Love Song(139)

I believe that Wyatt isn’t interested in her—he wouldn’t lie to me about that—but part of me still can’t fathom why he would want me over her.

“Maybe you should be with someone like her,” I find myself saying, the words burning my throat.

“Someone like Mollie May?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not who I want, Blake.”

“Why not? She’s beautiful and successful, and the two of you could share the spotlight. You’d be a power couple.”

With an aggravated curse, Wyatt drags a hand through his hair. “Stop it.”

“What?”

“You accused me of believing shit about myself that wasn’t true. Keeping myself stuck.” He shakes his head at me. “Don’t you see that you’re doing the same damn thing? You tell yourself this story that you’re ordinary, that you belong in the background. Someone’s plus-one, that’s what you called it, right? Well, you’re nobody’s plus-one, freckles. You belong in the spotlight too. You are the fucking spotlight.”

I press my lips together to stop them from quivering. He’s wrong. How could I ever compare to someone like Mollie May? Someone who is all confidence and sequins and unrivaled success. Meanwhile, I’m floundering through a degree I don’t want, too stubborn to quit school and too scared to open my heart up to him again.

I force myself to speak. “Cole’s waiting for you. You should go. Go and live your dream, Wyatt. I know the tour is going to be amazing.”

“I want you there.” I can hear his frustration.

We both jerk at the sound of a car honking. I glance toward my waiting driver and gesture that I’m coming.

“I have to go,” I say.

Wyatt nods. “So do I. But just know that the offer to come on the tour is still there. We’re leaving in a week. Say the word, and I’ll make the arrangements.”

When I give a noncommittal shrug, I don’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes. I slip into the back of the car, and as we pull away from the curb, I force myself not to look back to check if Wyatt’s still standing on the sidewalk.





I don’t call him the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Wyatt doesn’t call either. The ball is in my court. We both know that. He’d never pressure me to talk to him, let alone go on tour with him.

On the weekend, my parents drive down to Hastings to have dinner with me and Grandpa Tim. Afterward, while Mom and Grandpa chat in the kitchen, I join my father in the family room and plop beside him on the couch.

“You were quiet at dinner,” he remarks.

I reach for a throw pillow and pick at the frayed threads. I don’t answer right away, because I don’t typically confide in Dad. Mom is my go-to for that. Yet for some reason, the confession slips out.

“Wyatt asked me to go on tour with him.”

Dad’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like, actually go with him? On a tour bus? Like a band girlfriend?”

I giggle at his asinine description. “Not a band girlfriend. His girlfriend.” I bite my lip, feeling anxious now. “He wants to get back together.”

“Won’t he be gone for six months?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you can’t go then. You’re in school.”

“I don’t have to be.”

His eyebrows crash together. “What does that mean?”

“I spoke to my advisor a couple weeks ago,” I admit. “And he said I could graduate early if I wanted to. It would just require I take one online course in the winter semester. But yeah, I don’t have to be on campus if I don’t want to.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?”

“Because I don’t care about it, Dad. I care about learning but not necessarily about school, if that makes sense.”

He nods. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Really?”

“What, you think I was obsessed with homework and couldn’t wait to attend all my lectures? Fuck no. I loved Briar because of hockey, because of my friends, and because of your mom. But the school part?” He shrugs. “I could take it or leave it.”

A smile breaks free. “I’m sort of the same way. And I learned a lot about myself this summer. For so long, I was feeling like such a loser, like I’m not talented or extraordinary—”

“Are you kidding me?” Dad’s mouth is agape. “You’re the most extraordinary, brilliant, accomplished kid on the planet.”

“Says my dad,” I answer dryly.

“It’s the truth,” he insists.

“I love you for believing that, but the actual truth is I don’t possess some incredible skill or talent that’s going to take the world by storm, like you with hockey or Alex and Gigi and Wyatt. And it was really bringing me down,” I confess. “I was supposed to spend the summer figuring out what I want to do after college, but I ended up burying myself under a mountain of random research.” A laugh pops out. “And not only did I love it, but it opened the door to this podcast, which might actually earn me some money. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even be able to make a living from it one day.”

“Podcasting empire,” Dad agrees with a nod.

“Anyway, I realized this summer that I don’t need some big, flashy career. I just need to be doing something I enjoy. But I will graduate, one way or another. I promise.”