doesn’t miss a single chord. When his voice carries through the makeshift auditorium, he has everyone’s attention.
He’s good, better than I’ve ever heard him before, and if I could bottle this moment in time to keep forever, I would.
Especially the part with Nolan being here.
When he squeezes my hand, I glance up at him. He’s looking down at me, and I see it all in his eyes.
The regret.
The apologies.
Love.
For the first time since I walked out of his apartment, I have hope.
“I’m so proud of you!” I squeeze my son tightly, and despite being in public and having all his friends there, he hugs me back. “Second place is amazing! I don’t know where you got those pipes. I can’t sing for crap.”
“Thanks, Mom. Dean’s been teaching me some techniques on singing too.”
“Guess that means we have to keep him around then, huh?”
“As if you had a choice.” Dean holds his fist out to Sam. “Proud of you, bro.”
“Thanks for everything, Dean.”
He winks at him. “Any time. Just make sure you tell River how awesome I am as often as possible. I could use the brownie points.”
“You spoiled that one for yourself. Now I’ll never believe a word he says about you,” River says.
Dean’s face falls. “Well, shit.”
We all laugh.
“Mom, where’s Nolan? Did he come?”
“He’s…”
I glance around the room, trying to find him, but he’s nowhere in sight.
Did he leave? How can someone as big as him disappear without anyone noticing?
My chest fills with disappointment.
“He came,” River reassures him.
“And he wanted you to know he’s super proud, but he had to get home. He has to be up early for work tomorrow,” Caroline adds.
At least part of it isn’t a lie.
He is proud of Sam.
I just don’t know why he walked away…again.
I push away my dismay and slap on the biggest smile I can rally, hoping nobody notices how bogus it really is.
We all make plans to meet at The Gravy Train for a celebratory dinner, then head for our cars.
“Mom, what’s that on the car?”
I squint, trying to make out what Sam’s pointing to.
“No clue.”
He runs ahead, excited and curious.
“It’s a rose! And a note!” he yells. “But they got the wrong car. It’s not your name on it.”
With shaky fingers, I pluck the single rose from Sam and read the attached note.
* * *
Tonight, my sweet Juliet.
* * *
There’s a flutter of excitement in my belly and an ache of longing in my heart.
Nolan.
I still want him.
“Why are you smiling? Should we find Juliet so she can get her rose?”
She already has it.
20
Nolan
It’s just after 10 PM when I finally conjure up the courage to shut my truck off.
I stare up at Maya’s new apartment building through the windshield. All the lights are off, and I have no doubt she’s already snuggled in her bed.
I push open my door, and it creaks loudly in the otherwise quiet night.
On unsteady legs, I carry myself around the back of her complex, which backs up to a beautiful view of the same lake I once took a naked dive into in freezing temperatures just to prove a point.
That’s why I’m here tonight too—to prove a point.
To prove to her I’m in love with her and I don’t want to keep giving up on people before they can give up on me.
I walk down to the edge of the lake and pick up a handful of small rocks. Nothing too big or too sharp—I’m trying to be romantic, not stick her with a repair bill.
When I line my shot up with what I’m fairly certain is her balcony, I launch.
The rock skips off the glass door, and I wait a moment to see if she heard it.
Nothing happens.
I pull my arm back and send another rock soaring.
Wait.
Nothing.
Then another.
Wait.
Nothing.
My hopes dwindle as each rock lobbed bounces off the door with no response.
Maybe she’s not home? Maybe they stopped off for a late celebratory dinner?
No. I know Maya, and there’s no way she’d be out this late with Sam.
I toss another rock.
Wait.
Another.
At this point, all my ideas of grandeur are gone, but I can’t seem to make myself give up yet. I’m tired of giving up. It’s all I’ve ever fucking done.
I stretch my arm back one more time. If this doesn’t work, it’s time for plan B.
With a prayer, I launch the last rock in my hand.
It never makes contact with the door, because it’s swung open.
“I called the police, young man!” An old lady who—clearly—isn’t wearing a bra rushes out of her