Micah blinks at me, confusion clouding his features. “Leave?”
“I need some time away.” I stop before I say what’s really in my heart. That I need time awayfrom him.
Micah’s grip on my hand tightens. “W-why would you say that?”
I can’t look at him anymore. It hurts too much. My gaze bounces around, and I look at the distant speck of a boat, the seagulls wheeling overhead, the foam on the waves, anything and everything but him. “I think I need to travel. See the world. I’m young, and I feel like a writer needs more experience. I need to do more things. Live life.” The words tumble out faster and faster, my rambling filling the space where truth should be. “I can be your manager from another place. With technology these days, that could work. I think I need to get away from Willow Shade Island for a while. I have to?—”
“Jiminy,” he says softly, and the nickname nearly undoes me.
I bite my lips hard to stop talking, to stop the words that want to spill out.I love you. I’ve always loved you. Watching younot love me back is killing me. I stare out at the ocean and the setting sun, watching the sky turn from gold to pink to deep orange.
He squeezes my hand. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I can’t look at him. If I do, I know I’ll cave. I’ll tell him to forget it, that I’ll never leave. So I keep staring out at the water. “I just need a break.”
“Why?” His voice is insistent.
I want to pull my hand away from him. I want to put distance between us. Tears threaten, but I don’t let them come. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t even answer him. I’m too upset.
“Please don’t leave me.” He squeezes my hand, and my heart doesn’t just break, it shatters into a million glittering pieces that scatter across the sand. If only he wanted me to stay because he loves me. If only he felt even a fraction of what I feel for him, I would stay forever. But I can’t. And I can’t tell him why without destroying everything.
CHAPTER 37
MicahBarrett
Saturday, December 12
I clear my throat,but the words stick there like wet sand. I have to tell her how I feel. I can’t let her just leave without me saying something. My hands are shaking—full-on earthquakes that I have to hide by pressing my palms together.
The anxiety is a familiar weight on my chest, that crushing sensation that makes every breath feel like I’m drowning on dry land. My mind races through a thousand scenarios. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I make her uncomfortable? What if this ruins everything we have? But then I think about Cricket walking away, and that terrifies me more than any rejection ever could.
I have to stop being a coward. The sun is sinking lower, and I know this moment won’t last forever. Neither will she—not if I keep hiding behind my anxiety like it’s some kind of shield. I think about all the times she’s stood by me, talking to record labels when I couldn’t, handling crowdswhen they overwhelmed me, and listening to every song I write. She’s never asked me to be anyone other than who I am. The least I can do is be brave enough to tell her the truth. I can’t let her leave without knowing how I feel about her, even if my voice shakes, even if the words come out wrong, even if my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure she can hear it over the waves.
My mind spins, and suddenly I know how I need to tell her. “I wrote a song for you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
She jerks her gaze to me, the shock evident on her face. “You did?”
I swallow back the fear. The anxiety. I have to do this now, or I’ll lose my nerve. “Yeah. Want to hear it?”
“Of course.”
I pick up my guitar and strum it. “I wrote this a while ago, after realizing something important.”
The seconds tick by as she waits for me to continue. I lift my gaze to hers and try to convey all of my feelings to her. I strum another chord, and a light flickers into her eyes. I know she recognizes it.
I start to sing the song I wrote about her. The song that talks about my feelings for a woman who doesn’t see me that way. The song that she thought was about Kiera.
At first, I see confusion behind her gaze. But as I sing the words that so perfectly fit Cricket, I see her cheeks flush. I can tell she’s understanding that those lyrics aren’t about Kiera at all.
They’re about her.
The last chord fades, and I sit there, swallowing back the emotions inside of me. I did it. I told her how I feel through my song, and I know this time, she won’t misunderstand.
She just stares at me, and something inside of me pushes me to say it out loud. To be perfectly clear.
I set my guitar down. “I love you, Jiminy.”
Cricket Jenkins
