Mara and Julian: He Rejected My Kiss at His Concert, So I Left

Chapter 2: The Ride Back

I left the arena through the loading dock with my coat over one arm and my work bag cutting into my shoulder.

The rain had started sometime during the encore. By the time I reached the curb, it was coming down hard enough to shine in the security lights. I called a car and waited under the awning beside a stack of road cases.

My phone buzzed.

Julian: Where are you?

I watched the message appear, then locked the screen.

A second message arrived.

Julian: Don't leave like this. We can talk after press.

The car pulled up. I slid into the back seat and gave the driver the address of my hotel.

I'd booked a separate room for the night because I had a 7 a.m. meeting with the tour's local lighting crew. Julian's suite was two floors above mine. I had meant to go upstairs after the show. I had meant to ask whether he would come home with me during the three days off after the next stop. I had meant to tell him I was tired of living out of a suitcase while he treated our relationship like a secret he could schedule.

I had meant a lot of things.

My phone buzzed again.

Julian: Please answer.

I turned it face down.

At the hotel, I took the elevator alone and stepped into a room that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. I sat on the edge of the bed without taking off my coat.

Then I cried.

Not beautifully. Not quietly. I cried until my throat hurt and my hands went cold. I cried for the girl I'd been at twenty-six, who believed patience was the same thing as trust. I cried because he had refused me in front of a crowd, but I had felt the refusal long before the lights came up.

At 1:13 a.m., someone knocked.

I froze.

Another knock, gentler this time.

"Mara," Julian said through the door. "It's me."

I stood and crossed the room. I didn't open it.

"Go away."

"I'm not leaving until you let me explain."

"You explained onstage."

"That's not what I meant."

"You said enough."

A pause. I could picture him in the hallway, damp hair curling at his temples, still in his show clothes. I could picture it because I had dressed him for enough interviews to know how he looked when he was tired.

"I panicked," he said. "The cameras were on us. I didn't know what to do."

"You could have kissed me."

"I know."

"Or you could have said, 'Not right now, but later.' You could have done anything except make me feel like a problem you had to correct."

"I'm sorry."

I rested my forehead against the door.

An apology was what I had wanted for years. The right words had arrived, but they didn't undo what had finally become clear.

"I believe you're sorry," I said. "I'm still leaving."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're over."

"You can't decide that in the middle of the night."

"I just did."

He exhaled. "You're angry. I understand."

"No. You're trying to make this temporary because that's easier for you."

Silence filled the hallway.

I stepped away from the door.

"I'm not coming upstairs," I said. "And you're not coming in."

"I'm not trying to force my way in."

"Good."

His footsteps stayed where they were for a few seconds. Then they moved down the hall.

I waited until the elevator chimed before I went back to bed.

In the morning, I met the crew on time. I checked the lighting plan, fixed a missing cue, and moved on with the day. Julian kept his distance. He didn't mention the breakup in front of anyone, and I didn't ask him to.

At lunch, Grant stopped me by the production office.

"We've got three weeks left," he said. "Let's keep the personal stuff away from the show."

"It's been away from the show for three years."

He studied my face. "You're still the creative lead. Your contract runs through the final date."

"I know."

"Then we're agreed. Work stays work."

I nodded. My contract mattered. My rent mattered. I had built the tour's visual system, and I wasn't going to abandon the crew because Julian had embarrassed me.

Grant passed me a schedule. "We'll talk about the next tour after the final weekend."

"Talk to my agent."

His eyebrows lifted.

"I'm serious," I said.

"Since when do you have an agent?"

"Since I called one this morning."

I walked away before he could answer.