Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(97)

And being with Iris these last several weeks . . . she felt even stronger. More capable. More ready.

But she also had even more to lose. Her decision affected Iris too, she knew, but she also knew Ren was right—she couldn’t make her choice based on this relationship.

She had to choose herself and hope to god Iris understood.

This morning, she’d had every chance to tell Iris about the role, that she’d accepted it, but she chickened out. She told herself she was simply waiting until the play was done, the final night, so they could both enjoy it without New York hanging over their heads. She’d been determined to tell Iris tonight, once everything at the Empress was done, and she and Iris were tucked into bed together, close and intimate and safe.

But now, with Thayer right here and Iris drunk and acting so strange even before the play, Stevie was questioning every decision she’d made since hitting send on that email.

“Dr. Calloway,” Stevie said, her heart fully in her throat now. She had no idea that her professor would be here, but now that she thought about it, she should’ve prepared for this. Thayer was a big supporter of the Empress, financially speaking, and she wouldn’t miss a chance to bolster a queer theater in her own hometown.

“Excellent performance, as always,” Thayer said, then her eyes flitted to Iris. “And this must be Iris Kelly. I greatly enjoyed your Beatrice.”

Iris pursed her mouth, eyes glassy, and panic crowded into Stevie’s chest.

“I am Iris Kelly,” Iris said, words a little slurred. “And you are Thayer Calloway. You’re Stevie’s favorite professor.”

Thayer smiled brightly at Stevie, but Stevie frowned. She’d never told Iris that. She’d never told Iris anything about Dr. Calloway.

“A high compliment,” Thayer said.

“And you’re directing As You Like It next summer,” Iris said, jutting a wobbly finger toward Thayer.

Stevie froze.

“I am,” Thayer said, frowning a bit at Iris’s thick consonants. “And I’m so excited that Stevie here is joining me.”

A horrible silence spilled in between them. A silence Thayer clearly didn’t understand, her head tilted toward Stevie in question.

“Yeah,” Iris said, her voice even and quiet. Too quiet. She blinked heavily. “We’re all so excited.”

“I really need to get her home, Dr. Calloway,” Stevie said. Dread coiled in her stomach.

“Of course,” Thayer said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Great,” Stevie said, then started to pull Iris away.

Iris, however, dug in her heels. “Stevie’s amazing, right? Totally belongs in New York. She’s a star. So big a star, she shouldn’t even think about anyone else, right?”

Stevie couldn’t breathe. Could barely think.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Thayer said, but she was clearly caught off guard by Iris’s behavior.

“Well, let me explain,” Iris said, clapping her hands together, but Stevie knew whatever Iris was about to say, Stevie couldn’t bear to hear it in front of her future director. She wasn’t sure she could bear to hear it at all.

Because in this moment, Stevie realized she had right and truly fucked this up.

“Dr. Calloway, I’m sorry, please excuse us,” Stevie said, and finally managed to haul Iris away, one arm tightly hooked around her waist. Partygoers looked their way, amused expressions on their faces as a drunk Beatrice stumbled through the room.

Stevie managed to find a bottle of water and tucked it under her arm, never letting go of Iris for a second. She got them outside, the air warm and breezy, and nearly ran to get Iris to Stevie’s car.

“I’m not ready to go home,” Iris said, but she didn’t resist as Stevie tucked her gently into the passenger seat and buckled her in. Iris flopped her head against the headrest, and Stevie opened the water, placing both of Iris’s hands around the cool plastic.

“Drink, please,” she said.

Iris did, but she watched Stevie as she gulped, an unreadable look in her eyes.

Stevie drove them to her apartment. Neither of them spoke and Stevie was glad. She had no clue what to say, what to do. Plus, Iris was drunk, and she felt like whatever conversation they were about to have, they both needed to be clearheaded.

Once inside her place, she put on a pot of coffee and got Iris another glass of water. Iris downed it, her hands shaking as she did. Once she finished it, she simply stumbled off toward the bathroom, mumbling something about a shower.

Stevie sat outside the bathroom door to make sure Iris didn’t fall or hurt herself in some way. And there, underneath the gentle hush of the water, came a sound Stevie had never heard before—a sniff and a hiccup, a wordless hum.

Iris Kelly was crying in Stevie’s shower.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE





FUCK, SHE WAS crying in Stevie’s shower.

Iris sunk down into the tub, sitting on the porcelain with her forehead pressed against her knees, letting the cold water beat down on her back.

She should’ve known that first glass of champagne was a mistake. She hadn’t meant to get drunk, not really. But once the performance was over and she and Stevie had changed and walked down to Nadia’s hand in hand in silence, an awful silence full of questions Iris didn’t know how to ask, she’d immediately reached for a glass when they’d walked in the door. Stevie had been pulled away by some adoring donor, and goddamn if the cool bubbles hadn’t made Iris feel a little calmer, a little clearer.