Can't Look Away(107)

But this morning, Molly was catching the 10:11 train to Denville out of Penn Station, and she didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in bed. She tossed an array of toiletries and comfy sweats into her bag—she never cared what she wore at home—and tried not to think about how her mother would react when Molly told her that she was carrying Jake’s baby. Christ.

Molly slid on a pair of black leggings and her favorite oversize cashmere sweater. She’d just requested an Uber—she didn’t want to lug her big canvas tote on the subway—when the buzzer rang.

Her stomach flipped. Could it be Jake? Had he come back from Europe early as a romantic gesture to save their relationship? Molly shook her head, dismissing the thought. No, that was impossible, and besides, Jake had a key.

She pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?”

“It’s Hunter. Can I come up?”

Molly’s stomach flipped again, twisting into a hard knot. What was Hunter doing at her apartment at nine thirty on a Sunday morning?

“I’m coming down,” she called into the intercom. “I just called a car to Penn Station. I’m heading to New Jersey, and my train leaves in forty minutes.”

Molly’s phone vibrated—a text that her Uber had arrived. She heaved the canvas bag over one shoulder and left the apartment.

Hunter was waiting on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black overcoat, which he wore over dark jeans. His face was freshly shaven, but he looked exhausted, his eyes puffy. Behind him, Molly’s Uber—a white Toyota Camry—slowed to a stop at the curb.

“I’m sorry to show up like this.” Hunter stepped toward her, and somehow he seemed taller and bigger today, the span of his shoulders stretching his wool coat. “I really need to talk to you.”

“Hunter.” Molly sighed, her muscles aching from the weight of the bag. “I have to get this train. That’s my Uber behind you.”

“Let me ride with you? We can talk on the way there.”

Molly couldn’t argue. She let Hunter take her bag and climb inside the Camry, then slid into the seat beside him. The car began to move.

“You look tired,” she told him. “No offense.”

“I didn’t sleep all night.” He jiggled his knee, and Molly realized she’d never seen him so anxious. He was normally cool as a cucumber. “I’m sorry to bombard you like this.”

“What’s going on, Hunt?”

“I just … look.” He paused, turning to face her, his brown eyes piercing. “I feel like I have this momentum going right now … maybe it’s from lack of sleep, but if I don’t say this to you now, I’m afraid I never will.”

“Say what?” Molly’s heart sped. She was nervous, suddenly.

“I broke up with Blair. We’re not moving in together.” Hunter paused. The relief that flooded Molly’s chest was shocking and expected at once. “We were up all night talking. She didn’t take it well. But I don’t love her, Molly.”

The Uber merged onto the Williamsburg Bridge. Outside, the sky was white and dense with cloud cover. As the car sped across the river, Manhattan’s buildings sharpened into focus.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I guess it’s better you realize that sooner—”

“Wait, just let me finish. There’s more.” He swallowed. “My ex, Lauren—the girl I dated before Blair—do you remember how I told you she was a huge Danner Lane fan? And how we’d been to a few of their shows together?”

Molly searched Hunter’s face for some clue as to where he was going with this. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, there was a show I saw with Lauren at Irving Plaza. It was ages ago now, but anyway, I saw you there.”

“You saw me?”

Hunter nodded. “Because Jake pulled you up onstage. It was after the encore—they played ‘Molly’s Song’—and then he pulled you up from the front row.”

Molly said nothing, a collection of memories floating back to her. The flashing lights of a thousand phone cameras, the way Jake had squeezed her hand while he shouted into the microphone: Everyone, this is my Molly. Then, the way he’d leaned down to kiss her, in front of all the screaming fans. Jake and Molly had done this bit many times after the encore performance of “Molly’s Song”; she can’t remember Irving Plaza distinctly, but she knows what Hunter saw.

“Wow, Hunt. That’s crazy that you were there.”

“There’s more.” Hunter paused, something hesitant in his expression. “Do you remember Danner Lane’s show at Brooklyn Bowl? When they were opening for alt-J?”

Molly’s heart stalled, turned to stone. She nodded slowly. “I’ll never forget that show. It was one of the worst nights of my life. I caught Jake making out with his manager’s assistant at the bar.”

“I know.” Hunter locked her gaze.

Molly studied him curiously. “What?”

“I was at that show, too. It was Lauren’s birthday—there was a big group of us. We were hanging by the bar before the opening act, and I saw Jake Danner there, making out with some girl. I knew it wasn’t you because I remembered you, from Irving Plaza. I remembered you exactly. Your hair, your face. Everything.” Hunter drew in a shallow breath. “I watched it unfold. You came in, searching for Jake. Then you caught him with the girl and ran out. He chased after you, but you were already gone.” He blinked. “Jake played a terrible show after that.”