Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(95)

“You’re late! Mama is asking everyone where you were!”

I grimace. “Sorry. Here now. Go tell her I’m coming.”

He nods and dashes back down the gym floor.

“This is a one-night-only show. The last time you’ll see Elena,” Devon murmurs, sticking his hands in his jeans. “Think about that tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Break a leg, then. Go on. I’m going up front. Elena mentioned they had seats for us and Quinn.”

“Me too,” Lucy says, coming in the door with Quinn and hearing us. She’s a surprise guest. I mentioned the play to her a week ago, telling her about the people of the town. About Elena.

I didn’t think she’d be able to make it since she’s had a recent bout with the flu. Quinn picked her up since she doesn’t drive much anymore, while I rode with Devon.

“I want a good look at this Juliet you’ve been talking about on the phone,” she says, arching her brow. In her late seventies with bobbed brown hair, she’s wearing black dress pants, a white silk blouse, and a strand of pearls I bought her for Christmas last year. They make me think of Elena . . .

“Yeah,” I say tonelessly.

Her eyes are hazel and faded—but sharp. I haven’t told her anything about what happened because I don’t want her to worry, but Quinn . . .

I nod. “Should be three seats up front. I told Laura, and she reserved them.”

She shoos me off. “Go on, then. Don’t worry about us.”

They wish me luck, and I wander off toward the front, but I pause, my chest knotted. I hang back, feeling eyes on me from every direction. My hands tremble as I hoist my duffel bag up on my shoulder.

Part of me wants to just . . . run away.

The other side of me . . . wants to see Elena. Last time.

Anxiousness rides me as people watch me jog to the stage, a wave of relief hitting me as I shut the door and climb the steps to the stage. Curtains are drawn, and everyone mills around with final prepping. Cast members huddle in groups, going over lines. Shit, I hate being late. I head into one of the dressing rooms for the men, thankful it’s empty as I change out of my clothes and into Romeo’s shirt, jeans, and black boots.

By the time I’m out, miked up, and waiting with the rest of the cast, I still haven’t seen Elena.

Is she late?

Did she dread coming as much as I did?

“Jack.”

I whip around at the sound of her voice, nearly stumbling.

She looks . . . beautiful. Her short dress falls above her knees, her wings in her hands. It was hell being around her last night at rehearsal, fucking awful.

“Have you been crying?” I say gruffly. Her face is perfect, but those eyes are road maps.

A slight smile. She thrusts a Tigers mug at me, the first one I bought when I got drafted to Nashville. “You forgot this. Guess you were in a hurry.”

“Oh.” I take it with stiff fingers, fighting . . . shit . . . battling with myself to not brush them against hers.

“Be glad I saved it. Clara wanted to throw it against the wall.” She turns to leave.

“Elena?”

“What?”

A long exhalation comes from deep inside as she faces me again, and I say something I said I wouldn’t, but I can’t stop it, because the whole drive here, all I could think about was her, that torn, angry, yet resigned expression on her face when I left the gym.

I love you. I knew you’d sweep me away—and in the end, you’d crush me. I stayed right with you all the way because I couldn’t bear to not be part of your world.

I recall the pride I read in her eyes that held her strong. Kept her from talking to me.

“What was your phone call about? I’d like to know so I can be prepared.”

She gives me a professional nod, a wan smile. “Yes, of course. You stalked out without getting the whole story.” Her expression is blank—God, I miss her emotions—and never changes. “In a nutshell, Marvin wanted me to see if you wanted to sell your story. He asked on behalf of a coworker, the agent who handled Sophia, who saw the video of us. They thought I’d be able to convince you or give them your contact info for a conversation.”

Ms. Clark waltzes past us in her purple dress. She smirks at us. “Lover’s tiff already, Romeo and Juliet? Can’t say I’m surprised. You two don’t go together.”

Elena never looks at her, voice still toneless. “Fuck off, Sheila.”

She harrumphs and flounces off, shooting eye daggers at us.

I focus back on Elena. “You never told me you worked there.”

“Thought you trusted me. Assumed you knew. I was wrong. I would have eventually, Jack. It didn’t seem pressing, but now I see that I should have said it right away.” Her words are clipped, tinged with anger, and I find that I like that better, because at least it tells me that she feels something.

We’re still staring at each other, and I can’t stop looking at her face, the curve of her cheekbones, the way her hair falls around her jawline. “What do you want from me?”

She breaks a little then, wistfulness crossing her features before she shuts it down.

My control dips, that rabbit hole of emotion tugging at me. My arms ache to hold her.

But . . . shit . . .

She grimaces, looking pained as she plucks at the waist of her dress. “Absolutely nothing, Jack. I keep my promises. No one will ever know anything you told me.”