Page 99 of Almost Perfect
“Wow,” he said quietly as we entered.
“It’s a gorgeous room, isn’t it?” Not the penthouse, since someone else had booked that long ago, but this suite was opulent and had a view for miles in the daytime. The concierge had apologized for the city view, but I loved seeing Silverton and then out toward the horizon where the sun set each day.
“So…” I said, setting down my guitar and completely unsure of how to proceed. The euphoria and shuddery pulse of adrenaline still coursed through me, but the stark memories of last night with him had managed to break through.
“I want you, Calla. Sorry to be so blunt, but I should’ve said it before. I should’ve gone with you to LA. I should’ve fought for you.Withyou. I should’ve done so many things differently, and I couldn’t let this be one of them. I don’t know exactly how we could make it work, but I want to have my say and that’s this.” He took my hand and pressed it to his heart, holding it there with his own. “I love you, Callaway. I’m a damned fool for not saying so sooner. I realize that might not change things for you, but for me, it does. It means I want to figure this out, if any part of you is willing.”
His words were too perfect. Too clear. No games. No ultimatums. No anger or resentment at me. Just honest and so beautiful, the tears hit before I could say a word.
I’d never wanted anything more. After tonight, singing my owns songs had felt like an inevitability kicked off by so many things over the years. But inthismoment, I couldn’t escape that same feeling. Like this was where we were meant to end up, having this conversation, making a new plan.
Walking away held no peace. I’d agonized every mile down the road Quinn had driven from his house this morning and had hated even that much distance. But this, in the middle of the mess, felt better than anything had since the last time we’d been together.
His expression changed immediately, pleading entering his eyes as he gripped both of my arms gently but firm. “Honey, please, say something.”
Inhaling slowly and working to gain composure so I could speak, resolve filled me. I’d sung my own songs tonight, something I’d wanted for years—more than a decade. And while I didn’t know if the social media gods would approve or anything like that, I knew the satisfaction it gave me. It hadn’t burned me or hurt me—it’d freed me.
Wanting something didn’t have to be a curse. Candy had wanted love and she’d taken the song lyrics to heart and looked in all the wrong places. We’d made choices together and separately that led to some amazing triumphs and some terrible lows. But the desire for success wasn’t inherently bad—it hadn’t cursed us. It hadn’t ruined everything.
And wanting Wyatt wasn’t the catalyst for the madness of the last week. Rad Bickman had made his choices and attempted to tear me down because ofhisissues. It wasn’t some cosmic bad-luck curse because I was doomed to be punished anytime I wanted something.
The thought hit like lightning.
Something about this mountain air, physically occupying space in Silverton, changed the way I thought. Or more specifically, just being here for the time I had wrought a change inme.I didn’t know how my record company would respond, but I had the guts to push against them. To force their hands, even, and put out this album the way I wanted or get them to drop me.
And if I could take that approach with my career, then I could take a different tack with the rest of my life too. I could be Calla and Mayhem. I could have musicandplay my own songs. I could have my lifeandbe with Wyatt.
Emotion clogged my throat, and I sucked in a breath, drawing strength from the man in front of me and the mountains far underfoot.
So I could want Wyatt. I could admit it and tell him and we could have a life together.
FORTY-FOUR
Wyatt
Tears tracked down her cheeks, and the hope I’d had for this going the best possible way withered. That energy between us in the elevator, the near kiss, it’d all made me think maybe this could work.
But now, tears.
“Please, Calla.”
She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I hate crying, and it’s all I do with you.”
She pulled me tight to her and held on, hugging me close.
She wouldn’t do that if things between us were too irrevocably broken, would she? Though it wasn’t like we’d had an awful fight. We’d parted ways at an impasse.
I was here to pass the damn impasse, and I hoped she was too.
“Those words, Wyatt. That’s just…”
“Unexpected?” I tried.
She leaned back to look at me. “Better than I could’ve dreamed. I love you, too.”
Our eyes locked, and that familiar, delicious pull between us tugged me forward—or maybe that was her. Our lips touched, then pressed. Relief, then thrill, raced through me.
She pulled back. “I don’t know what to do.”
