I have to save him. His voice is a gift to the world, and at least I’ll be able to hear him on the radio.
My feet barely make a sound as I traipse toward Logan. He hangs up when I’m a few feet away, his expression grim.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
A heavy breath heaves from his mouth as he rubs the back of his neck and kicks a small pebble off the dock and into the lake. “The collaboration Victoria mentioned . . . I’m contractually obligated to go through with it.”
“You should,” I say quickly.
His head snaps up, confusion knitting his brow. “You mean that?”
“This could be your big break.” I fight to force a smile, knowing this is the only way to protect him. “A chance to show the world the rumors about you are baseless.”
His expression hardens, jaw twitching right below his ears. “You don’t understand.” He steps closer. “The condition is I have to pose as Victoria’s boyfriend. Publicly. Sell the fantasy.”
Just imagining it makes me physically ill.
“They’re pushing for music’s next hottest couple,” he says bitterly. “This is what we fought about last night. I went into the woods because I didn’t want you to hear it?”
He places both hands on my shoulders, thumbs brushing my collarbone. His eyes—so full of need, of desperate sincerity—cut right through me. “This is why I acted out. Why I sabotaged every project they threw at me. I was trying to get out. And when that didn’t work, I ran back home.”
My heart cries out at the desperation in his voice. I just want to hug him, tell him he can stay with me and that everything’s going to be okay, but that would be a lie.
“Come with me, Maisie.”
“What?” I look up at him, stunned.
“To L.A. Just for the summer. After the wedding. We can figure it all out together. You said it yourself—we barely know each other. Let’s stop pretending and show everyone how real this is. The label will have no choice but to acknowledge our relationship.” He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. His palm is warm against mine, his fingers callused from years of guitar strings. “We’re good together, Maisie. I know you feel it, too.”
There’s so much hope in his voice, so much earnestness in his eyes, I can’t bear to look at him anymore. I turn away, blinking against the sting of rising tears.
“I don’t fit in your world, Logan. I’m just . . . me. I want a quiet, peaceful life. Kids running around the backyard. Sunday barbecues. You’ll be touring the country, flying private jets to concerts.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he says fiercely. “Us. That’s what matters to me the most.” His voice lowers, soft and pleading. “At least come with me to the collaboration announcement party. See what it’s like. If you hate it, I’ll put you on the first plane back home. No questions asked.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed. How can I explain that it’s not about hating his world? It’s about saving him from Victoria’s evil schemes.
“If you’re worried about the wedding, the tour won’t start immediately.” He comes around to face me, but I still can’t find the courage to look him in the eyes. “It usually takes about six months to plan a tour. Sometimes longer, depending on the venues and the promotion.”
“I can’t,” I blurt out. “I prefer my simple life. Away from the flashing cameras.”
What I want more than anything is to say yes. To go with him, to fight Victoria, to find a way to make our worlds fit together. But she has the contract, and she won’t hesitate to destroy him with it.
“If you two love birds are done,” Victoria says, “maybe you can help with my things?”
“Just think about it,” Logan says so quietly that I can barely hear him. Then he turns to help Victoria deposit her overstuffed luggage into her boat.
The flight home is a blur of silent tears and staring out the tiny oval window as the clouds swirl together into a hopeless sea of gray. No matter how much I think about it, I don’t know how to stand up to Victoria without risking everything Logan loves.
On the Uber ride home, he looks out the window, sighing every now and then. He must have so much on his mind, and the thought of breaking his heart is unbearable. Will he hate me for not going with him to L.A.?
Upon arrival we step out of the car and collect our luggage from the trunk. When I’m at my door, Logan says from across the yard, “I don’t need an answer right away. Take the weekend to think it over. I know it’s scary, but if you’re as willing to go all in for us as I am, meet me at the airport Monday at 10 a.m.”
I nod before going inside. Mom waits for me in the kitchen, and I tell her the trip was a blast and that I’m too tired from travelling, so I take my suitcase upstairs and lie in bed for the rest of the day.
For the next two days, I go through the motions of life like a ghost. I bake cookies I don’t eat. Water plants I don’t even like. Grade papers and stare blankly at the marks.
At night I lie awake, thinking about every moment Logan and I have shared since we reconnected. I want to go. More than anything, I want to run to him.
