NAUSEA RISES UP MY THROAT.
“Pippa.” Jamie’s sitting beside me now, arm around my shoulders, concern all over his face. “What’s going on?”
“This is my song.” My voice is flat. “This is my song,” I repeat.
Some of the lyrics are different. The verses are a different tune, but the chorus is all mine.
Jamie flags the server down before pulling a bill out of his wallet and handing it to her. “Can you change the song, please? Right now.”
A moment later, Zach’s voice cuts off abruptly, replaced by the opening notes of a different song.
He laughed at me. This entire time, I thought I wasn’t good enough.
He saw it. He definitely saw it, Jamie said about Zach.
“Pippa,” Jamie murmurs, and his hand is on the back of my neck, warm and solid and comforting. The contact drags me back to the present, and I blink up at him. He looks furious and concerned, a hard set to his jaw and fire in his eyes.
I’m confused, shocked, and so, so angry, but having Jamie here somehow makes it better. Jamie, who believes in me. Who’s furious on my behalf.
Months ago, I cried in the airport and just wanted to disappear. Tonight, though, there’s a tiny flame burning inside me. Something stubborn and pissed off.
Zach’s ruined so much, but I don’t want him to ruin this evening.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, and I think that might be the truth.
“Come here,” he says, wrapping me in a big hug, and I let myself lean into him.
My pulse returns to normal as I rest my cheek against Jamie’s chest. His hand strokes down my back, and I inhale his warm, spicy scent.
“I hate him for what he did to you.” I feel his low words rumble through his chest.
“Me too,” I whisper.
“You want to go home?”
I shake my head. “I want to stay.”
I’m done with Zach, and I’m done with letting the past weigh me down.
Minutes later, I’m filling my stomach with another order of tacos Jamie insisted I eat, and his phone lights up with a text. The background image makes my heart jump into my throat. It’s one of the photos I texted him of Daisy and me at the park, sitting on one of the giant logs. I asked someone to take it.
He made it his background. My pulse gallops. I don’t dare let myself hope. He sees where my eyes go, and he slips the phone into his back pocket before leaning his elbows on the table, watching me.
“Promise me you won’t let this hold you back. Promise me you’ll get back up on stage.”
I blink, and that old hesitance lifts its head inside me.
“Promise me,” Jamie says, and his eyes plead.
What did I say earlier? No more letting the past weigh me down.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll do it.”
