“Thanks,” I replied, leading them on to an empty table near the stage. “There’re drinks and snacks, and they should be reading the entries in about fifteen minutes. I’ll be livestreaming them, but then I’ll be able to hang out with you for the rest of the night.”
“We’ll see about that,” Aurora said with a wicked grin, and Sloane elbowed her again.
“We’re looking forward to it,” Sloane said seriously, and I left them with a reluctant smile. I wished I could sit with them, be near them, hear them arguing. It was a real palliative for a broken heart, being with my best friends. Even if it didn’t cure me entirely.
Soon it was time for the winners to read their entries, and I had my phone ready and mounted on a tripod as the emcee announced them one by one to the stage. The essays were a mix of funny, heart-wrenching, and brilliant, and all the winners read them with clear, strong voices and incredible presence. By the time the last one finished, all of Gotham Girl’s social media accounts were blowing up on my phone with people commenting and sharing posts everywhere, along with the link where young people could now submit their own “Speak” essays.
We’d done it.
I’d done it.
I hadn’t really had time to appreciate it until just now, as the final winner was exiting the stage to huge applause, but I’d made this happen. This was my idea, and now it was a real thing that lived in the real world. And maybe nothing would ever feel like loving Owen felt, but this was close.
It was really fucking close.
The applause died down and the emcee leaned into the microphone. “We have one final reading tonight, people.”
We do?
I shot a look over to Skyler by the stage, but he didn’t seem perturbed at all, like he’d known this was going to happen. But it hadn’t been on the program, and even if it were only a five-minute reading, that was five fewer minutes of dancing, and was I supposed to livestream this one too—?
“In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, this is a poem about love called ‘One More Tomorrow,’ read by Owen Montgomery.”
Shock buzzed up my spine and along my nerve endings like sharp, fizzy static, rendering all my senses useless. I could barely hear, barely see, barely feel anything but an exhilarated kind of panic as Owen took the stage and strode to the microphone with his usual arrogant energy. He was wearing a thin sweater over a button-up shirt and tailored pants, an expensive watch on his wrist, and a slightly loosened tie knot visible above the neck of the sweater, as if he’d been nervously tugging at it moments before. But even with the untidy tie and his sleeves rolled up, he still looked miles and miles more mature than any other teen boy here. He looked every inch the future gentleman.
Only I knew the carnal beast that lived inside him.
My hand shook as I hit the button to go live, and it was next to impossible to breathe as I watched him search for my face in the crowd. When he found me, he offered me the same smile he gave me that first night in Ibiza. A hook to the corner of his mouth, like I’d pleased him.
It sent an automatic shiver right through me.
He held up his paper and began reading, half the audience immediately sighing at the cool melody of his accented voice.
“When I asked you for one more tomorrow,
I didn’t know if that would be enough.
When I asked you for one more tomorrow,
I knew there had to be an us.
I wanted everything from you,
And I gave nothing back.
I wanted everything from you,
And I wanted you trapped.
With me.
For me.
I was wrong,
And it brought me so low.
I was wrong,
Now I’ve lost one more tomorrow.”
The words were validating by themselves, but the way he read them—honestly, hoarsely—with despair scrawled all over his face . . .
I was crying. Silently, miserably, maybe even a little happily, I didn’t know. I was so fucking mixed up. For him to be here, saying this out loud, in public . . .
Owen raised his gaze from his paper and found mine. “I was wrong, Tanith,” he said into the microphone, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”
And to the sound of the entire room swooning, he exited the stage.
Chapter 24
Owen
I had to get to her, I had to talk to her, but I was stopped by a phalanx of women at the stage stairs: my mother, Sera, Aurora, and Sloane.
All of them normally scared the shit out of me, but it looked like murdering me was off the table for now. My mother drew me into a sudden, fierce hug—so unlike anything she’d ever done that I had to remember it was customary to embrace in return.
“I’m proud of you,” she said. “The poetry was mediocre, and you’re hardly destined for laureate status, but I’m so proud that you did something to get that girl back.”
“Thanks for that, Mum, and I don’t have her back yet,” I said, extricating myself from the hug.
“That’s for damn sure,” Sera jumped in. “You better go find her and finish what you started.”
“Grovel,” Aurora clarified. “You need to go grovel.”
“Very hard,” Sloane added. “Much grovel.”
“And I have your permission to grovel?” I asked. I didn’t need them to like me necessarily, but I wanted them to know I was sorry and that I was going to do better. I wanted them to know that from now on, Tanith was safe with me. More than safe. I would let her shine as bright as she wanted, and I would never try to hide that shine from anyone again.
“You have our permission,” Sera said regally. “But if you fuck it up again, that’s on you.”
“Wise words,” my mother said.
Sera grinned. “I thought so too.”
“Serafina, good to see you again,” I heard my mother say as I started striding away as fast as possible
