Page 115 of Keep Me Close

“Okay.” He gives me an easy smile. “I’ll order dessert for us.”

My throat constricts. He’s being so amazing. So steady and sure. It makes me want to cry. Whatever version of Knox I’d carried around in my head for all these years, he’s turning out to be so much more than that.

More thoughtful.

More protective.

Just more everything.

“That sounds good.”

The support he’s shown settles deep, even as the nerves from the audition churn low in my stomach.

I just need a minute. A second to breathe.

As I step into the hallway where the restroom is located, the noise of the restaurant fades behind me. By the time I push open the door and slip inside, the silence feels like a relief. Two women stand near the sinks, talking quietly. They glance at me before going back to their conversation, as if they have no idea who I am. Or maybe they just don’t care.

It’s one of the things I love about Chicago.

The anonymity.

The freedom of not always being watched.

I slip into one of the stalls, lock the door, and lean back against the wall. My heart is still racing. The audition keeps looping through my mind—every note, every expression, every second I stood in front of the panel.

I close my eyes and force out a gradual breath. Maybe Knox is right. No matter what happens, I did it. I walked in and sang my heart out. And that’s worth something.

By the time I finish and push open the stall door, I’ve almost managed to calm myself down. I glance up and then freeze when I find Dakota leaning against the counter. For a second, my brain refuses to process his presence, and my stomach drops.

He looks terrible—unshaven with bloodshot eyes. His clothes are wrinkled, as if he’s been wearing them for days. He looks nothing like the polished, camera-ready version of the man I’m used to seeing.

Unstable.

That’s the only word that blares through my head.

He straightens as soon as he sees me, and unease slithers down my spine.

“Cheyenne.”

My mouth dries. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He lets out a quiet laugh that ends on a high-pitched note. “I had to see you.”

Every instinct I have goes on high alert.

“There’s nothing left for us to talk about.” I force out the response calmly, even though my pulse continues to thrum. “What we had is over. You need to make peace with that and move on.”

His stare never deviates from mine as he shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I’ve already tried.”

My gaze slices to the door. There’s no way I can get around him.

Left with no other choice, I straighten my shoulders, not wanting him to sense how frightened I am. “I won’t change my mind.”

“If you’d just give me a chance,” he says, his voice rising as he drags a hand through his mussed hair, “we could work it out.”

“It’s too late for that.”

He pushes away from the counter, taking a quick step toward me. “You don’t mean that.”