Page 90 of Tripped Up

The group decides on another date to meet up and a book to discuss. It’s a title I’ve read before, a book I thoroughly enjoyed. The discussion is sure to be a good one.

Maybe eventually, I’ll be comfortable inviting people into my life for real. I’ve missed grabbing dinner with friends or having them over for a movie night. I’ve missed socializing for fun and not for networking or charming patrons. I’ve missed feeling like me.

Katrina squeezes my arm before she heads off, and as I drive across town to the rehearsal studio, there’s a lightness in my chest. I hadn’t noticed how heavy that weight was until it was lifted off.

Anastasia is already in her chair by the time I arrive.

“I just had coffee with your partner,” I tell her as I take out my violin.

“Oh?” She doesn’t seem surprised. “Katrina mentioned she was going to a meetup.”

“It was good to see her. Maybe…” I swallow my fear. I can do this. “Maybe we can go for dinner. The four of us.”

My colleague smiles. “So things are going well with the hockey player?”

Dipping my head, I can’t hide my smile at the thought of Wyatt Whitney and his stupid, gorgeous face. He makes me so freaking happy. How did I think, even for a minute, I wasn’t in love with him?

“Really well.”

“In that case, we’d love to,” Anastasia says. “We can work out a date after rehearsal.”

The conductor leads us through the warm-ups and then the pieces on our docket. The session is smooth, although a tuba player has some difficulty. Not the tuba player who was asked to leave the symphony a few weeks ago—it was his replacement.

I’m finally part of the group for real. After rehearsal, two of the clarinetists and a flutist invite Anastasia and me for dinner before our performance, along with one of the French horns and a saxophonist.

It’s a lighthearted group that gathers at the Italian restaurant two blocks away from the studio. I’ve had conversations with most of the gang over the last few weeks. They’ve all been excessively welcoming.

I might have doubted it before, but I’m certain now this is where I’m meant to be.

After our performance, I’m riding an adrenaline high like none other. Wyatt went to O’Malley’s with the guys but heads home at the same time I do, meeting me in the garage under my apartment.

He kisses me like it’s been thirteen years since he last saw me, not thirteen hours. I burrow into him, drawing as much comfort as I can.

When he pulls back, he takes my hand in his and leads me to the elevator bank.

“How was the performance? Everything went well?”

“It was great.” My words come out awkward, cold. Forced.

Wyatt hums as we ride up to the apartment. Once we’re inside, shoes kicked off, he turns to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something is wrong?” My voice rises into a squeak.

He points at me. “Something’s freaking you out. Is it something I said? Am I too much?”

My heart breaks at the pain on his face. He thinks he did something wrong, but he did everything exactly right. He’s perfect.

“I—” The words get stuck.

“Whatever it is, we can talk through it. We can fix it,” he says, taking my hand. “Just talk to me.”

“I lied.”

Slowly, he blinks at me. “You lied?”

“I lied. When you told me you loved me…”