My heart was thudding in my ears. “Why not?”
“Because of you,” Theo said. “You sang, Kacey. And that was it.”
“That was it…” I sank back in my seat. “Why…why didn’t you tell me?”
He glanced at me sideways. “Tell you when? When you were with my brother?”
“No,”I shook my head. “After. Any time after…”
“I couldn’t. I can’t. It’s not up to me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He started to answer but we’d arrived at McCarran. There was no time for Theo to park. He screeched his truck into the departing flights drop off and jogged around to my side to help me with my luggage.
On the sidewalk, he pulled me into the strong circle of his arms.
“What do we do? What happens next?” I said into his chest.
“You get on that plane. You take the next step. Sign a contract, make a shit-ton of money.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
He sighed, shook his head. “You have to get on that plane and make that meeting, Kace. You have to. I can’t let you lose this opportunity.”
“What about us? You and me?”
You and me. Kacey and Theo.
I swallowed hard. A heavy swamp of emotion suddenly welled in my chest at those words; a deep warmth that spread out from my heart and a million times more potent than the physical pleasure Theo and I had created.
“Please, Kace.” Theo said. “You have five minutes.” He pulled me to him in a swift, strong embrace. “Get back safe, and call me tomorrow after your meeting. Let me know how it went.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll go from there.”
Go where?I wanted to ask. He was in Vegas, I was in New Orleans, and in between us lay not just fifteen hundred miles, but the judgment of our friends and family who didn’t want to see Theo and Kacey, but Kacey and Jonah.
Theo pulled away to kiss my mouth—a soft, deep kiss—and then let me go, and the truth I’d been waiting to feel finally rose from the quagmire of emotions.
I’m tired of saying goodbye.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
It was after hours. Vegas Ink was dark. I sat at my station, rolling a little bottle of blue ink over my knuckles.Inkedmagazine lay open on my reclining tattoo chair.
The story on me and my unfinished tattoo series was major. Not the cover story but the second feature. Two and a half pages of text about me and my job at Vegas Ink. Plus three glossy photos of the new tattoos, Edgar and two other clients providing my canvases.
The article had spurred a ton of new business. I had clients booked solid every day. Good money, but I was exhausted.
The ink bottle rolled over my knuckles, under my palm, across my knuckles again.
Weeks had passed since I’d seen Kacey. She’d made her flight, met the execs at Sony, and four days later, they flew her and the Olsens to Los Angeles to sign a contract. Then to New York to do a photo shoot forSpin. Then back to L.A. to discuss a tour she wasn’t sure she wanted to take. Then the holidays were upon us, and she stayed in New Orleans, no doubt feeling unwelcome at my parents’ house now.
Time spun away from us. We were both busy, both tired. Our phone conversations were shorter, less frequent.
