I had a plan before I came here. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say to him, and I had my words all picked out. But now, my mind is completely blank. Especially here in my new home that doesn’t feel like a home, where I live in a new room that feels strange and wrong.
I had a plan, but now my mind is completely blank. I stop in front of the bin with Dad’s records, as if on autopilot. As if my body knows exactly how to find him anytime, anywhere.
The record at the front of the bin is a single, not an album. “Mockingbird.” Of course. Coincidence? Maybe. I take a shakybreath as I touch the cover. It’s so familiar that I can see it with my eyes closed. After all, it was hanging in my room for years.
There it is again, that stab in my chest. I can’t deal with this, not right now. I turn away quickly and then it just happens: I look. The guy standing behind the counter is Easton, there’s no doubt about it. I know his face by heart. The dark hair that’s a little too long on top is falling over his forehead. I know his tall frame, his broad shoulders. I know his hands. I’ve probably spent a little too much time watching the band’s YouTube videos.
Go on, now, be brave. You’re both here in the same room. Go. Talk to him. That’s what you’ve always wanted to do.
Yes, I did. More than anything. I just couldn’t, and I’m not sure if I can now. But I don’t want to leave, either. I want to hear his voice. Live. Not from speakers, not from my headphones. I want to hear him talk to me.
“Hey,” I say, stopping a few steps away from the counter. Breathless. Unsure. Hopeful.
He looks up. I never realized his eyes were so blue.
“Did you find something?” he asks, his voice friendly and warm. A little distant. He doesn’t recognize me. Of course not, how could he?
But then his gaze meets mine and his eyes widen, then blink. Now he seems to recognize me, as his expression flicks between confused, incredulous, and hopeful. My heart skips a beat or two.
“Birdy?” That’s the name he gave me because I never told him my own. A tingling sensation runs down my spine, and I feel warm. Much too warm.
“Rayne,” I say without explanation. Suddenly I want him to know my name. Myrealname. I want to hear him say it.
“You’re here,” he says instead.
“I live here now.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, and I have no idea why that’s the first thing that pops out. Why can’t I apologize for ghosting him? Explain what happened. Tell him why I couldn’t talk to him. Why can’t I do that?
His eyebrows go up, and there’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Here, in Boston?”
I nod. “Yes.”
God, I’m not capable of saying anything meaningful anymore, but all at once everything is uncomfortable and embarrassing. Exactly as it shouldn’t be. This is what I was afraid of, that it would be awkward and strange. But that’s not really surprising, is it? It’s my own fault. I should have written to let him know I was here instead of just showing up like this. What was I thinking?
Apparently not much.
“Why?” He sounds as overwhelmed as I feel.
The question is justified, and the answer is actually quite simple: because I’m studying dance. Ballet. Exactly what I didn’t want to do. I wrote to him about it back then, when it was still just an audition, when everything was still fine and I had all the possibilities in the world for my future.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get them out. As simple as the answer may seem, it’s not that simple. Not at all.
We stare at each other. Why is everything so complicated and difficult?
There’s a rushing sound in my ears. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. Not like this, not without telling him first. Now I’ve ruined everything, and he won’t write to me anymore.Nowhe probably hates me.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here,” I choke out, backing away. I have to leave. Right now.
“No, Rayne, I—” he breaks off. He said my name, and it sounds different than I imagined. I turn and run, and he calls after me. Part of me wants to stay, hoping that somehow, miraculously, everything will be okay. Another part wishes I had never come.
Chapter 3
Easton
Losing You—UNSECRET, Sam Tinnesz
“Rayne, wait!” My voice echoes through the empty store, but she doesn’t stop. I follow her before I can think about what I’m doing. Unfortunately, I’m too slow, I started too late. By the time I stumble onto the street, she’s long gone.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Cursing myself for my slow reaction, I tear at my hair. My heart is pounding, I can feel it in my whole body. It’s beating way too fast, way too hard. I’m panicked and confused. Completely overwhelmed. She was here. She was really here, and now she’s gone again.
