Brent blinked, looking like a man who had just been granted a stay of execution. “What?”
She was already digging into her backpack, pulling out two wireless microphones like she was unveiling contraband.
“Why do you have a backpack with karaoke equipment?” Felicia asked, genuinely baffled.
“Preparedness,” Sky replied, her face deadpan.
Brent squinted at the mics. “You just… carry microphones around? In the streets?”
“She makes me play at her house,” I said from the kitchen, grabbing the orange juice. “I don't ask questions anymore.”
“Of course she does,” Brent muttered.
Five minutes later, lyrics were scrolling across the TV. Sky started it off, fully committed, eyes closed, singing Aretha’s“Respect” like she was headlining a sold-out tour. She couldn’t sing worth shit. Felicia joined in, and she could actually sing.
Brent pretended to resist when it was his turn. He sat on the edge of the couch, looking at the mic like it was a live grenade.
By the third track, the "consistency" advocate was standing in the middle of my rug, yelling the lyrics to “Misery Business” like it was a personal anthem. I didn’t even know he knew the song.
Sky was laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall to breathe. But Felicia wasn't laughing. She was just watching him. That look—I recognized it. She wanted him. She was doing what sky would call, yearning.
Sky found her way back to my side, bumping her shoulder into mine. “You see this?” she whispered.
“I’ve been seeing it for the last ten years,” I whispered back.
“You think they’ll ever—”
“Yeah,” I cut her off softly, watching Brent toss the mic back onto the couch as the song ended. “Eventually. When they get tired of their own acting.”
Across the room, Brent looked at Felicia. For a second, he looked like he wanted to confess every single thing he’d been running from.
He didn't. Not tonight.
I already knew—it was going to take at least another year before they stopped pretending. Maybe next Valentine’s Day.
Chapter Fifteen
Valentines Day
Zio
I reached for the other side of the bed before I even opened my eyes, expecting to find a warm body. Instead, I found cold linen.
I sat up fast, the quiet of the loft ringing in my ears. "Sky?" No answer. I called her name louder and got the same result.
I sat up, running a hand over my face and stood. Breathing.
I checked the bathroom—empty. I checked the kitchen—nothing but a half-empty glass of water. My chest tightened. I grabbed my phone and dialed her number. It went straight to voicemail. I called again. Same thing.
Immediately my brain went right to the worst-case scenario... “She ran.”
My jaw locked.
Of course she would pick Valentine’s Day to spiral.
I thought about the conversation about Valentine’s last night with Brent and Felicia, about the dinner reservation she didn’t even want. Maybe I’d applied too much pressure. Maybe the reality of "forever" had finally triggered her instinct to vanish.
Maybe she’s just gone to the store, I said to calm myself. I could really be overreacting.
