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Eventually, once it dried out, I folded the T-shirt into the bottom of my shirt drawer, afraid if I put it somewhere easily accessible that I would find myself burying my face in it and bawling my eyes out again.
I slid the ring onto my right hand. Even though it hurts every time I look at it, I don’t want to give it up.
I’ve been dragging myself around ever since, and I think Nia’s starting to lose patience with me.
“Ivy!”
“Sorry!”
“Sonya and her crew are taking off.”
Sonya, Bella, Reggie, Serenity, and their coworker Mei showed up this morning to give the kids a lesson on hair and makeup. They’ve also committed themselves to helping at dress rehearsals and performances for the next six months, which is…way above and beyond, especially because they’re doing it totally on a volunteer basis, despite all having demanding day jobs. I really love Sonya and her friends, and?—
Well, it sucks that we won’t get to be related after all. I mean, if there was ever really any chance of that.
That’s the thing that’s so confusing. It was always fake. But it wasn’t. And—I don’t know. I just can’t wrap my brain around it.
I jog out from our makeshift backstage, where I’ve been organizing the prop shelves in our new, temporary space in the Hott Springs Eternal small barn. I hug all the women, thanking them profusely, letting them know how much their visit meant to the kids. A few kids are still hanging around, telling our guests in their own words how awesome the workshop was and how they’re going to apply it not only to theater but to doing their own hair and makeup at home.
“Just remember that stage makeup is a lot more dramatic than what you want to wear to school,” Bella cautions, managing to bite back a smile.
Reggie, Bella, Serenity, and Mei, who came together in one car, head out. Nia has to pick up Akemi somewhere, so after checking in to make sure I’m okay with shutting down, she takes off. Sonya is leaving separately because she has to run some errands. She lingers a bit as the kids grab their stuff and stroll toward the exit.
“You doing okay?” she asks, drifting back to my side.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say Yeah, totally. Why? but there’s something so gentle and generous in her expression that instead I say, “Ah. You know. Some days better than others.”
She touches my arm. “Let me know if I can— I can’t say I’ve been in your exact shoes, but…let’s just say that I know what it’s like to love a wounded bear.”
She says the L-word so casually, like she’s known all along, and it’s like a friendly shove at the edge of a cliff. I can feel the blank expression I’ve been wearing for days crack and then splinter.
“Oh, hon,” she says. “Hug?” She holds her arms out, and I walk into them. Her hug is perfect, warm and lavender scented and generous, and tears threaten. “Been there. Those Hott men. They’re irresistible. And definitely a little more wounded than they want you to know. I so hoped things were going to work out for you two.”
She draws back to smile at me, and I realize she’s telling me she would have been as happy to have me as a sister-in-law as I would have felt to be hers.
“Me, too,” I blurt.
Her smile gets bigger, then fades away, becoming wistful. “If you want to talk about it?—”
“I wish there was something to talk about,” I say. “I mean, I wish there still was—but it’s definitely over. And maybe it’s for the best. I mean, he’s in the fast lane and I’m a small-town girl, and I wouldn’t fit into the kind of life he has.”
“I get that,” Sonya says, shaking her head ruefully. “I get it totally. I wouldn’t, either. I’m such a small-town girl. Fame scares the shit out of me. ”
“I tried it once,” I admit. “Loving a guy who’s career-driven and?—”
I’m about to list all the things Anthony is.
Attention-seeking.
Ruthless.
Amoral.
My breath catches in my chest because all those words are perfect for Anthony…but none of them apply to the Shane Hott I’ve met. A guy who will set everything aside for his family. Who’ll go out of his way to stage a time-consuming, elaborate proposal to help a woman out. Who’s funny and generous (including in bed) and more sensitive than he wants to let on. Who wanted just one man—any man—to stick around in his life, got disappointed over and over again, and still had a soft enough heart to be wounded when the latest one let him down. Who disappointed one woman he cared about—and lost her—and never, ever wants to do it again. Who’s afraid he won’t be the man who sticks around in someone else’s life.
Who’s afraid.
Who’s afraid.
