Page 33

The Great Pretender – Dolly Parton

Later that afternoon, Brooke fell asleep while I was half reading, half watching the TV, and I tried to rearrange my thoughts about the past two days so they fell into some kind of logical order.

It didn’t work. Any way I looked at it, Brooke should have been having an actual nervous breakdown right now, but apart from being tired, she seemed better.

She was super focused on the road ahead, on getting to Nashville and then Orlando as soon as possible, and even though it was going to take us a few more days and a lot more miles, it was starting to feel like we were running out of road.

All the things I didn’t want to talk to Brooke about were going to be shaken loose eventually.

My job now was to prepare myself for that, and the inevitable fallout.

Having someone I cared about was totally new territory for me, and I was stuck between wanting to tell Brooke everything, so she knew all of it – the good and the bad – and hiding the bad stuff so she didn’t decide to ditch me.

I didn’t really think Brooke would do that, but we hadn’t talked about our relationship, about what this was between us.

I wanted it to be more than friendship, but I didn’t know if it was normal to be that upfront.

I watched as she stirred, and yawned, and blinked awake, my heart impossibly full.

‘Hey,’ she said sleepily.

‘Hey back.’

‘I’m hungry.’

That made me chuckle, because if Brooke was hungry, then she was feeling normal.

‘Do you want to go back to Molly’s?’

She stretched and grinned. ‘Definitely.’

‘Good, because I do too.’

‘Is it time to go for dinner yet?’

I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. ‘It’s five thirty. By the time we get ready and walk over there, yeah.’

‘Okay, good,’ she said around a huge yawn.

I reached out and brushed my hand over her hair, and she smiled up at me then touched my hand.

‘Are you okay?’ Brooke asked. I nodded, but she gave me a look . ‘Sure?’

I hesitated, then got up off the bed. I was full of nervous energy, and I needed to pace it out. All of a sudden, the flirting and touching and occasional kissing wasn’t enough – I needed to know , for sure, that I wasn’t trying to force something between the two of us that wasn’t really there.

‘What is this?’ I asked, pointing between us and feeling like my chest was being cracked open.

She shrugged. ‘Whatever we want it to be, Jessie.’

‘That’s really easy for you to say,’ I said desperately. ‘You’re not the one with an enormous, cringey crush –’

‘I’m not?’ she said, interrupting me, and I bulldozed over that, totally unable to process it.

‘And I don’t want to get myself into something which is only going to hurt more in the long run. I’d rather just pretend that last night never happened if that’s the case,’ I finished in a rush.

Brooke got up off the bed and came over to me.

‘Jessie,’ she said, leaning in and taking my face in both her hands so I couldn’t escape her intense gaze. ‘I don’t want to pretend last night never happened.’

‘No?’ I said pathetically.

Her eyes softened. ‘No, I really don’t.’

‘But –’

‘No buts.’ She kissed me then, so softly that my toes curled, and hot, static electricity crawled down my spine. Then she brushed her thumbs over my cheeks, and I felt like I was going to crumble into dust.

‘But you’re you,’ I said when she pulled away and put her hands back in her pockets. ‘And I’m me.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, like I was being exceptionally stupid. ‘That’s what I like about it.’

I fidgeted, fingers tapping my thighs as I rocked back onto my heels, and Brooke laughed and leaned in to kiss me again, which very much did not help .

‘Is this okay with you?’ she asked gently.

I pressed the heel of my hand to my breastbone, trying to calm myself down.

‘Because if it’s not,’ she said, ‘we can go back to being friends.’

‘I don’t want to be friends.’

Brooke’s eyes widened.

‘No,’ I said, rushing to correct myself. ‘I want this. This more-than-friends thing.’

‘Then we’re more than friends,’ she said simply. Like it could be that simple.

‘Is that what you want?’ I asked.

‘What I want is to go to Molly’s.’ And I had to laugh, because of course she did. ‘And get a burger and some fried chicken, then sit outside on the porch for a while, then come back here to sleep, and then go to Nashville tomorrow. With you. I want to do all of that with you.’

‘Me too.’

She took my hand. ‘Then let’s go.’

The next day, we rolled into Nashville around two in the afternoon.

I’d already scoped out a hotel online, one that was walking distance to the city’s downtown area, and I’d made a point of memorizing directions so I could drive and Brooke could rest. She bitched about it, but the fact that she gave in at all meant she probably wasn’t ready to drive yet, even if she wasn’t going to admit it.

I thought I might like to do a long road trip like this again at some point.

Maybe in an RV, so we wouldn’t have to look for cheap motels all the time.

I wanted to see more of that lush country we’d come across in Wyoming and Illinois …

I wanted to go to the Great Smoky Mountains and hike the Appalachian Trail and spend weeks out in the middle of nowhere.

But for now, Nashville felt like a significant stop on our journey, and I was determined to make it count – in a good way.

We found the hotel and I went with Brooke to check in. She paid in cash, running her usual line about her wallet and phone being stolen. I watched, leaning against the counter and admiring her. Brooke noticed and rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile.

With the two of us hauling our belongings from the car, we made it to the room in one trip, and Brooke made sure to lock down the Mustang before we wandered the few streets over to Music Row.

The sidewalks were wide here, like they were expecting people to be walking around, and we were only a few blocks from the hotel when Brooke stopped and slapped my arm.

‘Look.’

The blackboard sign held elaborate chalk typography: O PEN M IC N IGHT – TONIGHT . $500 PRIZE !

Brooke turned to me and grinned, an expression I was starting to become familiar with.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘We’ve been singing all the way down here.’

‘Singing in the car or in a choir with thirty other people and getting on a stage in front of hundreds of strangers are two entirely different activities, Brooke.’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?’

That almost made me laugh, and I had to turn away from her so she didn’t see my expression and think she’d won.

People brushed past us on the sidewalk, and somewhere, a few streets away, a car horn blasted.

‘Well, I’m going in,’ Brooke said, and strode into the bar like she belonged there.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ I muttered. And followed her.

The bar was brightly lit, with all the work lights on rather than the candles on the tables and the fairy lights that had been strung from the ceiling. A long wooden bar bracketed the left side of the room, with tables in between it and the stage over on the right.

‘Can I help?’ a guy called from behind the bar. ‘We don’t open until three.’

Brooke walked right over to him, unafraid and unashamed. I forced myself not to smile and look like an idiot, because I couldn’t help but adore her bold, stupid, extroverted ass.

‘I was wondering about open mic night?’

He nodded and put a folder down on the bar.

‘Sure. Everyone gets to do three songs, maximum of one original song – we get a lot of tourists here. You can use the piano, or there’s usually a few guitars floating around and some percussion.’

‘How much to enter?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’re free entertainment for my paying customers.’

‘How many paying customers?’ I asked, leaning against the bar, attempting to look as cool and casual as Brooke.

‘A couple hundred, on a good night.’

I gulped.

The guy was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, and he had fiery dark-red hair and freckles on his nose. I’d honed both my bullshit-detector and bastard-sensor since being on this trip, and he hadn’t registered on either.

‘You want in?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Brooke said emphatically.

Oh my God, no , I groaned silently, already knowing that I’d go along with it, though, because it made Brooke happy.

‘Great. What’s your name?’

Brooke looked at me. ‘Uh …’

The bartender looked between us. ‘A stage name is fine. You guys need a minute?’

‘Summer … Swift Summer,’ Brooke said, a satisfied grin spreading over her face.

‘Oh, you think you’re so clever,’ I muttered, still trying to hide my smile.

She laughed brightly.

The bartender winked. ‘Thanks, Swift Summer.’ He was flirting with her, just a little, and she didn’t seem to mind.

I did.

‘I don’t suppose you have space where we could, uh … rehearse?’ Brooke asked.

‘Rehearse’ was a very nice way of describing figuring out what the hell we were going to do in front of several hundred people .

He looked at her a little closer, then shook his head. ‘Not here. But if you go three doors down, ask for Liam. Tell him Damien sent you. He’s got some space out back.’

‘Great, thank you.’

‘Be here for eight. We start at eight thirty.’

‘We’ll be here!’ Brooke said cheerily.

‘I hate you,’ I said as we stepped out into the sunshine.

‘No, you don’t,’ she said with a smirk.

I mumbled under my breath, mocking her, and her smirk turned into a glorious laugh that made my nerves take flight.

Liam’s bar was, helpfully, called Liam’s Bar.

Brooke did a little shimmy and smacked a kiss on my cheek before walking in and working her charm on Liam like she had on Damien.

After her breakdown in Illinois, it seemed like she was purposefully working toward being more like the old Brooke: bold and sassy and fun.