Page 114 of Keep Me Close

She looks up, clearly pulled from somewhere far away. “Huh?”

I reach across the table and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

“Oh.” Her attention drops back to the menu. “Yeah… sorry. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. I’m not exactly good company tonight.”

“This has nothing to do with you being good company. It’s about taking time to celebrate what you did today. You showed up and went after something you wanted. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you for that.”

The waiter stops by our table and takes our order. After the food arrives, Chey barely touches her meal. She just pushes it around with her fork, lost in whatever loop is running through her brain.

I watch her for a minute before saying, “You’re overthinking.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not. Really.”

“You are, babe. I can tell.”

With a sigh, she sets the fork down. “I can’t stop replaying the audition. Every note. Every look they gave me. Every quiet comment they made to each other. Every second I stood there thinking they were going to realize I didn’t belong and ask me to leave.”

The words are like a kick to the gut. What I hate most is that some part of her believes them.

“That’s what you still don’t get. You do belong on that stage. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Her lower lip quivers before she glances away, trying to wrangle her emotions back under control. “I know you believe that. And I’m so appreciative to have you in my corner⁠—”

I lean forward, cutting her off because this feels too damn important to let her brush aside.

“You know why I believe it? Because I heard you sing. And the way it made me feel…” The words catch in my throat because I’m not great at this kind of shit, but I force them out anyway. “It gave me goose bumps, Chey.”

Her gaze flicks up to mine before dropping again.

“You didn’t see the other women. They’ve been doing this their whole lives. They have training and credits. They know people.” She swallows. “I walked in there, and all I could think was… they’re going to see right through me.”

My jaw tightens. “See what?”

A humorless laugh falls from her lips. “That I’m nothing more than a reality star. A storyline. I’m the girl who cries on TV and starts drama on cue.”

My fingers tighten around hers, and for a second the noise of the restaurant fades until it’s just the two of us.

“You know what I see when I look at you? A woman who walked into a room full of people who intimidate the hell out of her and she had enough gumption to sing anyway. I see someone who’s talented enough to make an entire room go quiet but just doesn’t know it.” My thumb strokes over her knuckles. “And, yeah, I see the woman who’s been stuck living everybody else’s version of her life for too damn long.”

Tears glisten in her eyes.

“You walked in there today when you could’ve easily turned tail and ran,” I continue. “You did something that scared you. That matters.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I squeeze her hand. “We’re still celebrating you tonight.”

That pulls a genuine smile from her. It’s small but real. The kind she doesn’t give the cameras. And seeing it feels better than any win I’ve had all season. Better than a hat trick. Better than hearing my name chanted from the ice.

With her hand in mine and hope flickering in her eyes, like she just might believe me, it means everything.

39

Cheyenne

I stare at the man across from me, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Knox McNichols has become my biggest champion. There’s so much emotion swirling inside me, it’s hard to pin down exactly what I feel.

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” I tell him, setting my napkin on the table.