“This song could be about anyone,” I offer, though even to my own ears, it sounds like a lie.
Gabby narrows her eyes. “My first, my last, my always? That’s not just a lyric. That’s a direct hit.”
“It could still be fiction,” I try again. “Grayson writes love songs for a living and lots of people think back on their first with longing and regret. He might be writing for them, not you.”
“Either way, this song just happened to land in my playlist while I was cleaning the apartment. Like some cosmic joke.”
I wince. “That sucks.”
Gabby closes her eyes, shakes her head, shoulders sagging. “It’s like getting slapped with the ghost of the life I thought I’d have, right in the middle of the one I’m actually living.”
“I can’t even imagine how that feels,” I say, even though I most definitely can.
Almost like it’s happening to me, too.
Stella glances between us, eyes narrowed. “Okay. We’re done spiraling. Gabby, you’re amazing and Grayson’s a moron, and Lucy—how’s boot-free life treating you?”
I force a smile. “Well, I’m officially a functioning member of society again. Or, you know, a weirdly blissed-out 1950s housewife whose life consists of physical therapy, meeting friends for coffee in the middle of the day, and making dinner for her man.”
Gabby snorts into her latte. “You? Domestic?”
“That’s not gonna stick,” Stella agrees, grinning. “The Lucy Calder I know is too independent to play house.”
“Right? You’re the bravest person I know,” Gabby says with a toast of her mug.
“Thanks,” I murmur, the kindness of her words settling into something more complicated.
Because they’re true. And also… maybe not anymore.
“I think this whole Nash bubble just feels so safe in comparison to trying to make it in Los Angeles. It’s easy. It’s…” I trail off, searching for the right word. “Calm.”
The girls exchange a glance.
“But what happens when the bubble pops?” Gabby asks softly.
Stella elbows her.
“Ow! I’m just asking. It’s not good to ignore the hard stuff. You know I’m right on that.”
“I don’t know what happens,” I say honestly. “I’ve only known Nash for what? Six weeks?”
Stella nods. “What happens when your ankle’s fully healed?”
“I don’t know.” The words scrape a little more this time.
“What if your agent calls?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t even have a place to live out there anymore.”
I drop my head into my hands with a groan. “And just like that, the bubble has burst. Thanks, guys.”
They both go quiet.
“Sorry, Lu,” Stella murmurs.
I consider telling them about the text from Trish. About how she’s stepping down. How I might get that call from my agent any day now. But if I say it out loud, they’ll ask questions I don’t have the answers to.
