Can't Look Away(38)
And even if a subliminal part of Jake suspected her involvement, it was best to keep that theory to himself, he reasoned. The last thing he wanted to do was make Molly think there was a jealous ex in the picture—let alone a jealous ex who lived in New York.
If Molly ever spoke to him again, that was. If he’d fucked it up for good, he knew he’d never forgive himself.
“I was just … I was a total dick to her when we were away,” Jake told Sam. He decided not to mention the photograph. “And I didn’t even realize it. I was just thinking about myself and the band and getting caught up in the allure of it all. I stopped prioritizing her. I didn’t call her when I said I would—I fell off the face of the earth. I made and then broke all these promises. And I don’t know why. There’s something wrong with me, Sam.”
His friend was quiet for a moment, and Jake sensed that Sam knew exactly what he was thinking. What if I’m turning into my father? Jake also knew that Sam would never treat Caroline this way, and he suddenly felt so acutely awful—a sharp, intense pang of self-loathing—that he almost couldn’t bear it.
“Well, tour was a shit show,” Sam said eventually. “We drank too much. I don’t think any of us knew it would be like that.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s not like you cheated on her. And that crazy chick who tried to rape you on the dance floor in West Palm does not count.”
“It’s not about that.” Jake picked up the bottle of beer he was drinking—his third of the afternoon—and tipped what was left down his throat. “Was Caroline mad at you?”
“No, but I’m a better communicator than you are. You’re shit with your phone.”
“I know.”
“So if you know, you have to be aware of it, and you have to try to be better about it. It’s not that hard.”
“Don’t make me feel worse, Sam,” Jake said, though part of the reason he’d called Sam, not Hale, was for precisely this reason. Sam’s morals were solid, and he liked it that way. He liked playing the role of big brother to Jake and Hale—he always had, ever since they were kids. Jake needed that right now.
“Do you know where she is?” Sam asked.
“Still staying with one of her girlfriends, I assume.”
“Well, what are you gonna do about it?”
Jake glanced toward the east-facing windows. The light outside had grown dim and gray; he couldn’t believe it was already past six. He looked down at his notebook splayed open on the coffee table, felt his heart pick up speed, the fire burning inside.
“I need you and Hale to meet me at the studio.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Please.”
“I’m exhausted, Danner. And we have back-to-back shows starting tomorrow. I need one more night off.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate, Sam.” Jake spun the empty beer bottle around in his fingers.
“What is it?”
“I wrote a song today. I think it might be the best one yet. I want us to play it out.”
“Tonight?”
“I have this momentum going. Just trust me.”
“It’s a song about Molly, isn’t it?” Sam sighed. “All right. I’ll tell Hale. We’ll meet you in an hour.”
* * *
“Molly’s Song” was released as a single in March. It might’ve been too soon after the release of The Narrows, from a tactical standpoint, but Jerry and Ron didn’t care—they knew from the very first listen it was going to be a hit.
The same month, Danner Lane was slated to open for Arcade Fire at Madison Square Garden. It was a monstrously huge deal—it would be the band’s greatest exposure yet, without a doubt—and Jerry wanted them to kick off the set with “Molly’s Song.”
In the meantime, Danner Lane continued to gain traction. Their shows at top venues around the city—Bowery Ballroom, Music Hall of Williamsburg, Glasslands—were consistently sold out, and “Molly’s Song” became their most purchased song on iTunes, tripling “Salt River” in downloads.
Jake didn’t know if Molly had heard it yet, but he could only assume she had—everyone had. In the two weeks since the song had been out in the world, Jerry had already been approached by the producers of Shameless, a new Showtime series, requesting the use of “Molly’s Song” in the season finale.
A few days before the Madison Square Garden show, Jake sent Molly an email with an invitation to attend.
Moll,
We’re opening at MSG on Saturday. It won’t mean anything unless you’re there. I put your name on the guest list with two VIP passes, which you can pick up at will call. Please come. I miss you and love you so fucking much. I’ll never stop being sorry.
Jake
PS: I heard from Bella the other day. She said you guys had a great lunch meeting, and that she’s obsessed with your writing and that she’s offering you representation for Needs. I’m so proud of you, Moll. You earned this. You deserve it.
Jake hadn’t heard from Molly by the time Saturday rolled around. He couldn’t shake the nerves in the pit of his stomach. He was anxious about the show—playing MSG was by far their most monumental opportunity yet, and one he couldn’t fuck up—but it was more than that. Jake knew in his gut that if Molly didn’t come that night, they were over. If he didn’t see her face in the crowd—her big hazel eyes, her high, reddened cheekbones—the face that was perfect to him in every way—he’d probably never see it again.