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Attending this dinner, and his arm around my waist as we waited for the door to open... That was all for appearances sake. But his hand on mine? The chief couldn’t see that. That was real.
He spoke quietly, so only I could hear. “I think you’re pretty amazing, Krys. No matter what happens next. I hope you know that.”
My heart stuttered. His hand was on mine, his thumb rubbing a small circle against my skin.
I knew what he meant.
Even if I never made another movie.
Or if I left again and made one hundred.
He’d be the same supportive friend I’d always had.
Was that still all I wanted?
* * *
BRYCE
We said good-bye to the chief and Marcy and strolled back to the car. Krystal pulled her jacket tighter around herself in the chilly night air.
I was quiet on the drive back to her mom’s house. She didn’t seem to mind, though.
I pulled into the drive and lowered the already quiet music.
“Thanks for coming tonight. I really appreciate having you there with me.”
“It was fun.”
“Listen, about your leading lady comment–”
Krystal cut me off. “I’m so sorry, Bryce. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Her words pierced the hopeful optimism beginning to take shape inside my chest. I forced a laugh. “No, of course not. I knew that,” I quickly insisted. “I just wanted to make sure we were still on the same page. Just friends and all?”
I held my breath, simultaneously hoping she would tell me she agreed or was lying and wanted more. I wasn’t sure what I would do if she even opened the door a crack. It was better for me to leave it firmly closed.
Watching her leave with my heart in my hand offered to her and rejected again… Nope, couldn’t do that.
Krystal nodded, but it was slow. Almost unsure. “No, of course. Just friends. Fake relationship. Not even fake. Assumed,” she clarified.
“Okay, good. Then we’re both okay.”
“Yep.”
Awkward silence fell within the cab of the truck, a country song playing almost imperceptibly in the background.
“Well, good night, then.”
Krystal opened the truck door and climbed down.
I exhaled heavily and watched her retreat up the front walk before bumping my forehead against the steering wheel between my hands.
It wasn’t going to matter what I said. Or even what she said. I was going to end up stitching up my bleeding heart again when she went back to LA.
I continued bouncing my head off the rubber steering wheel, trying to knock some sense into myself. “You’re an idiot, Bryce Storm.”
