Page 33 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

Despite the mess I made with Eric this afternoon, I did awesome at tonight’s rehearsal. Don’t get me wrong, the brightest Broadway stars have nothing to worry about. But we ran through the scene where I have five solo lines, and I delivered them without stuttering or hyperventilating.

I even managed to speak loudly enough that Myrna, sitting in the back row, gave me a fist pump and confirmed to Bryan that she heard every word.

When I came off stage, my head and heart were buzzing. Several other supporting cast members crowded around me for hugs and back slaps—way more encouragement than the moment warranted.

It brought front and center how much time and energy I spend focusing on the lack of support in my life.

The highlight reel of my embarrassing life moments haunts me.

I’ve let fear live rent-free inside my mind for so long, and I’m still afraid.

Afraid I’ll do well at rehearsal, but it won’t translate to opening night.

Afraid the people supporting me are secretly talking about what a pathetic loser I am behind my back. Afraid that I’ll never be enough .

But you know what? I did the thing anyway. And I’m going to keep doing it.

After smiling and joking with my castmates and the crew—people I’m quickly coming to think of as friends–I slip into the prop closet once again, needing a moment alone to collect my thoughts.

I reach for my phone to text Eric. I hate how we left things and can’t stop worrying that my callous words hurt him for real.

Maybe our relationship started as a quid-pro-quo kind of thing, but it doesn’t feel that way anymore. I wish I would have told Toby to mind his own business. That whatever happens between Eric and me is just that—between the two of us.

But even if I was willing to incur my brother’s wrath, Eric made a promise to his sister. He’s not going to break it. Besides, he’s leaving. Just because I was stupid enough to catch feelings, doesn’t mean he’s going to.

Instead of opening the messages app, I tap on Instagram and scroll until I find one of Kristen Quinn’s many posts about her fearless life.

When we first read her book, part memoir and part self-help manifesto, the book club members were divided about whether she was inspirational or an expert manipulator of the truth.

Molly wanted to believe, while Iris and Avah—especially Avah—were skeptical.

I fell somewhere in the middle, but I can’t deny that reading The Year Of Losing It —or at least Sloane’s commitment to Kristen’s guidance—has made a positive difference in my life.

I slip into her DMs with a thank you for what she’s done for all of us.

I tell her how her journey has united our book club and given us a rallying cry, both in our individual lives and in how we support our friend on her cancer journey.

I even ask her about coming to Skylark for a special book club meeting or a public reading at the library or Cover to Cover.

I know Sloane has already reached out several times, but maybe my message will make the difference.

I’ve seen plenty of comments on Kristen’s posts calling her fake or a snake-oil peddler, lambasting her brand endorsements and product collaborations. But I want her to know what she’s done for my friends and me.

Although I could be getting ahead of myself.

I haven’t completed my bucket list challenge yet.

I might still end up puking on the front row or freezing like a deer in headlights opening night.

Bryan made one of the crew learn my lines as a backup.

Which stings more than I want to admit, even if I can’t blame him.

I hit send on the message to Kristen just as the door to the prop room opens.

“You okay?” Bryan asks as he steps in. He’s wearing tortoiseshell glasses that make him look more serious and tone down the boyishness of his baby-faced features.

“I’m great. Is everything okay out there? Do I need to–”

“Myrna’s running the next scene. You did good.” He shakes his head as he steps forward. “You’re still a bit stiff, though, and on that final line, you need to sell it—project your voice almost to a shout, like you believe the words you’re speaking.”

“I do believe them,” I say, my little bubble of confidence springing a slow leak at his words. He’s the director. Of course he wants the best from every cast member. “But thank you for the notes. I’ll work on it.”

“You seem different.” He inclines his head to study me, and…how have I never noticed that he looks kind of like a beagle? Cute dogs, but seeing the similarities in my crush threatens to give me the ick. That’s not good. “Did you change your hair?”

I automatically place a hand on the top knot I’m wearing, realizing that I usually do more prepping on the days I know I’m going to see Bryan.

He once mentioned that he likes long hair, so I’ll wear mine down and curled or blow-dried.

But the library has been busy. I’ve also been tutoring a couple of other hockey players in addition to Rhett, and any free evening outside of rehearsals has been spent in the shop finishing up the StoryWalk frames.

“I like your glasses.” It’s a random compliment, but he touches a hand to them in the same way I just did with my hair and smiles.

“Thanks.” He shifts closer and I ignore the sudden urge to step back. “Do you have plans after this?” he asks, offering a smug smile.

Smug is not a good look for Bryan. “Just heading home.”

I’m hoping beyond hope that I get a chance to apologize to Eric.

Or at least to explain. Maybe it’s not necessary, but it’s important to me.

He’s important to me. I don’t let myself think about how much I want things to be okay between us—and not just our coaching strategy.

I'm in deeper than I ever meant to be, and the thought of losing him hurts more than I'm ready to admit.

“Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”

Bryan frowns when I don’t immediately answer.

I need to answer. This is exactly what I wanted: for him to notice me. Now he has, and all I can think about are my hot hockey neighbor’s leftovers. Not to mention his tool belt. Gah.

“Yes.” I smile and nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Pretty sure I look like a bobblehead doll. “A bite to eat would be nice.”

Bryan pats me on the shoulder, kind of like my brother would, but with less force. “I have some ideas for how you can add to your performance. To help you get over your nerves.” He gives a slight shrug and then winks. “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good acting coach.”

This is not a humble-brag-much moment, I remind myself. I want his attention. Eric gives me plenty of pointers. I can take them from Bryan if it means spending time with him. “Great.”

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot after rehearsal?”

“Sure.”

He’s looking at me strangely, probably because I’m back to my typical one-word answers where he’s concerned. But this time, it doesn’t feel like nerves holding me back. It feels like guilt. Like I’m cheating on Eric by agreeing to have dinner with Bryan, even though this was the whole point.

My phone pings as he steps out of the prop room.

Eric: Carne asada tacos with mango salsa. Be ready to get your feed on.

Happiness explodes across my chest, bright and warm and completely overwhelming.

I should tell him I already have plans. I should remember that Eric is supposed to be helping me get the guy I thought I wanted.

But I don't want Bryan right now. I want Eric–and the way his confidence in me makes me feel brave.

I rush forward and step into the hallway. “Bryan.” He turns, almost at the stage door now. “I just got a text from my sister. She needs help with her kids tonight. Can we take a raincheck on that bite?”

He looks confused, like no one has ever canceled plans with him before. “Of course,” he says after a moment. “A raincheck is great.”

“Great,” I agree, and for the first time in this conversation, I mean it.

He disappears toward the front of the theater, and I slap a palm against my forehead. What am I doing? Shooting my shot with Bryan was the whole point of Eric’s coaching me.

Except…something has changed. I’ve changed. And one thing’s for sure—my story is not going to end the way I thought.