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“Don’t think I’m trying to escape.” Jace rises to his feet. “It’s time to give Briar her birthday presents.”
He leaves. Hal warned me that Briar requests to be the first one to hear new songs instead of trinkets. That’s why two goons at the entrance confiscated my phone and gave me a retrieval number in return. The guests clap and cheer, and even though I’m still itching to sneak away, I relocate to the front instead, to sit with Hal, who’s found company with several pretty girls.
Smiling, he bumps my shoulder with his. “You’re going to love this. This is the best part of the night.”
I watch Jace fling his guitar strap over his head. His confident grin is back, and the sight of it infuriates me to the bottom of my soul. He’s not okay. I hate that he pretends that he is.
“Earth to Laurel,” Hal teases.
“What?” My focus is still narrowed on Jace’s figure. He’s fiddling with the guitar knobs, holding a pick with his teeth. Everything else around me disappears in a hazy vignette—
“Laurel.” Hal shakes me a little. “Blink.”
I do. “Fine, I admit it. I like Jace.” Why else would I be so invested in what he feels or how much he’s hurting? Why else would I be acting like a mad woman?
Hal smirks. “Don’t tell him that.”
“I shouldn’t like him,” I whisper, stuffing my hands into the sleeves. “He’s like Dad. Music’s in his blood. Musicishis blood.”
“You’ve got to let go of your prejudices if you want to be happy,” Hal grumbles. “Don’t worry about anything. Flirt him into oblivion.”
I laugh at that. “Me?” Jace is holding his heart out to another girl even though she will never be his.
Hal huffs. “Don’t underestimate yourself.” He lifts his chin toward the band. “Blackmore hasn’t been able to look anywhere else but at you.”
I allow myself a split-second glance out of the corner of my eye, and sure enough, Jaceislooking our way.Myway. I turn away because deep down I feel lied to. He showered me with attention and understanding and flirty little gestures, all while not intending to be anything more than just a…nothing to me. I’m the rebound. A substitute. An achievement at best. I have to end it before I get hurt.
Track 21
A Terrible Idea
Jace
Laurel isn’t the only one tiptoeing on the edge of a catastrophe tonight. Our easy ride is over. I knew I’d drive a wedge between us by telling her that Juliette will always be a part of me, but I had to do it.
Honesty has never felt like such a douche move before though. Or like I’ve set up a bear trap and dropped my own heart into it to test the springs. Laurel doesn’t leave, and it’s the only thing that holds me together while we play the obligatory birthday song for Briar.
As soon as I sit down with her again, not even daring to claim the remaining patch of the lawn blanket, my skin burns. It’s as if someone shoved my entire body against a grater.
What’s worse, Laurel was right. I did reveal to Shane that things aren’t as smooth between us as I let on. He might’ve slipped off to avoid any further conflict, but he won’t forget about it. If I have learned one thing about him it’s that he’s the kind of person who’s honed a skill at appearing harmless. In reality, he’s far from it. He’ll wait to strike until I relax. Then he’ll go for the jugular. I won’t relax.
Yet as my eyes fixate on Laurel’s hand resting on the blanket a few inches away from me, Shane matters less and less, and Laurel… For the first time around her, I’m stumped and indecisive. What should I do? Will she disappear out of my life once this night ends?
We listen to a host of inspiring stuff. These people I’m sharing the recording label with amaze me with what they come up with. And Project Viper, of course, whips out a modest “demo” that I know will take over the world in less than twenty-four hours once it hits the radio waves. How do they always do that?
Then the question that I hate the most: what do they have that we don’t?
Seeking shelter from these useless thoughts, I return to watching Laurel. She’s listening to my worst nightmare with fire in her eyes. Like me, music feeds her soul, even if mine is on fire for a completely different reason. What is she thinking? Her eyes, intent and analyzing, absorb every detail. Her fingers wreck her curly hair spilling over her shoulders. The light hits Laurel’s ginger locks in such a way that they have more depth, more darkness to them. More temptation to run my fingers through those curls.
She notices me staring and purses her lips. I smile at her and pat the lawn beside me. She rolls her eyes and purses her lips tighter, fighting a smile. This mindless (and fruitless) flirting is so much better than dwelling on what the competition is playing, tearing the night with a fierceness and quality we’ll never achieve. We haven’t even brought a song to showcase. We’re that inadequate.
But my case with Laurel might be salvaged yet.
I crawl a little closer. “How mad at me are you?”
She cuts me with unveiled frost in her glare. “Mad? Whatever for?”
The Vipers end their soon-to-be hit and bask in the applause, whistles, and cheers. I join in. At the very least I can acknowledge a job well done. My reaction seems to fuel Laurel’s anger. Arms crossed on her chest, her whole pose declares me hopeless. Why? Does she expect me to give in to despair and lie down to die?
