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Luke stops next to me, close enough that his arm presses against mine. He frowns at Blake.
Blake glares at him. “I see you’re fucking a new musician now. Do I have to be on your roster to get a spot in your bed?”
Luke takes a menacing step toward him.
I stop him with a hand on his arm, the limb tense under my fingers. “It’s time for you to leave, Blake.”
Blake glares at Luke and the moment stretches, coated in hostility.
“Please leave.”
Blake turns, gets back in his car, and a relieved gust of air whooshes out of me.
He takes his sweet time, but once his car has disappeared down the drive, I turn toward Luke.
His arms are open and waiting.
I step into him, snuggling my face into his neck so I can breathe in his bright, clean scent. Relief sweeps through me. He’s like a heavy blanket on a cold, blustery day. He brushes a kiss across my head, resting his cheek on my hair. The tension from the encounter with Blake crumbles in the face of Luke’s easy affection.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a minute has passed.
I nod and squeeze him tighter.
He blows out an exasperated breath. “Was he ever aggressive with you like that before?”
“No. He’s never been like that. Even when I rejected his advances before he would only increase the charm, he would never . . . but I guess once I said yes, he thought that acceptance was open forever.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No, it’s not. He wasn’t wrong, though.”
“About what?”
“About me.” I swallow past a lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat. “Sleeping with musicians.”
He leans back to meet my eyes. “It’s not the same between us.”
I can’t hold his searching stare. I can’t handle the vulnerability stamped across his face.
Whatever he reads in my expression makes him blanch. “It’s not the same, Mindy, right?”
“No, I mean, yes, you’re right.” He is right. But how will this ever work out between us? Misery engulfs me, threatening to drag me under. How can we be together without it affecting the rest of our lives? Our work is now tied up together, our mutual dreams and goals, and if people find out—“Oh, no, the kids!”
He blinks. “What kids?”
I cover my face with my hands. “Blake showed up right after the bus got here. All the kids took photos of Blake . . . and of me getting into his car.” I groan. “Finley took their phones, but it’s a matter of time before it leaks to the press and then who knows what they’ll say now.”
His hands cover mine, gently removing them from my face. He tips my right hand over and kisses my palm. “We’ll get through this.”
Despair clogs my throat. “None of this is fair to you.”
“I’m not worried about me.”
I set my jaw. “I am.”
“Well, don’t be.” He kisses my other palm.
I clench my hands into fists, staring down at our joined hands. “It’s literally my job to worry about you.”
