Page 73 of Sing Your Secrets
twenty-two
Reese
I’m in such a blissful mood with everything coming together with Miles and my dad that I’m humming to myself. I’m so lost in my thoughts as I fish for my keys, that I almost don’t notice the only other man sitting in the resident’s lounge.
“Reese.”
One word…
My name on his lips…
That’s all it takes to make the hair on the back of my neck rise angrily, and a knot to instantly form in my empty stomach. I take a step back and spin slowly in front of the elevators in my building to see him holding a thick bouquet of flowers in one hand, his other hand up in a gesture of surrender.
Holy shit.
“Petey.” I clear my throat loudly, trying to cover the furious thud in my chest. I’m not sure if the waves of nausea ache are nerves, anger…exhilaration. Perhaps it’s a combination of all three.
“Hey,” he says, his light eyes looking wet, like he’s about to cry. I can’t help but stare. I’ll admit—Petey’s dark skin contrasting with his extremely light honey-brown eyes is one of the first reasons I noticed him all those years ago. His eyes are such a peculiar color. You stare into them trying to figure out the odd hue and before you know it—bam. It’s too late. You’re in his trap…you’re in love. “Why are you down here?”
He looks around. “You mean in the lobby?”
“Yeah. You obviously know my apartment number.” I can’t believe he’d risk someone seeing him in the lobby. It’d take one tweet and then he’d instantly be in a swarm of gropey fangirls and autograph requests.
“I didn’t want to ambush you.” He takes a step forward. “If you want me to go, I’ll go right now.”
I should tell him to go, but I’m having trouble breathing at the moment. Petey’s a memory from the most beautiful, yet ugliest moment of my life. And here he is…right in front of me…dredging up the past. Wearing dark wash jeans and a simple logo-free T-shirt, he looks so normal.
I’m silent, frozen in place. When I don’t respond, he continues. “You blocked me from everything. I had no way of talking to you.”
“Paints a pretty clear picture, right?” There it is. I was caught off guard, but the snarky girl in me is back—and she’s got some shit to say.
“I didn’t know how to reach out to you. I texted you. I even created a fake account to message you on Instagram. I sent flowers. I…uh…”
“It’s been three years, Petey. Three whole years to come up with something a little more impressive than DMs and calling in flowers from across the country.”
He shrugs and a puff of his cologne dances in the space between us. Dammit, I still love that smell. His signature cologne. It sold like fucking hotcakes. They couldn’t keep it in stock. “I’ve been on tour.”
I nod and for a moment he looks relieved, like I’m actually about to let him off the hook. A wrong assumption.
“My dog ate my homework. I lost your number. My great aunt Maureen on my father’s side, who I never met, died and I’m really struggling to get through it.”
His dark brows cinch in confusion. “What?”
“Oh, sorry,” I snark, “I thought we were listing off bullshit excuses.”
“Okay.” He ducks his head and lightly laughs. “I deserve that. Whatever you need to get off your chest, I promise you, I’ll listen. I’ll take it all. No more excuses, just apologies.”
I so badly want to ignore the sincerity in his expression. I used to have dreams about this moment—the day Petey would come groveling back. But right now, it seems like more of a nightmare. He looks sad.
Why do I still worry when he looks sad?
It’s not healthy. We shouldn’t be near each other.
“Where’s your little guard dog?” I pretend to look around the lobby. “Or is he herding up the groupies?” I can’t remember the last time I saw Petey without his fast-talking manager, Parker. He was always so perky and yappy, like a Chihuahua puppy. If I miss anything about Atlanta, it’s Parker.
“He died.”
Inhaling sharply, my legs go rigid and my mouth instantly dries. I try to speak but no words come out. I have to clear my throat and try again. “What?”