Walking out onto the stage of Madison Square Garden and seeing the crowd—the chock-full, seemingly endless sea of people cheering and screaming, the thousands of tiny lights that glowed from their phones—was unlike anything Jake had ever experienced.
It was like stepping into a dream, Jake thought as he took it all in. He saw himself at eleven years old, strumming his old steel-stringed dreadnought, the one he’d snagged for ten bucks at a neighbor’s estate sale. Next to him was Sam on the bass he’d gotten for Christmas that year, with Hale behind them, ripping away on his five-piece drum set. They were in the Lanes’ garage—Jake could still smell the distinct, musty aroma of mothballs and gasoline. They were practicing their cover of “Sweet Home Alabama,” high on adrenaline and unobstructed optimism, anchored in a state of bliss you can only know in childhood, when there’s no weight on your shoulders and nothing’s at stake and time is a vacuum where you feel like you’ll be a kid forever.
And then Mrs. Lane was opening the garage door and calling them in for dinner, and Jake noticed that his stomach was grumbling and thought how much he liked staying there for dinner, that it was so much better than going halfway down the block to his own house, where his father would be drunk on the couch and his mother would direct him to “find something” in the fridge when he said he was hungry.
When Jake was playing music with Sam and Hale, all that not-so-great stuff about life fell away, and there was only the guitar and the steady beat and the way that it made his heart feel to sing. Neither Sam nor Hale liked the singing part—that was always left for Jake—and besides, it wasn’t Jake’s fault that he’d grown up to be better looking than they had.
Fuck Hale, Jake thought, dismissing his friend’s words from earlier. He brushed his fingertips to the strings of his guitar—a gesture that always made him feel a bit more rooted to the earth—and the arena exploded. Jake’s eyes swept the front of the crowd that was the VIP section, and maybe it was because he wanted it so ferociously that he willed it to be true, but there she was, right there in front of him, the only person in the ocean of people that he existed for. Her wide, even smile, that tumble of blond hair. Jake felt his breath catch in his throat.
He inhaled slowly, clipping his eyes to hers. “Hey, New York City. It’s Saturday night, and we’re Danner Lane, and we’re gonna play some music.” Cheers erupted, lights twinkled and flashed. Molly held on to his gaze and nodded, something like forgiveness flickering in her eyes. Peace washed over Jake’s heart.
“We’ve got a new song for you guys, though some of you might’ve heard it already.” The crowd roared, which told Jake that they knew what was coming, that it was the reason many of them were there. “This one is for my Molly.”
The air in the Garden was still, humming with anticipation. Hale began to pick up on the snare drum, Sam threading the bass with expert hands. Jake leaned in toward the microphone and began to sing.
Five days ago I didn’t know
The feelings in me now
Your beautiful mind, your secret smile
Change me, won’t you change me
Chapter Seventeen
Molly
June 2022
Molly’s jaw drops—it actually drops—but she’s too paralyzed with shock to close it.
“Molly?” Jake speaks, and it’s like she’s looking at a real-life ghost. It’s too much. Is she dreaming? She blinks hard.
She feels Hunter’s hand on her elbow, steadying her. Good, she thinks from somewhere far above. Because I’m currently detached from my own body.
“I’m sorry…，” Sabrina starts, glancing from Jake to Molly to Hunter, then back to Jake. “Do you all know each other?”
“Yes,” Jake says. His eyes are glued to Molly’s, and she feels woozy, like she might faint or throw up or possibly both at the same time. “Molly and I … we knew each other in the city. Years ago.” Jake exhales. “Small world.” His gaze drifts to Sabrina, and for a moment, he seems to peer at her strangely. But then his mouth breaks into a grin, the classic Jake Danner smile. Apparently, he’s recovered from shock much faster than Molly.
“No!” Sabrina lets out an excited laugh. “What are the chances?” She pulls the door all the way open. “Come on in. What can I get you two to drink?”
Hunter says nothing, his mouth gaping. The color has drained from his face, and he hasn’t stopped staring at Jake.
Molly opens her mouth to speak, but her heart jumps into her throat. She can’t get her voice to leave her lips. How is this possible? She’s been friends with Sabrina for nearly a month now, and all this time, Sabrina has been married to Jake?