Can't Look Away(66)

After they hung up, Molly slumped against the kitchen counter, face in her hands, and cried. With joy, but mostly with sweet relief. Her MFA, the student loans, every shift at Angelina’s, every rude customer whose cappuccino she’d messed up, the late nights writing and revising and torturing herself with worry that she’d never get the manuscript exactly right—it had been worth it. All of it. Someone loved the words she’d written enough to publish them. Was there anything more she could want from this life?

Molly’s instinct was to call someone—Nina or Everly or her mother—but instead, she decided to take the moment for herself. Bask in it a bit, before letting the rest of the world in on the most exciting news of her life. She nixed the red wine in favor of some champagne she found in the cabinet—it felt more celebratory. Molly popped the bottle and curled up on the couch, savoring the afterglow of Bella’s phone call while she waited for Jake to come home.

He was back at quarter of ten, his hair a rumpled mess, his blue eyes red around the rims.

“We’re done,” he said, sinking down onto the couch beside her and tipping his head back. “We’re dooooone.”

“That’s amazing, Jake.” Molly rested her hand on his leg. Any other night, she would’ve been annoyed that he hadn’t texted to say he was running this late, but she was too high on her own good news to care. Besides, Jake’s album was done. Finally. It was a weight off both their chests. “You’re not going back in tomorrow?”

“Nope. We sent everything to Jerry and Ron tonight. Now we wait.”

“I know they’re going to love it. What did you end up calling it?”

“Precipice.” Jake made a face. It was the album title Sam and Hale had wanted. Jake had been outvoted.

“I don’t mind that, really.” Molly pressed her lips together. “It’s intriguing.”

“I hate it.”

“Try to be positive, Jake. The album is off your hands. You did it.” She paused, ready to redirect the conversation. “So, I got some crazy—”

“The thing is, Moll…” Jake pivoted his shoulders so he was facing her. His expression was wild, almost manic, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. “I don’t know how I feel about this album. Precipice doesn’t feel as seamless as The Narrows, and Sam and Hale are still telling me the songs I wrote are ‘too lovey-dovey and pop-y.’” He used air quotes around the words. “They think it’s your fault, actually.”

His tone was indignant. Molly sat up straighter on the couch. “Excuse me?”

“Well, not your fault, but you know what I mean. They think having a girlfriend has made me go all soft.”

“Is that so?”

Jake shrugged.

Molly glared at him. “I hope you corrected them.”

Jake said nothing. He leaned back into the couch, rubbed the inner corners of his eyes.

“Jesus, Jake.” Molly felt shot through with anger. “I thought I was supposed to be your ‘muse.’”

“You are my muse.” He sighed. “I guess I just haven’t felt very inspired lately.”

“That isn’t my fucking fault!” Molly stood, furious.

“I’m not saying it’s your fault!”

“And you’re not saying it isn’t, either.” Molly narrowed her eyes. She started toward the bedroom, though she was tempted to leave the apartment.

“Moll, I’m sorry,” he called behind her. “I didn’t mean—wait. What’re you doing drinking champagne, anyway?” He gestured to the bottle of Veuve and the two flutes on the table, the one untouched meant for him.

“I got a book deal, Jake,” Molly said flatly, wanting to spite him. “Bella sold Needs.”

“Are you serious?” Jake jumped from the couch, running over to where she stood. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly. “Jesus, I’m proud of you. We need to celebrate. I ate at the studio, but we could go for drinks?”

Molly wriggled out of his grasp. “You ate at the studio?” She didn’t know why she was this angry, only that she was. “If you already ate, then I guess dinner is off the table. Drinks it is!”

He looked at her, mouth gaping, not getting it.

“What about me, Jake? Did it even occur to you that I haven’t eaten yet because you said in your note that we’d figure out dinner when you got back? That you told me you’d be home two hours ago and I’ve been sitting here all night, waiting for you?” She was seething.

“Christ, Molly.” Jake threw his head back, exasperated. “Why are you so on me right now? I’m sorry, okay? I had a long-ass day, cut me a break. Sorry my chivalrous manners aren’t in tip-top shape at the moment.”

“This isn’t about manners. You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m an asshole? Because I had to work late and you’re incapable of getting yourself food? If you want dinner, just say so! We’ll go get something to eat right now!”

“Screw you. I’m not doing this.” Molly turned away from him. “I’m going to read in bed.”

“Molly, no.” Jake reached for her arm, his combative expression softening. “Come on. Look, I’m sorry I was late. Let’s just go out, cool off. It’s Saturday.”