She shrugs. “My manager didn’t like it.”
“Your mom?”
She shrugs again, her face anchoring deeper into my shirt. “She’s usually right about that stuff, as much as I hate saying it out loud.” She leans back, finally looking into my face, nose and eyes a little more swollen than moments ago. “She’s the only reason I’ve been able to stay in the spotlight so long.”
“What?” I almost laugh at how outrageous her claim is. Her mom is the reason she’s famous? What have these people said to her to make her believe that? My blood boils as I consider the years of conditioning it took for her to believe something so illogical.
“I owe it to her—and to me—to at least listen to her. She always finds a way to save my butt. I screw up all the time. I disappoint fans. I embarrass myself. Say stupid things, makestupid choices.” She sits back on her heels, rubbing a hand over her tear-streaked cheeks before throwing it in my direction. “Case and point. You wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for this insane arrangement.”
I miss the feel of her close to me, but I’m relieved the tears seem to have stopped. “Maybe not, but if you hadn’t made those choices I wouldn’t be here.”
She arches a brow. “That’s what I said.”
“And I’m glad I am.”
She pulls in a deep breath, her eyes tracing my face. “Me too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LENA
In the dim light,Decker looks like something I’d stumble upon in some historic art gallery. He’s beautiful. And the way he’s looking at me… I have millions of adoring fans, a list of exes the entire world seems to be keeping track of, but no one has ever looked at me the way he is now. Decker’s gaze is a tangle of tenderness and something else. My heart stutters for a moment. It’s desire. He looks like he wants to kiss me. Again. And after last night, I want nothing more than to pull him to me and press my lips against his until I can’t feel them anymore. Until I can’t feel the uncertainty swirling inside me. Everything with my mom, Callum, my career, this horribly confusing arrangement with Decker… I want to push it all aside and go numb.
Before I do something I’ll regret, I hoist myself back into my chair and pull my guitar onto my lap. Music is my escape. It’s the closest thing I can get to a distraction, to mute the world around me. The sets for my shows may be carefully curated to appease the thousands who come to watch me, but outside of that stage, I get to choose what I play. Music can exist as both a chore and an escape. Some of the most worthwhile things in life seem to be that way.
I pluck a couple of notes, reminding myself that if I kiss Decker right now, that’s it. I can’t go back from that. I’ll be putty in his strong hands, his to toy with however he pleases. For a brief moment, I let myself meet his gentle eyes. As much as I want to believe that Decker wouldn’t hurt me, that the adoration he’s gazing at me with now is real, I can’t deny his past. Bouncing from girl to girl used to be his norm, and there’s no doubt that at least a handful of those women thought they could be the one. And he broke their hearts anyway. Why would he treat me any differently? Something inside hisses that he won’t, despite his displays lately. It’s painful to consider. What’s even more painful is the thought of my sweet Decker being the type of guy who hurts someone and moves on like it’s nothing. Worse than that, I can’t quiet the tiny part of me whispering that my judgment in men is wrong yet again.
My sweet Decker.
Ugh. Who talks like that? Not me.
I strum my guitar a little louder, drowning out the fact that as much as I wish I wasn’t…
I think I’m falling for Decker Trace. Likereallyfalling.
Which only complicates things further. If there’s anything I’ve learned about myself over this year’s disasters, it’s that I don’t know how to find balance. I overwork myself. I throw myself too far into relationships and get hurt because of it. However, if there’s one thing I now know for certain, it’s that with a little strategy, my career can be saved even when my relationships can’t. And so my career must continue to come first. I’ve worked too hard to build what I have to throw it away for someone who could just as easily toss me aside. I didn’t spend a decade busting my butt to be someone’s fling. I’ve missed out on school dances, birthdays, and holidays, and smiled all the way through it when I felt like falling apart. I’m stronger—more successful—because of it. The thought hits me inthe gut like a sucker punch. This whole year, I’ve been playing with fire, letting myself take this job for granted when I’ve sacrificed so much to be here. I won’t do it anymore.
I dip my head, my fingers bounding over the strings, strumming faster. The tune is something I’ve been working on for a while. My intention was for it to mimic the pounding of my heart when falling in love, but I now realize that was silly. Because from my experience with Decker, sometimes falling is slower, sweeter, calmer. And mostly unexpected. Playing it now feels contrived. When I look up, Decker isn’t watching me play, he’s staring into my eyes.
He wets his lips, and I watch them as they part. “You’re glad I’m here?”
My heart pounds, finally keeping up with the harsh rhythm of this dumb song as I play louder. “What?”
Slowly, he reaches out like I’m some wild dog that might nip and runs his hand down my arm, stilling my playing. “You said you’re glad I’m here.”
My teeth find my bottom lip, and I chew it as I watch his mouth curve into that megawatt smile of his. For a split second, I waver, a million questions bursting through my brain. What would it feel like to kiss him alone in this room, without an audience, on our own accord? What if all the times I thought we could work, I was right? What if Decker was the end of “Sad Girl Lena?” What if I could have my career and Decker too?
“I did say that,” I admit, dropping my guitar to the floor again.
“You also said your mom is the reason you’re famous.”
“That’s not really what I said?—”
Decker snorts.
My guard flies up at the sound. “What?”
His voice is soft when he finally speaks. “I want you to listen to me.” His eyes search my face before he continues. “Everyonefell in love withyou, not your mom or yourteam or whatever. You don’t owe anyone anything—not even the fans. You’ve worked hard for what you have. Don’t let anyone else take credit for that.”
