Page 70 of Keep Me Close

She blinks. “What?”

“You go for it,” I say simply. “Not the show or whatever your mom thinks you should do.” I tip my head toward her. “But what you actually want.”

She stares, as if waiting for me to list all the reasons it won’t work.

When I remain silent, she says, “I don’t even know if I’ll get the part.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She frowns. “Of course it does.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Getting the part isn’t the point. Going after it is. Doing something because you care about it, and taking the chance to make your dream a reality… that’s what matters.”

A dozen emotions flicker across her face. It’s like she’s trying to decide whether I actually mean it or if I’m just saying the right thing to sound supportive.

“Whatever happens,” I add, my voice lower now, “I’ll be here for you.”

Her breath catches, and the surprise on her expression hits like a gut punch. I get the feeling she’s not used to hearing that. It makes me wonder if the support she’s gotten in the past came with strings attached. Conditions. Expectations. Trade-offs.

What Cheyenne needs right now is to get out of her head. Away from the looming specter of her mom, the show, and everything trying to drag her back into a life she’s no longer sure she wants.

And I know exactly where she can do that.

I straighten and grab my coffee. “Finish your French toast, Hollywood.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going on a little field trip.”

Her head tilts. “We are?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to tell me where?”

I take a sip of my coffee, one side of my mouth hitching. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

Her eyes narrow. “Knox.”

“Get dressed,” I say, already heading toward the hallway. “And wear comfortable shoes.”

A laugh slips out of her, and just like that, some of the heaviness hanging in the air disappears.

“You’re really not going to give me a hint?”

I glance back, holding her gaze long enough to see some of the tension in her shoulders ease.

“It’s where I go when I want to be alone,” I admit. “Or when I need to think.”

The truth of that comment lands hard, because this isn’t a place I bring people.

And that includes women.

Especially one I’m trying not to fall for and failing miserably at.

Her expression softens, as if she understands exactly what I’m saying even though I haven’t spelled it out.

“All right, McNichols. Consider me intrigued.”