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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

LENA

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t text or call Decker to congratulate him.

I didn’t tell him I was going to be in town again this week, a mere two weeks after the Super Bowl performance I never saw him at.

It was wishful thinking. I refuse to call it delusion.

Still, it’s embarrassing to think I truly thought he might leave the locker room for me.

As though his absence didn’t sting enough, the tongue-lashing I got from my mom for going “off script” during my halftime show was pretty painful, but it felt good to finally tell her I’d be changing a few things about the direction my career was heading.

Beginning with taking control of my sets again, starting as soon as my tour commences.

It was a little belated, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Decker was right. I let my mom and everyone else pull the strings for far too long.

They drove me to a point that I was willing to sacrifice my needs, my wants—even Decker—for what they thought would sell.

Realizing how much my clouded judgment hurt Decker was the breaking point.

Antonia and her tablet kept to themselves in the corner, but I could see her bite back a smile as I laid out a brief outline of my demands to my stunned mother.

Which my mom quickly accepted when I reminded her the ten-year contract I signed with my record label at the dawn of my career would be ending soon and I would have full control to do whatever I want.

Even recording and releasing independently.

I wish I would have set up a camera to have her confounded blabbering on record forever.

Of course, I was bluffing. My label has been good to me, and honestly, they probably listen to me better than my own mother does.

Thank God she let me talk some sense into her because I’m not ready to part ways with my record label quite yet.

Joss gasps across the room. I’m grateful that she followed me back to Vista after our photoshoot this time. I need the distraction. I need my best friend.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a line so hard they pale.

“What just happened?”

“Please don’t assassinate me.”

I arch a brow.

Sheepishly, she turns her phone screen toward me as though I can see it from where I stand across my open-concept kitchen. “Decker’s back on social media.”

My heart leaps into my throat. “And?”

“And people are flooding his most recent post with comments.”

“So?” I open the fridge, ducking my head inside and sucking in the cold air. It does nothing to force my heart back into its rightful place between my ribs.

“So everyone is going nuts. They’re saying he’s being cryptic.”

I slam the fridge shut, wanting to tell her to shut it too, but I can’t. I need to know more. “Cryptic about what?”

“You.”

That’s when my heart slams into my guts, splattering them everywhere. There’s no way. He never returned my calls. Never texted me. As much as I wanted to hang onto hope that maybe there was still a chance, I was tired of torturing myself. So I let it go. I let him go.

Well, until this moment, I’d thought I let it go.

When I don’t say anything, she clears her throat and continues on, her tone too steady. “He posted your lyrics, Lena.”

It takes a few seconds before I remember to breathe. “It could be a coincidence. It’s not like my stuff is original. Half my words themselves are cryptic.” I try to laugh but she rolls her eyes.

“Stop, Lena. When you’re in love with someone, you don’t let it go that easily. Even if they hurt you. You cling to it no matter how pathetic it is.”

“Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes harder this time. “I’m not talking about you, necessarily. I’m speaking from experience here, okay? And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s no way Decker moved on from you that easily.”

“It’s been months, Joss.”

“So? I just think it’s worth exploring. I think you need to try one more time.”

I pull an already-opened bottle of rosé from the fridge and two coffee mugs from a cabinet and fill them with the cold liquid. “What song is it?”

“ Pretty Hard to Find. ”

I throw back the mug and almost drain it.

She clears her throat, answering the unspoken question poised between us. “More specifically: Through the dark nights, I still search for the sun. In my deepest dreams, I still hope you’re the one. ”

Suddenly, I feel hot and cold and like I may combust all at once.

“Dang, Decker! Lay it all out there, why don’t you?” Joss huffs out a giggle. “If that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

Steadying my voice, I challenge her. “If he’s back on social media, why didn’t he reach out? Why didn’t he tag me?”

“Tag you? You already embarrassed him once, Lena. Do you honestly think he’d let you do that again? On the internet of all places? I know you think your half-baked halftime stunt was gonna grab his attention, but be real.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying. I’m with the Lena Lovers on this one. You two were something special. Anyone could see it.”

“You and the Lovers are just obsessed with romanticizing things that aren’t actually there.”

Her lips press into a tight line. “Fine. You can let him go—if that’s what you want. Do it. Drop him, and I’ll never bring him up again. But if you think for one second you might regret it. This is your chance. Find him. Go to him. Lay your heart out on the line and see what happens.”

“That sounds…”

“Scary?”

“A little.”

“He did it for you, it’s only right you return the favor.” She laughs and finally stands from the couch, grabbing her mug from my hand. “I mean, look at the timing. You just so happen to be in town and he’s posting your song lyrics? I don’t want to read too much into it but?—”

“You are.”

She widens her eyes. “BUT this is a sign. We have to find him.”

“And how do we do that?”

She pulls her phone out and scrolls. “1314 Sunny Cove Drive.”

“Stalk much?” I gulp my wine, hoping it settles my nerves. Am I really about to do this?

“The Malted Mule.” She looks up from her screen, her face brightening. “It’s Thursday. Karaoke night.”

I arch a brow. “And how do you know that?”

“I may have been invited.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” She smiles coyly.

“Kind of. Yeah.”

“Cole. He heard I was in town. It’s no big deal.”

“Mhmm.” I sip from my mug. “No big deal at all.”

Another text rolls onto her screen, and she darkens it immediately. “He’s been a good friend.”

“And he’s also friends with Decker.”

She nods. “And I have a hunch Decks is gonna be there. So you better change out of those stained sweatpants because we’re going to a karaoke party.”

Thirty minutes and a wardrobe change later, Joss is yanking me out the door and into the driveway.

Due to the wine, I thought maybe a driver would be in order for the night.

Gustav sits up front with him as I twist the hem of my lavender shirt, wondering if I chose the right shade of blue jeans.

Reclining into my seat, I try to breathe through the rising anxiety.

I won’t be drinking any more tonight—I don’t want any excuses for what I’m about to do—but I wish I had a little liquid courage surging through my veins outside of the meager pink wine I consumed over an hour ago.

“Are you ready?” Joss asks, throwing open our door in the alleyway behind The Malted Mule.

I nod, staring at the brick facade. I’ve been ready for months.

The words have circulated through my mind on repeat since the day I realized I’d lost my chance with him.

I need to get this off my chest and out of my head before it eats me alive.

Sirens blare in the distance, setting me even more on edge.

Despite Joss's insistence that we make a plan, I didn’t want to think about it.

Speak about it. At least not out loud. Not yet.

If I vomited all over the back of that car, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

No stage nerves have ever rivaled this. Groveling with Decker to take me back.

No matter how much Joss insisted that it’s not groveling, that it’s destiny, it sure feels like groveling to me.

But if I don’t lay it all out there now, I may never get a chance, and I could lose him forever.

We pass a dumpster that reeks of decaying ketchup and stale beer, and I have to swallow the sour ball that rises in my throat.

Once inside, the ketchup scent subsides, but the beer stays.

Deep whoops and cheers come from up front as some male voice chirps along to a Madonna song that’s at least an octave too high for him.

Joss's shoulder bumps mine as we slide along the back wall, her face in her phone the entire time. She’s texting someone again.

Cole, presumably. Gustav surveys the room from a full head higher than us, signaling that he’ll stay parked in the back corner.

The place is packed. Normally, I prefer it that way because my night could go one of two ways: I fly under the radar—though that’s nearly impossible these days—finding it easier to keep my anonymity in the throngs or one person asks for a picture and then everyone decides it’s personal meet and greet night, and I have to leave early.

To save myself from embarrassment, I should probably be hoping for the latter, but as I spot Decker leaning against the bar across the room, I’m hoping the crowd is able to hide me until the time is right.