Page 15 of The Voice We Find

But then Chip scoots past me, ducking into what looks like an unfinished recording booth directly across the narrow hall from the one I just exited. With his phone pressed to his ear, he gives me another thumbs-up as he begins to converse with whoever’s on the other end of his call.

Nerves gather in my belly at the thought of facing August’s disapproval alone, but then I remind myself that I’m too grateful to be a coward today.

I school my expression into something light and pleasant as I walk the short hallway and prepare to see August again. The studio isn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but the rectangular building is well laid out. From what I’ve seen, August has two recording booths, a private restroom, an open lounge area loaded with instruments, and a desk that holds a soundboard filled with more gadgets, knobs, and buttons than I can name.

Even after I see the grimace August wears as he holds Phantom far away from his body, I keep my smile locked on tight.

“I can take him from you, sorry,” I say, relieving him of my cat while doing my best to ignore the current of electricity that skips up my spine when our fingers brush.

I twist away quickly and head to the sofa, where I give Phantom a single reassuring squeeze before tucking him safely inside his backpack. What I wouldn’t give for my own little bubble of safety to crawl inside when I need it most.

From behind me, I hear a throat clear and hope it’s Chip returning from his emergency phone call. I glance over my shoulder. No such luck.

“So, um,” August begins while scratching the back of his head. Golden strands of sun-bleached hair slip through his fingers and sweep the tips of his ears. “About your demo, it was good....” His long, awkward pause has me rotating in full to study him. “I mean, the voices you invented when you were reading were, uh, creative and...”

It would appear that while this guy might have the best beach hair I’ve ever seen on a human being, small talk is not his forte. Nor is acting. The least I can do is put him out of his misery.

“I really appreciate you opening up your studio so I could try something new—and for putting up with my cat.” I give him an apologetic shrug. “Sorry again about the miscommunication on Phantom. You can’t know how much I needed this experience today. So thank you for the opportunity.” I lift the backpack off the sofa and slide my arms through each strap before craning my neck to glance down the hall. Chip is still on the phone, and by the sound of it, he won’t be off any time soon. “I’d be grateful if you would tell Chip the same for me. He has my number if he wants to follow up.”

August’s storm-blue eyes scan my face in earnest. “I don’t think you should leave without talking to him.” August grips the back ofhis neck and blows out a hearty breath. “He’s better at this kind of thing.”

Better atwhatkind of thing?I wonder. Unless ... unless August knows something I don’t. Understanding dawns then. Perhaps August is so uncomfortable because he’s afraid to tell me the real reason Chip wants me to stick around. Perhaps August knows Chip doesn’t need to follow up with me because I’m not what he’s looking for after all.

My cheeks prickle with an all-too-familiar heat. If this guy only knew how many times I’ve been booed off stage, cussed out in parking lots, and ripped apart in online reviews, I’m certain he’d speak more freely. I’m well practiced in the art of rejection.

At the thought, a seedling of doubt begins to take root. What if the breakthrough I experienced today while reading is little more than a fluke? A first-timer’s high? Worse, what if I won’t be able to recreate it in another studio for a different publisher?

“Is something ... wrong?” August tilts his head to catch my eye. It’s only then I realize how long I’ve been silently staring at the closed door behind him.

When I shake my head a little too enthusiastically for a trained actress, his eyes narrow.

“No, I’m good, I was just pondering how trying new things can be compared to a ... a sports analogy.”

What am I even saying?

He glances behind him at the door, as if trying to connect the dots. But it’s actually the tiny print of a sports brand on the cuff of his light blue sleeve that did it. “Which analogy is that?”

I rack my brain for literally anything having to do with a sport. “The one about how it’s better to play the game and strike out than to never have played the game at all.” I have no clue where this comes from or if it’s even a real saying, but I do my best to play it off before I edge closer to the exit.

“That’s love.”

My hand freezes partway to the doorknob. “What’s love?”

“The saying goes, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’”

My smile slips as his words circle my head with an entirely new meaning. Is that how I feel about theater after losing it the way I did? Would I choose to do it all over again now that I know the outcome of my stage dreams? Before I can form an answer in my head, a rush of honesty escapes me. “I’m not sure if I believe that.”

“I’m not sure if I do, either.”

Neither of us break eye contact for what feels like a thousand heartbeats. Surprisingly, August is the one to speak next. “I don’t really feel qualified to give you feedback, as this isn’t my area of expertise.”

I begin to shake my head, to tell him I don’t require feedback, when he cuts me off.

“I’ve never cared much for fiction, but that—what you did back there—made me want to keep listening.” I watch the way his neck thickens when he swallows. “I’m not sure how you managed to bring those characters to life in just over twelve minutes, but that’s what you did. You made them real, which made the story real. And while I can’t speak for Chip, I think your talent is ... something special.”

My jaw actually unhinges, and it’s all I can do to keep from gawking.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

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