Willoughby swallows, then he gives me a strange, hollow look. “I’ll wait outside for you, Lil, yeah?”
The tension goes with him, and I sigh in relief as Barbara hugs me.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say.
Barbara rubs my back. “Don’t worry, dear. You’re not the one who’sdone wrong here.”
“I shouldn’t have brought him. Maybe…I shouldn’t go to the gig.”
Barbara pulls back to study me, still holding me by the arms.
“Absolutely not. You go play, love. This is your night.”
Rupert smiles. “Remember paintball? You kept moving, even under fire.”
“I’m not sure that worked out for me…” I say, grinning despite myself.
Barbara squeezes my arms. “Go on. We’ll come see you off tomorrow.”
As I bend down to hug Rupert, he whispers, “Such a shame you and Brandon couldn’t find your moment.”
I return outside, managing a small smile for Willoughby that feels all wrong. I hate pretending everything’s fine when I know this ends tonight. If it wasn’t for how important this gig is to us both, I’d tell him right now.
I wonder if he’d cancel the gig. Part of me would be relieved not to go, especially when every part of me yearns to go after Brandon. Except he has Ellenor. He doesn’t need me there.
The thought weighs on my chest, sore like a bruise I can’t press without wincing.
I ask Willoughby to wait for me while I go inside Brandon’s cottage to ‘freshen up’.
He grabs my arm. “Hey, wait. It almost seems crazy to have to say it, but you know what Brandon said about me trying to steal your music is bullshit, don’t you?”
I want to believe him. While I have a lot of faith in Brandon’s instincts, that whole scene was confusing. And honestly, I don’t see how Willoughbycouldsteal my music, even if he wanted to. I wrote it. It’s mine.
Still, Brandon’s warning stays with me, hard to ignore. If it weren’t for the hundred or so people who bought tickets to our performance, I don’t think I’d be going.
It would be a sad end to my trip, letting all those people down.
“I’m on your side, Lil,” Willoughby prompts, giving me an earnest half-smile. “We both are. Brandon’s just a bit hung up about the past.”
“I know,” I say.I’m a bit ‘hung up’ about the past, too.
I give him the reassuring smile he’s after. “Let’s just focus on tonight.”
As I head inside, he calls after me, “Don’t change out of that red dress—it looks lovely!”
“Sure,” I reply, annoyance flaring. I was planning on wearing this dressanyway, along with the glittery ballet flats on my feet, but I now have the sudden urge to take a pair of scissors to them both.
But I didn’t really come up here to freshen up, nor destroy perfectly good dresses.
Halfway up the stairs, a flash of red catches in the hall mirror.
I stop. Step back.
The girl in the glass looks fine. Dressed and ready for an important night. And yet her brow is furrowed, her lip caught between her teeth, her expression that tight, uneasy one I know too well.
A sick recognition slides into focus.
I remember this version of myself. This is what it feels like when someone starts shaping your choices and calling it help.
