but need like my next breath.
There are moments you look back on, ones that feel small but change everything.
I should step back, reinforce the distance between us.
I don’t.
Instead, I wrap both arms around her, pull her closer. My fingers imprint themselves on the fabric of her jacket, the soft strands of her hair.
When I tuck her head under my chin, her breath hitches. I take a long inhale, wishing her scent didn’t calm me like it does. Even the layers of our uniforms can’t hide the warm comfort of her body.
Her hands slide up my back until she’s holding me as hard as I’m holding her.
I’m supposed to keep her out, but I don’t know how.
Leaving this summer will hurt like hell.
And I’m terrified by how much I want to stay.
11
“We’ll need a two-thousand deposit. Cash or credit?”
I hold out a debit card. “How long will it take?”
“A month. That’s the fastest service for anything custom,” he goes on at my expression.
“Can you do a rush? It’s for a friend.” I debate, chewing my lip. “My dad is Jax Jamieson.”
His eyes widen, and he glances at the name on my card, then back up. “No shit. I’d know those eyes anywhere. I made guitars for his first tour.”
Discomfort works through me. “Do you keep in touch?”
“Some.”
Something tells me that even if my dad would be cool with giving Tyler a guitar, me buying him one wouldn’t go over great. “It’s a surprise.”
“For your daddy?” The manager’s brows rise as he looks at the order. “Seem to recall he prefers twenty-two—”
“How long?”
The manager frowns. “Four days.”
Apparently, there are perks to being Jax Jamieson’s kid.
I thank him and head out to my car.
The money for this purchase is coming from a statewide writing competition I won in the fall, plus the full-time hours I logged working as a summer student at the library last year.
I was saving it for college—even though my dad and Haley have said they’ll pay my tuition and expenses, I want to at least contribute—but something about this decision feels right.
Tyler doesn’t have that kind of cash, but he’s also proud. This is something he’d never ask for, something I want to do for him.
All week, he’s been helping me practice. In the mornings, after school, whenever we can sneak in a moment.
My performance in rehearsal is improving. I focus on my technique, on connecting to what I’m doing, and tune out the bullshit. I don’t make eye contact with Carly, and I keep my bag and water bottle at the corner of the stage where she can’t get to them. I have less than a week until when Norelli promised to render a verdict on keeping me in the lead, and I’m not going to waste it.
As I walk, my phone rings.
“Hey,” I answer, breathless. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Good things, I hope.” Tyler’s smooth voice comes down the line, sending tingles through my stomach.
Lately, his voice does that to me.
Not only his voice—his touch. Hell, even his presence in the same room. I can’t so much as brush up next to him making coffee in the morning without wishing Dad and Haley would drop into some alternate dimension so I could stare at him longer, memorize the feel of his body when he reaches over me to grab something from the fridge.
But the part I can’t forget when I’m lying awake at night is the way he let me hold him in the hallway at school on Monday. His body was filled with tension, but the tighter I wrapped my arms around him, the more those muscles gave, the more deeply he breathed.
“You hang up on me?” he asks.
“Sorry, I’m here.”
His low chuckle has me flushing as I get into the car.
“What’s up?”
“Your dad left a note inviting me for dinner.”
“Haley’s best friend, Serena, is in town. The whole family’s going out to this steakhouse. Even Sophie.” I start the car, and the purr of the engine is comforting.
“If this place is fancy, I’m screwed. My tux is at the dry cleaners.”
“Like you care. You could walk into a restaurant in boxers and have the entire staff falling over each other.”
“I’ll have to try that.” His voice lifts with humor, and my lips curve too. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”
I glance down at my clothes, which I changed into after school. “A dress. Black. Tight. It’s kind of short.”
“Not the one from the frat party. You looked way too grown-up.”
Indignation sets in. “I am grown-up.”
He