Page 121 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Pushing onto his knees, he grabs my ankles. “No, that’s not—god, I’m fucking this all up. I’m not saying that. I care for you so much, but I’m . . . I’ve sacrificed so much so I could get here, and no matter what I feel for you, I can’t risk losing it.”

“How could being with me put all of this at risk?” I ask through trembling lips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been working for this. Years. Hell, my whole goddamn life! And no one was going to do it for me. I had to do everything. I made it happen when everyone else thought I would fail, and I can’t let my feelings for you get in the way of all that.”

“But I’m part of it,” I say. “You told me yourself. You showed me with that box of things you keep to prove to yourself you’ve made it. I’m entwined in all of it.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Unless you didn’t actually mean any of that.”

“No, Izzy—”

But I push him off me and jump out of bed, the throbbing in my hand making a swift comeback. “You unimaginable asshole. I’m going to get in your way?” I shout. “If you really think that, you’re a fucking idiot.”

His face crumples, but I’m so hurt by his words that I’m about to confess everything. He shakes his head and moves towards me but I back away. “Izzy, that’s not what I mean. I know you’ve done things to help with your articles, but there are other things. Things that I need to do. Things I wrote down on a—”

“On a list?” I interrupt.

Sitting back on his heels he narrows his eyes. “What—”

“Your list of things you wanted to do?” I grab my purse and dig around until I find the crumpled up piece of paper. I throw it down on the bed in front of him. “You left it on the table in Vegas.”

I’m shaking and sweating, the rage seemingly needing to work its way out as I watch him gingerly pick up the paper.

“You’ve had this the whole time?” he asks.

“Yes! And how many of those things have happened for you since then, huh?”

He looks down at the paper list, his eyes traveling down then snapping up to mine.

“That’s right!” I shout, tears pouring down my face now. “Your first autograph? Me. Your band’s name on the marquee? I arranged that.”

“Trying new foods . . . You—”

“Me!”

The next thing I know, he’s standing in front of me, the paper crumpled in his hand. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“So you did this . . . why?” he asks. “As an angle for your article?”

“Oh, fuck you, Dave!” I spit. “How can you say that to me?”

“If not for the article, then why?” he shouts.

“Because I’m in love with you!”

There’s silence as we both stand staring at each other, panting—the gravity of what I just said hitting me like falling down a flight of endless stairs. Covering my mouth with my hands, I try to take it back. Maybe if I can swallow the words, he won’t have heard them. But his wide eyes prove to me that no matter what I do now, I can’t take it back.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, collecting my things and quickly slipping my shoes on. I need to get the hell out of here.

My fingers are on the handle when his warm hand wraps around my wrist. “Izzy,” he pleads, but I can’t look at him.

“Just let me go, Dave. Please.”

He doesn’t let go right away. In fact, he seems to grip me tighter for a moment before finally releasing me. I open the door and, spying a light on in the bus in the parking lot, I head for it, hoping Barney won’t mind if I sleep inside for the night.

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