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Mia needed to drink to get through this, and I needed to sit on my fucking hands. Because she wanted to hit me, and I wanted to kiss her. And with the two of us forced to stay together for the night, I had no idea how the hell I was going to keep up the charade of anything I felt for this woman being fake.
Aleksander Suter. Winger for the Tampa Bay Ospreys. Notorious troublemaker. And owner of my heart since we were teenagers.
She was too good for me back then. She was still too good for me now. Never stopped me from wanting her, though.
“Mia, I’ve listened to every album you’ve ever released, front to back, at least a hundred times.”
“See?” I said. “You’re not some poor little thing who needs the approval of your ex or his little posse of parasites. You don’t need the media to tell you you’re doing great. You’re Mia Fucking Love.” I stood, and when I did, my chest brushed against hers, her eyes staying locked on mine until I was towering over her. I tapped her nose with a grin. “Don’t let them steal your pen when you’re just getting to the good part.”
“Mia?” “Yeah?” “You’re my best friend.” My heart aches in a way I’ve never experienced when he says it, in a way that tells me maybe this is a moment that will shape my life, too. “You’re my best friend, too, Aleks.”
“You can go back inside,” I said. “I’ll be right there. I just… needed a second.” “I think I’d rather stay right here.” “Why? Don’t believe me that I’ll go back?” His eyes locked on mine. “I’d just rather be with you.”
“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.”
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?
