Besides, she went to Bhakti so often she basically knew the sequences by heart. She could see herself making playlists and creating themes around her classes. She’d wear bright-colored leggings and a signature Bhakti tank, grabbing matcha with the other teachers between classes and discussing things like headstands and chakras. She’d come home centered and grounded and ready to write.
But the program was expensive—two thousand dollars—and she never would’ve asked her mother to pay for something like that. Her mom worked a solid job—she’d been a labor and delivery nurse at the hospital in Denville for almost thirty years—but she’d raised two kids with one income and was extra careful with money, especially after the reckless way her father had abused their finances. The Diamonds had always had enough to get by, but there was never much left over.
Molly had been hesitant to accept such a generous gift, but her mother had insisted. Molly suspected it had something to do with the heart-to-heart conversation they’d shared a month earlier, when she’d been home for the weekend and had confessed to her mom that she wanted to use her degree to give writing a real shot.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to follow in Dad’s footsteps,” Molly had admitted, nestled beside her mother on the couch.
“All I care about is that you chase your dreams,” her mother had replied, smoothing Molly’s hair. “It doesn’t matter what your father did. Besides, you’re a much better writer than he ever was. Trust me. And he didn’t have a shred of your discipline.”
Jake grabbed Molly’s hand as the subway slowed to a stop at Bedford Avenue. They ran up the stairs and out of the station, back into the light.
On the corner of North Seventh, he looped his arms around her neck. “You’re going to be the sexiest yoga teacher in New York.”
She laughed. “Will you come to my classes?”
“Yes.” Jake pressed his forehead against hers. “As long as you give me Savasana massages at the end.” He grinned, leaning in to kiss her. Molly parted her lips to let him. She could’ve kissed him forever. It was surreal, still, that he belonged to her.
Later, Danner Lane was opening at Brooklyn Bowl. Molly hardly ever missed Jake’s shows, but that night she had plans with her friends. Since they hadn’t been able to attend her daytime graduation, Everly insisted they all get together at Radegast for celebratory drinks.
It was only 7:30 when Molly left Radegast, tipsy off a full pint of cider after no real dinner. It was still light out, the sky a deep blue streaked with pink clouds. Molly didn’t think there was anything better than a late May night in the city, the summer stretched ahead like a promise.
The evening had been cut shorter than Molly anticipated when her friends scattered off in various directions: Nina to a work event, Everly to dinner with Sage, Liz to a party with Zander. Molly hadn’t planned on going to Jake’s show, but Brooklyn Bowl was only nine blocks away. She could get there just in time to catch the opening act.
At the entrance, Molly flashed her ID to the bouncer, who nodded with disinterest before letting her inside. Molly glanced at her phone—it was quarter of eight. Danner Lane was on in fifteen minutes; she still had time to find Jake and surprise him.
She peered around inside the venue, which was busy but not yet packed, and scanned the room for Jake. Maybe he was already backstage.
Molly pushed through a group of men in office clothes—crisp tailored shirts, loosened ties—and one of them bumped her with his elbow.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His right hand clutched a drink, his left lifted in apology. Their eyes met, and the man tilted his head, as though he recognized her. He was handsome in a classic, textbook way—dark, floppy hair, square jaw. Did she know him? Molly didn’t think so, and she didn’t have time to figure it out. She wanted to find Jake before he went onstage.
And then, all too suddenly, her head turned, and there he was. Standing by the bar, and not alone. A woman’s arms were wrapped around his neck, her body and lips pressed to his. And not just any woman—it was Maxine. His manager’s assistant, the skanky girl who constantly flirted with Jake and was always calling him nicknames.
Molly felt her body go rigid, her cells freezing with shock. Her heart thrashed so hard against her chest she could hear the blood pumping in her ears. This wasn’t real. Was she having a nightmare? Some kind of lucid dream? She wanted to cry out, to scream, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t make a sound.