Page 70 of Love Scenes

“I like you so much,” I blurt out. It shocks not only Joe, but me. I power through, hoping that maybe this will show him exactly how to be brave when bile is building in the back of your throat. “Don’t tell anyone inside. You’re officially number one on my best friend list.”

His hands are still shaking, but a hint of personality returns to his face. “Number one? Can I get that in writing?”

He’s attempted a joke, which means there is still hope. “Only if you come sing with me,” I say, pulling him up to stand with me.

“Okay,” he says weakly.

With my hand wrapped tight around his, I open the door and march us through the entire ballroom. There’s no time to worry about this gesture or how people will receive it. If I let him go, he will leave. His grip is fixed on mine like he’s hanging from a cliff.

We head around to the back of the stage, where the rest of our band waits for us impatiently.

“You scared us,” Sarai tells me. “We thought you left.”

“Nope. We’re here. But I have some bad news. We don’t have a drummer.” There’s a collective gasp of horror, everyone surely remembering our one and only rehearsal. “It’s okay. I have an idea.”

Before I can elaborate, Glori begins announcing us one by one, starting with Garrett. He has no choice but to leave this conversation hanging and round the corner with a wave, disappearing from sight. Emmy follows. From where Sarai, Joe, and Iwait, we can hear the two of them plugging in onstage, little guitar licks and bass strums to check the volume levels.

Glori calls up Sarai. She smiles at me, then jogs off around the corner, shaking her tambourine the whole way. “Hope your idea is good!” she calls out as she goes.

It’s only Joe and me now.

Glori calls his name and he doesn’t move. He’s still holding my hand, tighter yet, a new wave of panic all over his face.

“Sloane,” he says, deadly serious. “I really don’t think I can go out there.”

I figured I was on borrowed time, but I thought I’d be able to at least get him onto the stage with me. Finding a more permanent solution will be difficult to do with roughly fifteen seconds to spare.

“Normally, I’d have a good, stiff drink,” he explains. “Or hell, in my twenties, even a bump or two.”

“We’redefinitelynot gonna do any of that.”

“I know.” He winces. “Fuck. I’m scared outta my mind.”

I stroke his cheek with my free hand, praying I won’t need to find a bucket for him. “Close your eyes.”

Glori’s calling Joe’s name again, this time a little more sternly.

“Don’t worry about that. Close your eyes.”

He does, probably thinking I’m about to do some kind of visualization exercise with him. Maybe I should. I don’t know what to tell him to see, though. This is so far out of my wheelhouse.

“My favorite thing about you is your ability to change,” I start, improvising without a destination in sight, letting out an anxious breath of my own. “You’ve shown me over and over that you are more than willing to become someone better. I’m not saying you can justdecideto not have stage fright, but I know from experience that you are the best person in the entire world at wingingthings. If this situation was reversed, you’d have figured out a way to get me up there that I can’t even imagine right now because I don’t have that gift, and that’s why we’re standing here doing this in the first place.”

He nearly laughs.

Good.

“Tyler says I say what I mean and I don’t feel bad about it, but I don’t want to just say the first thing that comes to my mind,” I tell him. “I want to say therightthing to you. Because when I’ve been so scared on set these last few weeks, you’ve been the one who makes me feel safe enough to try anyways. I watch you fail and pick yourself up and keep going until you get it right, and you do all of that with a smile—which is a fucking great smile, by the way—and it’s everything to me. You are absolutely everything to me right now, Joseph Donovan.”

He opens his eyes to contemplate me. His lips are pursed, and his breaths are coming out in short puffs, but he’s looking at me the same way he holds my hand. Like he’s still dangling off a cliff, and I am the only person in the world who knows how to save him.

I think of all those times on set where I was his obstacle. How scared I made him. And how hard it has to be for him to put all his faith into me in this moment. How brave it is for him to show me that he’s terrified.

“I’m going to be honest,” I continue. “I am really, really scared right now too. But I know if I get to go up on that stage with you, it won’t be so bad. Because I will look over at you, and you will already be looking at me. And you will somehow make me forget that I really hate to sing. Like fully detest it. Like ‘refused to do drunken karaoke at my brother’s twenty-first birthday’ level of hate.”

He bounces from foot to foot. Either this is almost working or he’s about to sprint to the nearest trash can.

“To go up and completely bomb would be mortifying,” I admit. “If we do it together, somehow I know it will be okay. Because it’s you. And it’s me. And we are pretty damn good at making the most of bad situations together. So please, please come with me. If you suck, I suck. I promise.”