Page 106 of The Muse
Security? Crowds of screaming people? My head won’t stop spinning. This was my night to tell her about my past, not her night to tell me … this. Whateverthisis.
All I know is I never wanted this; I just wanted her.
Everyone around us heads back into the auditorium.
“It’s starting,” I murmur, but I can’t look at her anymore. “Let’s go.”
“Flynn …” She grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers, as I head toward the auditorium, but I don’t move a muscle. No curling my fingers. She’s holding on, but I’m letting go.
For the second half of the show, she wipes tears from her cheeks with her gaze on the stage. After the last performance, we worm our way through the crowd. As much as I need space, I wait for her, making sure she’s in front of me as a crowd of people flows through the skyway toward the parking ramp.
She turns toward me before I can open the car door for her. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t lie to you.Thisis who I am, a girl who enjoys taking people on bike tours. I like my roommate and my two-bedroom apartment and taking naps.” She points toward the skyway. “That’s not my life any longer, even if someone recognizes me. It doesn’t define me any more than the balance in my bank account. So you can’t punish me for being scared to tell you. And you can’t punish me for the people who adopted me.”
“Just get in,” I say, feeling too defeated to have this conversation. I’m not punishing her. I’m just …
I don’t fucking know.
“No. I’m not getting in until you say something. Until you tell me what you’re thinking and feeling.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“June—Zoya, whatever the hell your name is, just …” I close my eyes for a second. “Get in.”
She shakes her head.
“Christ, just get in.” I grab her arm, and she jerks away, stumbling backwards onto the ground. “June!” I reach for her, but not before a man in all black shoves me and helps her up.
“Hey! Get the fuck away from her,” I say, lunging toward him.
He rams me into the car beside the Chevelle.
“Stop!” June pulls on his shirt as he keeps his arm against my throat.
He looks familiar—the ride-share driver.
“I’ve got it,” June says in a calmer voice.
He releases me, and I fix my jacket.
“Who the fuck are you?” I tug on my stupid tie as he backs up, leaning against the same black SUV—the only one—she’s ever ridden in. And I’m just now making the connection that’s not a coincidence.
June opens the door and gets into the Chevelle.
I stare at him as he waits by his SUV with a stony expression.
“Just get in,” June says, fastening her seat belt.
I close her door, eyeing him the whole way around the car.
“He’s my bodyguard,” she says, head bowed, hands fiddling with her handbag’s zipper.
“Of course he is,” I whisper, starting the car.
We don’t speak on the way back to her apartment, but I’m hyperaware of the headlights in the rearview mirror the whole time.
“Is it your pride?” she asks when I park along the street in front of the gallery.
I don’t respond, turning off the engine and sitting idle, staring out the window at the passing cars and people milling around the neighborhood, a line outside of the bar on the corner. Normal people. I thought she was normal too.
“You’ve decided you hate people with money, so now you can’t be with me?”
