said anything. Hasn’t pushed for details or asked to meet her.
For now, she’s mostly leaving me alone. But her forbearance period will come to an end soon, and she’ll push for me to find a job of some variety. Some part of me has always wondered if the reason she pushed me to work for Jonathan was just to get me out of the house. I never planned to go to college after graduating from high school, planning on reclaiming my place in the spotlight instead.
Here I am, four years later, no degree and no spotlight to show for it.
But that might all be changing very, very soon.
When I arrive at Alexis’s apartment, she answers the door wearing her customary leggings and T-shirt. But these are more faded and threadbare than what I’m used to seeing. She also has on no makeup, and her hair, while neat, isn’t styled the way it normally is. And she stares at me with wide brown eyes, watching me like a bomb that’s liable to go off at any moment.
Once inside with the door firmly closed behind me, I wrap her in my arms, holding her tightly against my chest. I rub her back in small circles and take deep breaths. By the third or fourth breath, her shoulders relax, and her arms find their way around my torso, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt.
“Oh my god, Colt,” she whispers into my chest. “What are we gonna do?”
I give her a squeeze and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “We’re going to elope. This was the plan, right? If this is what Delores says will get us where we want to be, then this is what we’ll do.” I put enough space between us that I can tilt her face up so she’ll look at me. “We’re already spending every day together. This’ll just mean I don’t have to travel as far to see you.”
The corners of her mouth tilt up in a wan smile. But it’s not reassuring to me at all. And I get it. I’m kinda freaking out too. But we can’t both freak out at the same time or this will never, ever work.
Still, if she’s not on board this won’t work anyway.
I steer us to her loveseat and sit down, pulling her down next to me, wrapping her hands up in mine. We don’t normally touch this much, especially not in private, but she clearly needs some kind of physical comfort. I do too, if I’m being completely honest. Being with her makes me feel better about this whole crazy scheme. But not so much when she’s clearly scared out of her mind.
“We don’t have to do this,” I tell her, giving each word equal weight. “Just because your agent thinks it’s a good idea, doesn’t mean we have to do what she says. We can just get engaged. There’s nothing legally binding about a diamond ring. Hell, you can even keep it when all this is over.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself before offering the next option. “Or we can just call everything off. Go our separate ways. If this is too much …” I trail off, not able to verbalize the rest of the statement. Because I really don’t want her to pick that option, for so many reasons. I enjoy spending time with her. I like singing for her, singing with her. That duet has visions of performing together in venues large and small dancing in my head. Actually the most appealing fantasy is us in a small, pop-up concert somewhere. Intimate venue, us in a clear space at the front of a large room full of chairs and people who came just to hear us.
Sure, sure, we can fill larger venues. And while there’s certainly something to be said for the thrill of packing an arena, the small, intimate performances with an audience of true fans is on another level.
And if she calls this off, that vision goes poof and disappears.
I’m not ready to let go of that fantasy yet.
She swallows and clears her throat, her cold fingers finally squeezing mine back rather than passively lying in my hands. “No. It’s not … I don’t want to call this off. I just had things in my head in a certain way, you know? Dating a while in the public eye, an engagement, more being seen together, and maybe eventually actually going through with a wedding. But we’ve only