Page 49 of Almost Perfect
Jenna nodded once and pointed at me through the screen. “Yes. Good. I’ve been waiting for you to come around to that.”
“I know. I haven’t been ready for it, but I think I’m there.”
She’d been pushing for me to do an interview and dispel the rumors about my role in Candy’s death and anything else someone wanted to ask short of details about me and Bri. But I hadn’t been in the mindset to put myself out into the world again—after two failed albums and increasingly vitriolic responses to my every move, I just didn’t have it in me.
But I did now. This time away had begun to bolster the part of me that knew who I was. I couldn’t have told someone who that was, exactly, but I felt her rematerializing. Between the writing, Jenna’s encouragement, and even talking to Quinn, I was remembering there was more to Miss Mayhem than the headlines and failures.
And maybe, most importantly, there was more tome. I’d spent enough time wandering around feeling like I was watching someone live out this weird, alternate universe version of my life where Candy had died and I’d lost any musical sense or say, but the last few weeks had felt like I’d stepped back inside myself.
“I’m proud of you. When are you thinking?”
“Maybe a few weeks. After I’m back.” I didn’t want to put a date on it since that would mean nailing down exactly when I’d leave here. Technically, I had a week left. But Warrick had said the place was mine, so I could extend again.
“Whenever you do it, it’ll be great. It’s been too long since people were reminded there’s a person inside those fabulous costumes. And I know you know, but you don’t want this to spiral any more than it has. It’s almost like you being gone has created this feeding frenzy of information for where you are and what you’re doing.”
This time, I did rub my fingers over my forehead. The mask tugged at my skin, and my whole body felt claustrophobic. Time for it to come off. “Yeah. I was hoping out of sight, out of mind. But I’ll be back soon, and I’ll sit down with Danita Carl and hopefully being direct will make a difference.”
I had my doubts, and I had heaps of dread, but between Rad hounding me to contact him, Kristoffer fending off requests for interviews, and apparently continued rumors about where I was and what I was doing, I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
“All right. That’s enough shop talk. Time for us to get these masks off before they eat our skin away and really give them something to gossip about.” Her eyes flared and she made a terrible, brutally unflattering sad face that cracked her mask and made pieces fall off.
I laughed, right on cue. “Thank goodness. I was about to claw this thing off my face. I love you. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for the spa night.”
Her warm smile made me miss her even more.
“I love you, my friend. You’re an amazing woman, and I’m still in camp ‘get thee some cowboy’ should the occasion arise.” She wiggled her invisible brows and winked.
I rolled my eyes so she could see, then waved and we both hung up.
In the quiet of the living room, the fire flickered in front of me for a moment before I heaved myself to my feet and padded to the bathroom to rinse off the mask. Washing away the thick substance relieved a small bit of tension in me, but staring back at my pink, clean face, I couldn’t deny feeling raw—far more than my skin was.
Like a fool, I’d gotten my hopes up about Wyatt. Despite everything in me warning me not to, I’d thought maybe we were getting close. Not just to something physical, but in other ways too. At this point, he knew so much about me—superficial things like my favorite food and color and travel destination, and deeply personal ones like my feelings for Candy.
And I liked so, so much about him. I liked that he was so caring toward his mother and clearly adored his little brother. I liked how he cooked, and the way he flipped the kitchen towel over his shoulder after he’d wiped his hands on it. I liked that he was stubborn enough to insist on his opinion, but humble enough to let me have my own and take in my perspective.
And yeah. I liked everything about how he looked. His height and his broad shoulders and those ice-blue eyes that turned gray when the sky did. And his hands. And his voice, like the perfect combination of bass notes and grit.
I didn’t know how to squash that hope, but I’d need to so I could enjoy my last week here. Because it needed to be my last, even if it did feel like I’d just barely found my place.
TWENTY
Wyatt
Mom opened the door wide and pulled me into a hug. Her hand patted my head and lower back, her movements imbued with as much comfort as possible.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly. When she leaned away to look me over, concern lined her brow.
“Why are you acting so worried about me?”
She seemed truly upset, but clearlyfor me. Her sweet, small smile sent a spike of alarm spiraling up my spine.
“Come on in, and let’s sit and have a chat. I’m glad you’re here.” She shoved the door shut behind me and made her way to the teapot on her stove.
“I am too,” I said, though I’d started doubting. Because something was going on here, and it wasn’t based on my text to her hours ago that asked if I could swing by this afternoon.
She poured steaming water over two teabags in the little mugs she’d had my entire life. Flowery designs on a white background and vines snaking over the handles. They gave me this certain feeling of safety despite some of the hardest conversations I’d ever had took place holding one of these.
“So.” She blew into her mug as she set one in front of me and took a seat at the six-seater table she’d placed in her breakfast nook.
