Page 77 of The Love Chase
She walked back into the kitchen, throwing the fridge door open before tearing into a bag of cheese.
I followed her. “Wait, please.”
She stopped but kept her gaze on the ground, fingers full of cheese. I hated that she wouldn’t look at me.
“It’s…it’s really important that I’m there. I…I won’t be able to get back in time for the convention.”
Emma nodded, still avoiding looking at me.
“I’m sorry, Em. I was looking forward to going with you.”
Finally, she looked at me, and my heart cracked in my chest at the shimmer in her eyes. The light that had been shining in them just minutes ago was gone.
“I understand. You’re Liam Walker, after all. Right?” She patted my shoulder and began walking away. “I hope your gigs go well. I’ll see you when you get home.”
Before I could utter another word, she disappeared into the garage, taking the bag of cheese and my heart with her. As I stood there for several minutes, listening to the sound of her truck start and leave the garage, I warred with myself.
Music was everything I had ever wanted. These types of gigs were what I lived for, worked for.
But lately it all had started to feel so much less important. I still loved being a country singer, but the joy I had once felt paled in comparison to the joy I’d felt here with Emma.
What does that even mean?
I stared at the door for far too long, debating the consequences of saying screw it and going after Emma.
But, in the end, my inner coward was too much to fight against, and I hurried to change into my standard gig attire, left the townhouse, and headed to the airport.
A fierce ache settled in my gut as I drove, unable to get the look of Emma’s crestfallen face out of my mind.
As I parked at the airport and climbed into the private jet that Bridget had sent, I couldn’t help but think…
What have I done?
Liam
The gig at The Phoenix’s Wing was probably the roughest I’d ever played.
As were the gigs at Luna’s Nest, Pub de la Raven, and The Songbird. Looking back on it later, I wondered why all the venues had bird-related names.
It wasn’t that I did poorly necessarily—though Bridget would likely disagree—it was more that I just couldn’t get into it. It was routine, a job, going through the motions, but beneath it all, that spark was missing.
The spark I had rediscovered by being back home in Meridel with Emma.
And with that came another realization:
I missed her.
Way more than I ever had before. Moving to California two years ago had been hard, but I had been able to shut out the ache of missing my best friend because of my excitement. But now…now it all felt meaningless when she wasn’t here with me.
Saturday morning, I woke up feeling like I had a wagonload of bricks sitting on my chest. It was the day of the convention. The day I should’ve been home, getting ready to go look at nerdy weather things with Emma.
But instead, I was here, in LA, standing in the kitchen of my apartment, waiting for Emma to appear somehow so we could eat breakfast and have coffee together like we’d done almost every morning since getting married. I hadn’t realized how used to that—to her—I’d become.
But she wasn’t here. No one was.
It was the same apartment I’d stayed in the past two years, but it felt all wrong now. The red brick walls, exposed ceiling, and gobs of natural light, all of which used to bring me so much joy, now felt empty. What were fame and success and money when the person who made it all mean something wasn’t there?
And if I was truly honest with myself, it all meant nothing without Emma by my side. What was the point of accomplishing your dreams when there was no one to share them with?