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“Well, there’s plenty of room,” I said. There was since Wells had brought that table over. I gestured toward the extra seating. “I don’t mind.”
Thatcher looked like he minded. He kept trying to make eye contact with Wells, who wasn’t making eye contact. Apparently, after his initial venom, Wells was all tapped out. He continued to stare into open air as he ate our fries, and with the invitation, the rest of Thatcher’s friends made themselves at home. The others brought chairs over, and it was kind of nice being in a group. I’d spent a lot of time alone lately, which was the opposite of my normal life. I was usually always surrounded by people.
It’d been nice to have a break, but I liked it today. Especially getting to see Bow again. I asked about her and Thatcher’s grandma. He told me things were fine with her whenever I asked, but of course, I wanted to check in.
“She’s really good, and I can’t thank you enough for what you did that day,” she said sweetly. “We got a bunch of your albums after that happened, and Gram loves to play them.”
“Really?” I studied Thatcher, who nodded. He’d never mentioned that. I braced my arms. “That’s wonderful. Makes me so happy.”
It did. I was glad my music brought people joy. That was what music was supposed to do. It was supposed to make you feel warm and free. Yes, it was.
My gaze hit the table after the thought, but I lifted my head when the group started to give me questions. I got questions about the music business and what it was like to go on tour with celebrities. That was one of the really kickass things about the job, and I loved that.
“Oh my God, how was playing at the Grammys?” Sloane asked me, but I hadn’t mentioned the Grammys. She laughed. “Bow and I looked you all up after she told me what you did for her grandmother. You played with Alicia Keys?”
“Not to mention Beyoncé at the Oscars. Ah! So freaking cool.” Bow grinned, and I laughed.
“Yeah, it was pretty cool. A dream.” I’d played with some of the biggest artists and on the biggest stages. My life truly was a dream.
“Then there’s Carnegie Hall, which was probably pretty cool.”
I froze, the high I’d been on from the conversation completely gone.
Shattered.
It was like a bucket of ice water hit me. It locked up my vocal cords and stopped any engagement I had in the conversation. I couldn’t speak, and suddenly, Wells (the one who’d spoken) was no longer looking into open air.
His sight was very much on me.
Everyone else’s attention was on me too. Even those who hadn’t been entirely engaged in my conversation with the girls. It wasn’t that the others were being rude or anything, but they had their own conversations going. Those conversations stopped, though, and the way they all looked at me, borderline sympathy in their eyes, let me know they knew why I reacted this way to what Wells said. Carnegie Hall was the one venue I hadn’t really gotten to play. My dream venue. I’d been working literally my whole life to get there, and when I finally had, I’d frozen in front of millions of people.
I’d frozen.
I’d ended up walking off stage, my bow and instrument in hand, and later that night, there’d been the infamous press release. Concert Cellist Aspen Davis Freezes At Carnegie Hall…
Following Threats Made Upon Her Life.
The news had been everywhere, and even if one didn’t follow me, they probably would have heard about it. I was trending on Reddit and shit and…
It was like the energy had been sucked out of the room, and Thatcher grew like a size and a half next to Wells. He towered over his friend despite being seated, but before Thatcher could say something and put things out there more than they already were, I got out my phone. Thatcher looked at me then as I started to type.
I got up. “I actually need to go, but it was good meeting everyone.”
Everyone knew I was lying, and I knew by the way they all averted their eyes. Most of them landed on Wells, who clearly knew what he’d said. He did, but he hadn’t cared, and odds were, he’d said what he had on purpose. He’d acknowledged one of the most embarrassing moments of my life—in front of everyone—on purpose. He clearly didn’t like me when my past with Thatcher was not my fault—at all.
Thatcher’s mouth parted. “Snow?—”
He didn’t get the full word out.
I walked away.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Thatcher
I went after Snowflake, but she was fucking quick.
