Page 62 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“But why?”
“We’ve had a fun week—no regrets—but I don’t think this can be anything more.”
His phone pings in his pocket. He looks at me, torn.
“Take it,” I say.
He reads the text. “Look, I have to go now. Leaving it like this is killing me. Please, I’ll call you tonight. Once I’ve sorted out whatever mess Briar’s in.”
“Better you don’t,” I say, turning to lay my head across Solly so Teddy can’t see the tears.
On my way back to the house, a motorbike blares behind me. It skids to a halt; the rain-speckled visor lifts. Teddy’s eyes are hollow, searching mine. Rivers of icy water trail down my face. His mouth twists; no words come out.
“Teddy, you won’t feel the space for long—someone who’s ready will find you.” The truth hurts. Rain beads on his lashes; he doesn’t shake it off. “Teddy, it’s over,” I say gently, although the words twist under my ribs.
“It might be for you,” he answers softly. The visor snaps shut; he crouches low, and the bike rockets down the drive, engine howling into the rain.
Over breakfast, everyone is laughing, still riding the post-wedding high.
“Shame Teddy had to leave early,” Garrett says. “But when family calls…hey, you’ve got to go.”
The others murmur agreement. I manage an empathetic smile.
Out front, a driver helps Christian load suitcases into an idling Range Rover. There are hugs, kisses, well-wishes, then he and Haley climb into the back seat—Heathrow next, ten days in the Maldives after that.
Back in my room, I pack slowly. Leaving means signing off on a week of memories: the crazy Christmas competition—my first loss that felt like a win—the music, the magic of singing with Teddy. He’s the threadrunning through every moment, the one I’ve just severed. Maybe that’s self-preservation; right now it’s just raw.
Soft footsteps sound in the hallway, and Sam appears in my doorway.
“So, want to tell me about it, Blue Barbie?”
“Nothing you can mend, Ninja Nurse.”
Sam’s gaze is full of sympathy I don’t deserve. On the first night I knew this would happen—Teddy back to his life, me to mine—so why does it ache so much?
“No, but you can still tell me,” she says.
I’ve never been as open with Sam as with Haley; we’re both too alike—too practical. Haley’s the one we go to for warm fuzzies. But today Sam just folds me into a hug and lets me talk. When she pulls back, she meets my eyes.
“Are you sure he can’t give you what you need?”
“He could. I don’t doubt him.”
“Then what is it?”
“The queue,” I say. “And sure, Bianca, Tilly, Lola—that was just background chatter. But Kelsey’s ‘vacancy to fill’? It made me feel like I might have the lead role while an overkeen understudy waited in the wings, willing me to stumble. I trust him. I’m just not sure I won’t panic and end it early. Which is exactly what I’ve just done.”
Sam’s mouth tightens. “Okay. Did he lie to you?”
“No.”
“Hide anything?”
“No.” I exhale. “It’s not him. It’s me. When I saw that Kelsey text…it made me feel like one slip and I’d be replaced.”
“Because of Pierre,” she says, notasking.
“Because of Pierre,” I nod. “God, I hate him. How long until his shit stops ruining my life?”
