’m glad she’s expressing her feelings. I’m thrilled she’s sharing her heart with people she cares about. That’s one of the reasons she went to see Dr. Jane in the first place. To find her voice.
But part of her expressing them means I need to hear them.
You’re always around and I like it.
That means something.
That means everything.
The chill in the air intensifies. But there’s a biting chill inside me too. I shiver painfully, my teeth chattering, as I say hello and goodbye to Macy and Kirby, telling them I’ll be back at the end of the day.
Miller and I return to the station. The grime from the platform wafts up, a nose-crinkling stew of pee and rats and garbage. The train arrives, and we step inside. As it rumbles out of the station, I heave a sigh. “That was awkward.”
“What part?”
“All of it,” I say heavily. “Jesse. Hailey. The whole thing. Could we have been any more obvious?”
“But Hailey’s mom was cool about it.”
“She was, but I was at a loss for words. I mean, what was I supposed to say? This is my friend who I screwed last night?”
He winces. “Ally.”
I drop my head into my hands and sigh. My stomach churns. My gut twists. My collar grows too tight, and everything in me squeezes, like I’m being wrung out by two hard fists.
Chloe’s words echo in my mind.
You’re always around and I like it.
But other words resonate too.
Expiration date. Friends with benefits. Make a deal.
And still more, the voice of Dr. Jane, urging Chloe to speak her mind.
I raise my face. I look at Miller, take out my sword, and prepare to do battle with reality. “When do we end?”
He flinches. “What do you mean?”
Like my heroines, I charge forward into the fray. “When do you want this to end?”
Say never. Please say never.
He swallows and nods a few times, as if he’s processing what I just asked him. When he answers, the words come out flat. “When do you want this to end?”
That’s my answer.
His isn’t a never.
His is whatever works for me.
I want so much more, and he wants only a moment.
Someone has to put her foot down. “We wanted to get this out of our system, right?”
“Right,” he says, his voice sounding emptier than I’ve ever heard it.
I swallow roughly, soldiering on. “Maybe we should go back to how we were, before it gets too hard.”
That’s what a strong girl would say. That’s what a fighter would do.
Give up what she wants for the greater good.
He scrubs a hand over his jaw, stares out the scratched window, and parts his lips to speak.
But he says nothing.
One minute passes. Then another. Finally, he nods. “Yeah, totally. That makes perfect sense. Let’s go back before it gets too hard.”
When we reach my destination, my heart is a bruised peach at the market, and everything is already too hard.
Chapter 28
Miller
I’ve got this. I’ve handled moments like this before.
Well, not exactly like this. I’ve never had my heart smashed by a wrecking ball.
Also, thanks a lot, Miley Cyrus, for stealing that idea for a song.
But since I can’t write “Wrecking Ball,” I’ll do what I’ve always done when things don’t go my way: dive into a new activity.
What would that be? I drum my fingers on my thighs, hunting for inspiration on the goddamn subway train.
That’s it.
I smile faintly, because the answer was so easy. I turn to my phone, calling up Google. Twenty minutes later, I’m walking along a quiet block of New York City in the East Eighties to a model train shop.
When the Heartbreakers split, I took up, well, everything. Soccer. Kickball. Lacrosse. Jigsaw puzzles. Monopoly. Yes, there are Monopoly leagues.
I also worked on mastering fantasy basketball, baseball, football, and many other sports. I don’t need to work. I have enough money for a few lifetimes, thanks to our royalties. But I like to have fun, and that’s how I’ve kept busy.
That’s what I’ve done when the other bands I’ve played with broke up too. I’ve found the next thing to do.
Today, I’m confident it’s going to be trains.
Everyone loves to play with trains.
The bell rings above the door to the shop as I stroll inside.
“Happy holidays.” A man sporting a thick gray beard and a conductor hat looks up at me from his perch at the desk, where he’s attaching wheels to a caboose. “What can I do for you?”
I clasp my hands together like I’m embracing the sheer genius of my plan. “It’s time for me to invest in a train set.”
“Join our club.” He rubs his hands together, wanders around the counter, and gestures to the small, cramped shop. “Let me show you some options.”
He regales me with details of model trains, how to take care of them, how to assemble them. When he’s done, my head hurts. Too many details. Too much work.
I don’t have any interest in building a train set.
But this guy has made a helluva effort. He deserves more than, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Spinning around, I point to a starter set for a five-year-old. “That one, please.”
It’ll be Ben’s Christmas present. With the model train set tucked under my arm, I head over a few blocks to a sporting goods store. I buy a foosball table I’d checked out a month ago. I ask for express delivery in an hour. After it arrives at my pad, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and dive into the solution to the Ally heartache.
This table will cure me.
It’ll numb the pain.
Hell, it’ll do more than that—it’ll make me happy again. I don’t like being unhappy. Not one bit.
I play, beating myself several times. I start another round, turning up the volume on my speaker system, blasting Muse’s “Madness.”
When the song ends, I don’t feel any better.
My chest is hollow, like someone has tunneled through it with a shovel and scooped out my insides.
“Fuck,” I say, as I spin one foosball rod aimlessly. Dragging a hand through my hair, I stalk around the table, wishing I could invite Ally to join me.
I want her here.
I want her back where she’s been.
But I’ve no clue how to return to Friendship Land.
I fiddle with my phone, flicking through my contacts. Campbell probably has a lesson, Miles has a meeting with his financial manager before he takes off tonight, and Jackson is helping his mom today.
It’s just me and my shadow.
I sink down onto the piano bench. The piano is always good company. The piano has always been a friend. I tap out a few notes, and soon I’m playing “Piano Man,” and hell, if there’s a number that’s better designed to amp up sadness, I don’t know what it is.
When I play the final note, I drop my head on the keys.
I might as well work through all of Depeche Mode and The Smiths.
I want Ally, and I can’t have her.
After all these years, I understand what it means to be a heartbreaker. Or, really, I understand what it is to be heartbroken.
Chapter 29
Ally
Robots keep me company. Zombies fill my hours.
And so does a plucky, determined girl named Stella who must navigate her way through a dystopian future populated by those warring factions.
I do my best to put myself in Stella’s shoes, and at the end of the day, I pat myself on the back. That was one of my best acting jobs ever. I acted as if I wasn’t completely shredded inside.
I never realized how far the arrow of Miller had bored into my heart. Once you let someone in like that, let them touch you, let them kiss you, let them see inside your soul, they have the power to hurt you.
My muscles hurt. My cells ache. I don’t get headaches, but I have one today since I’ve been caging in tears for eight hours straight.
But the pain is my fault. Miller didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself by messing with one of the best things I’ve ever had. I messed with our friendship simply to scratch an itch.
Maybe I should be a robot. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with stupid things like lust, and what it can sometimes lead to.
Love.
A love that I don’t know what to do with.
As I head to the elevator, I say hi to Meg at the reception desk as she packs up for the break.
“Happy holidays, Meg.”
“And to you too, Ally.” She wraps a scarf around her neck. “By the way, who sent you that gift the other day?”
“Just a friend.”
Who I love madly.
Meg arches a brow from behind her big glasses. “The guy you’ve been singing with?”
“Yep.”
She laughs to herself. “Girl, he doesn’t look at you like a friend.”
I try to laugh it off, like this is a performance and I must be convincing. “Oh, the videos are just us performing. We’re really only friends.”
My stomach twists saying that out loud because I wish I were lying. I wish we were so much more than friends.
She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about the videos. I’m talking about the way he looks at you when he’s here.”
I step closer to her, intrigued. “How does he look at me?”
“Like he wants to find you under his Christmas tree.”
That image tugs at my heart and, inconveniently, at my loins too.
“And like he wants to keep you,” she adds.
My heart crawls up my throat. That’s such a crazy thought that I have to dismiss it.
I give a small shake of my head. “See you in the New Year, Meg.” As I press the button for the elevator, I check my email to distract myself.
A new message from Angie at Butler Press sits at the top of my inbox.
Thank you so much for coming in yesterday. The file sounds fantastic, and it’s a wrap! Keep your fingers crossed, but I think we might have something new and exciting for you in the New Year.
I tuck my phone into my purse and cross my fingers for a moment.
This email is the reminder that I needed to keep my focus on work, on shoring up my business and planning for the future.
That’s how I’ll get through my gig with Miller this week, and that’s how I’ll get through . . . everything.
Even though Miller is how I’ve gotten through everything else that’s come before.
* * *
When I arrive in Brooklyn, I haven’t done anything but think about how it felt to be in Miller’s arms last night, the way he kissed me, and all his sweet and tender words and gestures.
Foolish heart.
It’s a heavy heart too, an anchor in my chest weighing me down.
Must focus on something else.
As I walk to Kirby’s home, I catalog his neighborhood—the pickle shops, the organic dry cleaner, the parents carrying babies on their chests.
The trick works momentarily.
When I reach his house, Kirby tells me Macy and Chloe are on their way back from the park, and the baby’s sleeping.
“Tell me stuff. Are you excited for the move?” I ask in the most chipper tone I can muster as I flop onto his couch amid the packed boxes.
“Definitely. It’s going to be a great opportunity.” He tilts his head, studying me. “Um, you don’t look so hot today.”
I slump against the cushions. Leave it to a brother to see through your armor. I could tap-dance around his observation, but I’ve sung and danced all day, and it’s exhausting. “I don’t feel so hot.”
“What’s wrong?” He sits next to me, a worried crease on his forehead.
A sob—the one I’ve been holding in since the morning— works its way up my throat. I choke out the truth. “I’m an idiot. I went and fell in love with my best friend.” The tears escape, and Kirby wraps an arm around me and shushes me.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not going to be okay. We’re not you and Macy.”
He shoots me a quizzical stare. “Why can’t you be Macy and me?”
“Because you guys are the exception. Falling for your friend doesn’t usually work out this well,” I say, gesturing to the house, to the life he shares with Macy. “Miller’s the best friend I’ve ever had, but he’s not the type of guy who wants to get serious.”
Kirby clears his throat, scoffing at me. “He’s not?”
“He’s not,” I insist, hiccupping.
He scratches his jaw. “Didn’t he come with you this morning to bring Chloe here?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t he help you with Chloe’s school projects?”
“Yes,” I answer, wondering where he’s going with his questions.
“Don’t you go to his house, and have dinner with his family, and hang out with his brothers and their friends?”
“But that’s because we’re best friends. Of course we do that stuff.”
He shoots me a look. “Seriously, Ally?”
I toss my hands up. “Yes, seriously. That’s normal friends stuff. That’s what I don’t want to lose.”
Doesn’t he get it? I want to keep Miller in my life, and friend Miller is better than no Miller.
Kirby arches a brow. “I think it’s something more. Something deeper. Honestly, I’ve always thought there was a spark between you two.”
“You have?” My heart beats a little faster. I can’t let myself believe that, but oh, how I want to.
“You guys have always seemed like you like each other.”
I can’t hold it all in. “Yes, fine. Okay. You got it out of me. Something happened. Something happened a few times,” I say, spilling out all the messy thoughts in my head.
He laughs lightly. “I didn’t even ask, but good to know I was right that you’d leveled up.”
“But it can't work.”
“Because you think Miller can’t be serious. But my point is he can.”
I let out a moan, like air seeping out of me. “But . . .”
“But I’m right. You’ve been friends for six years. That sounds like he knows a lot about commitment. It sounds like he’s been there for you for a lot of things. And it sounds like maybe he has some of the same feelings you do. I don’t think he’d mess around if it was just physical.”
I take a beat, trying to insert this new puzzle piece into the jigsaw of today.
The problem is I can’t slide the piece in around this little girl who’s mine to take care of, to raise, and to love. I don’t want to disappoint her. More than that, I don’t want to hurt her. “But what about Chloe? I don’t want to set her up to have another person leave her life.” Then I whisper quietly, my voice shaky, “And I miss Lindsay.”
“I miss her too,” Kirby says softly, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. “We’ll always miss her. Chloe probably will too. But you can’t protect Chloe from everything, and you definitely can’t shield her from ever getting hurt again. She’ll get hurt. She’ll cry. She might like some guy you date, and she might dislike some other guy you date. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
But what would trying with Miller even mean? Asking him to date? To
be my boyfriend? Does anyone even use that term anymore?
Hey, Miller, wanna be my boyfriend?
I’m so rusty I haven’t a clue.
I don’t feel like I know anything anymore.
Usually, I am strong, determined, and fierce, like I’ve skimmed a little off the top from the badass heroines I narrate.
Today, I’m just a girl who’s crying in her brother’s arms.
* * *
“Does that sound like a good idea for tomorrow?”
I force myself to focus on Chloe over dinner at home. She’s detailed what she wants to do tomorrow, her next day off.
Smiling broadly, and ever so falsely, I tell her that her idea sounds great.
With her fork poised in midair, she stares at my face, studying me. “Why are you in such a funk?”
Ouch. Called on my mood by my girl. “Robots and zombies took a lot out of me.”
She spears a piece of pasta. “Maybe you should talk to Miller. He always cheers you up.”
She’s right. I should talk to him. After all, how else are we going to return to the way we were?
Chapter 30
Miller
As the sun dips low in the sky, I swing by Miles’s hotel room at the Luxe, doing my best to shove my loneliness out of my head.
For the record, loneliness sucks.
I like people. I like companionship. And I like these two knuckleheads.
“I guess you two cats didn’t exactly trash your room like rock stars,” I tease, surveying the suite. It’s immaculate. “Wait.” I wag my finger. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to an empty package of Goldfish crackers and a carton of milk on an end table.
I spin around and wiggle my eyebrows at Ben. His eyes widen, and he purses his lips like he’s sealing in a secret.
Oh, hell. The kid is guilty of something. “Looks like someone did party like a rock star,” I tease.
Miles strides across the plush carpet, picks up the empty packages, and tilts his head. “Ben, what did I tell you?”
Ben’s expression drops like he’s been busted. Only I can’t imagine what for.
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