As though he’s read my mind, Jake continues.
“In the beginning, I went along with whatever Vinny said, booking every talk show he wanted, refraining from addressing therumors around me and Madison. I trusted him, even when it made me uncomfortable, because he was the ‘expert’ or whatever, and I wanted to make it so badly. I was willing to do anything to show my dad I could become a successful musician, because I couldn’t bear the thought of letting him be right about me.” He flicks his gaze toward me, and his eyes are swimming with remorse.
“I’m not an idiot. I figured something else was going on, but I never asked questions. Maybe it’s the way I was brought up. My parents taught me to respect authority figures, not contradict them. Or maybe I was just willing to accept whatever he told me because I was desperate to succeed in this industry. He always used to say, ‘Your wins are my wins.’ Even when it felt wrong, I trusted that Vinny would steer me in the right direction. So I handed over the reins, and he made me a star.”
He pushes the heels of his hand into his eyes. “But I regret it, Lexi. I regret it every day. I sold myself to be successful, and now I barely recognize the person I’ve become. And the worst thing of all is that it cost me you.”
My heart aches at the sadness of his tone, and all the things he must worry about constantly: who he can trust, if his manager really has his best interests at heart, if he truly has what it takes, and whether his father’s doubts will come to fruition. I reach my left hand out and grab his right one, gently running my thumb across his palm.
“They’re idiots,” I say quietly. Jake turns toward me, his eyes wide and his face full of emotion.
“What?”
“They’re idiots. They’d have to be, if they can’t see what I see. Because you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met, Jake. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and funny, and insanely talented. You’ve never needed to change yourself or lie about who you’re dating to be successful; you’re gifted enough on your own, and you always have been. If Vinny and your dad can’t see it, then that’s their loss.”
The words hang in the air between us, pulsating with energy. Jake’s eyes are pinned on mine as he stares at me, his face half shadowed by moonlight.
“Thank you,” he says hoarsely. “For always being my ally. You don’t know what it means to me, having you in my life. You probably think I only brought you to Georgia to cheer you up. And it’s true. But honestly, I was doing it for me too. I couldn’t bear the thought of coming here without you. You never make me feel like I have to prove myself. When I’m with you, I feel like who I am is enough.”
I realize at that moment I feel the same way. That my world has completely changed since he walked back into it. That for the first time in years, I don’t have that hollow feeling in my chest when I wake up in the morning. That I no longer feel enslaved by a desire to control everything. That for the first time since I lost my mom, I feel truly happy again. That maybe, just maybe, I need him as much as he needs me.
But instead of saying it out loud, I bring my hands up and place them on either side of his face. His stubble tickles the skin of my palms, and his chest constricts as he intakes a sharp breath. Before I have a chance to overthink it, I bring my face forward to press my lips against his.
The kiss is slow and steadying, evoking a sense of rightness. It’s softer than the ones we’ve shared before, raw and tender. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair as he exhales softly into my mouth, wrapping an arm around my waist to bring me closer.
When I pull away a moment later, Jake’s eyes are hooded. His gaze burns into mine as he searches my face.
“What was that for?”
“Just for being you.”
I lean back against the blanket, folding my hands behind my head as I stare up at the night sky. After a moment, Jake does the same. His arm brushes mine as he lays down beside me, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“Tell me something no one else knows,” he whispers. I stare intently at the night sky, trying to think of something to share.
“When I was little, I loved the Mary Martin version ofPeter Pan. My mom was obsessed with all those classic Broadway shows; we had every one of them on VHS. I watched that tape so many times I became convinced that I could learn to fly like Wendy. I used to stand on the edge of my parents’ bed and jump off, certain that if I just jumped high enough, if I just believed with all of my heart, that I could learn to fly too.”
Just like that, I’m back in my parents’ bedroom, bare feet curled on the edge of their bed. My face is scrunched up in concentration as I tell myself that this time, at last, I’m going to make it happen.
“A young Lexi Berman,” Jake’s voice cuts through my memory. “Even then, you were so driven.”
I roll over to face him. “Your turn. Tell me something no one else knows.”
Jake’s brow lowers as he stares at the inky sky. He’s quiet for a long moment before he finally speaks again. “I secretly loved those tap-dancing classes.”
My burst of laughter cuts through the night air. Jake wraps his arm around me as I settle onto his chest. It feels so right to be back in his arms, and I find myself wishing that this moment could last forever, that it could always be just the two of us, far away from the rest of the world.
17
THE NEXT EVENING, JAKEinsists on taking me out to see his hometown. I’ve only just finished slipping into a pair of lace-up sandals when I hear a knock on the guest bedroom door. When I pull it open, he’s leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a gray T-shirt and black jeans, his white cap twisted backward on his head. He stands frozen in the doorway for a moment, his eyes drinking me in. His expression of blatant tenderness sends a shiver down my spine. Then he clears his throat, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
“Wow,” he says softly. “You look amazing.”
I look down at my navy, off-the-shoulder prairie dress—something Ali pulled out from the back of my closet, insisting it complemented my hair, and that I favor because it doesn’t require heels. My hair hangs in loose waves around my shoulders, and I’ve accessorized with a thin gold bangle that belonged to my mom.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling shy. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Which, of course, is the understatement of the century. He’s so impossibly handsome that it takes genuine effort not to stare at him.
“You ready?”
