“What do you mean?”
“It sounds like your dad left and you became a people pleaser. Maybe you thought if you were good enough, your mom would magically be okay and you wouldn’t fail anyone and no one would leave you again. Trying to will the world into becoming what you wanted. I tried to do that, too, just the opposite way.”
She must see the surprise on my face, because she says, “What? You’re surprised I can read you?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I’m surprised when you open up to me.”
Her eyebrows skyrocket.
I lean close and bump her shoulder. “Also, thank you for putting ‘people pleaser’ in past tense when we both know it’s present.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, and I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.” Her smile softens into something warm and private as her eyes move over my face. “Ginny likes you, though.”
The present tense of it is oddly charming. Without thinking, I reach out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead.
Hannah closes her eyes and leans into my touch, as if she thinks I mean to cup her face. My hand drops and her eyes fly open. We both freeze.
My heart jackknifes in my chest.
“Oh god,” she says. “This is humiliating.”
I act on instinct, reaching out again—slowly, so she can stop me anytime. But she doesn’t. This time I do touch her face, feeling the delicate line of her jaw.
Heart still pounding, I rub my thumb slowly over her soft skin. Hannah closes her eyes.
The world contracts to her. This unexpected moment. I can’t hear the noise of the city because my heart is pounding so loudly in my ears. I slide my thumb to her lower lip, full and velvet-smooth, and brush the pad of my finger across it, taking liberties. Every movement a step into a brave new world. This velvet mouth is the same one I’ve watched from the sidelines night after night. The one that delivers beauty and anger, poetry and cutting remarks. The sheer power of her.
Hannah parts her lips. Her eyes open slowly, like she’s drowsy. When our gazes lock, she bites down gently on my thumb, pinning it between her teeth. I’m utterly still. She slides her tongue lightly over my skin, waiting for my reaction. The sensation creates a strike of lightning through my body.
A crash erupts somewhere inside Dr. G’s house, hitting us like a bucket of ice water. Hannah and I jerk back, our headsturning to the door on the roof, waiting to see if someone will walk through it.
But after a fraught moment, the door doesn’t open. Hannah looks back at me—and, to my surprise, laughs. “The look on your face.” She scrambles up. “Relax. Everyone does dumb stuff on Molly.”
Distantly, it dawns on me. She thinks I’m under the influence of—“Wait, the Happy pills wereMollythis whole time?”
“What’d you think they were, Suit? Sprees?” She laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all night. She’s still shaking her head when she disappears inside, leaving me alone with the city lights and the secret of the small, chalky heart in my pocket.
Chapter 16
Hannah
Thursday, May 2, 2024
On the road at night, you can see Vegas coming from a mile away. All the spotlights directed up at the sky from casinos make it look like a supernova, a celestial being trapped here on earth, sending columns of light up to the heavens.
Ginny peeks at my notebook. “A celestial being? That’s a little heavy-handed.”
I swat her away and get back to writing. Ever since we left San Francisco, chugging toward our next show in Vegas, I haven’t been able to stop. Words and melodies are flowing through my head, sometimes too fast to pin down. I’ve practically ignored the rest of the band for hours, holing up in the bus’s tiny living room.
“We’re almost there,” Bowie announces, though his eyes don’t leave his phone. Ever since Theo upgraded us from vans to a giant tour bus—meaning Bowie no longer has to chauffeur us around North America—he’s been acting like he got a promotion to sultan. He’s currently stretched out in an armchair, his feet up on a pillow, playing games on his phone. When we crossed the Nevada state line, he even asked one ofthe guitar techs to bring him some fresh fruit. I’m surprised he didn’t insist someone start fanning him.
“I call first dibs on hotel rooms,” Ripper says from the couch. Naturally, he’s shirtless and strumming the stupid black Jazzmaster he bought before we left San Francisco. I’ve privately named it the Spitemaster.
“I’ve heard the MGM has a meditation room.” Kenny’s sitting at the small dining table, reading a book of Charles Olson poetry. I learned the hard way not to ask him about it, or risk an hour-long lecture on projective verse. “That’s where I’ll be holed up, trying to deflect Vegas’s energy.”
Theo emerges from the only private bedroom on the bus. We’ve got a kitchen, two bathrooms, and stacks of bunk beds like on cruise ships, on top of the one separate bedroom with a full-size bed. We’re supposed to take turns using it, but knowing what we do about Ripper’s self-care habits, none of the crew will touch the bed. I guess no one warned Theo.
He yawns and stretches, lifting the hem of his T-shirt. I remember the taste of his skin from the rooftop and cut my eyes away. It was the Molly, obviously, getting into both our heads.
