Every word he spoke made my heart race faster.
“You already have everything you could possibly want from this career, Mia — money, fame, awards. You wouldn’t be broke and on the street. You wouldn’t all of a sudden stop being booked for shows. Even if your tour didn’t sell out, it would still sell. You would still be desired by millions of fans worldwide. But you know that already. And you know what else? I think you also know you’re not scared of people not liking the album or agreeing with thatchotzbrocke, Garrett Orange. Not really, anyway.”
Aleks inched closer, sliding his arm along the railing until our chests nearly brushed. He ran his fingertips up my arm, over my shoulder, along the slope of my neck until he was sweeping my hair back and behind one ear, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.
“You’re scared because this album is real, Mia. It’s you.”
My eyes instantly watered, a strangled breath escaping my parted lips.
“I heard it in just the first few tracks. I heard you at seventeen, and at twenty-one, and at twenty-six. I heard you breaking, heard you healing, heard you finding a new way. You’re not excited tonight because this wasn’t an album written for fans or for a label. This was an album written for you. And there’s nothing more terrifying than showing someone your true self like that, let alone showing the entire world.”
Silent tears built in my eyes and slipped hot and heavy down each cheek. Aleks caught one with his thumb, and I leaned into his palm, hanging onto his every word. It was like being back in my childhood home in Chicago, the two of us up way past our bedtime confessing our biggest fears to one another.
He knew mine so intimately now that I didn’t even have to voice them — even with years between us, he still knew.
“You should be scared. But you should also be proud, Mia. So fucking proud. Because you fuckingdid that.You put your everything into this. It isn’t just another cog in the wheel full of pop hits. It’s art —yourart.
“And I can tell you right fucking now that yeah, some people are going to hate it. Some people are going to call it shit. Butmorepeople are going to love it, and connect with it, and play it on repeat, and see a little of themselves in every song. Because you didn’t hold back. You let yourself be raw and honest and true. And there’s nothing better than music that hits like that.”
“How can you be so sure?” I croaked.
At that, the corner of his mouth tilted up. His eyes flicked between mine for a long moment, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing hard.
“Because I felt it,” he admitted softly.
My heart was in a vise grip in my chest, struggling to beat as I read into those words. I wondered if he really did feel it. I wondered if he knew that so much of the music on this album was inspired by thingshehad made me feel.
Did he know that track two was about how I longed for him when I was with my first real boyfriend, how I wondered how Aleks would do it all differently if it were him as my man?
Did he know that tracks six and seven explored how angry I was with him for rejecting me, how I somewhat blamed him for my string of terrible boyfriends before I realized that it was me self-sabotaging all along?
Did he know the final track, titled “Windows,” was about how I couldn’t leave my doors open for him forever, but that I’d never be able to shut my window because I would always be hanging onto hope that maybe, one night, he’d crawl through it?
I wanted to ask him. I wanted to know if I was as transparent as I felt under his gaze right now.
But before I could speak even one word, Aleks wet his bottom lip, his eyes falling to my mouth.
God, the way he looked at me. The way he always had.
It made it impossible not to think he felt something even when I knew he didn’t.
He stepped closer, eliminating the little distance between us. My skin was hot to the touch at his proximity, at how his hand still cradled my face, how it seemed to shake a bit as his other hand hooked me at my waist.
“Aleks…”
“Mia.”
He tugged me into him, eliciting a muted gasp that got stuck in my throat as our bodies lined up flush against one another. I could feel my heart about to beat out of my ribcage, my chest rapidly rising and falling as I fought to steady my breathing.
I blinked, and saw us years ago — me on top of him, him pinning my hips to stop me, my mouth on track for his before he turned his chin and denied me.
But when I blinked again, I was in the present, where he wasn’t turning away.
The present, where he was angling his mouth for mine.
The present, where his fingers were curling in the fabric of my dress.
“There aren’t any cameras out here, you know,” I breathed. “You don’t have to pretend.”
