Brody’s lips twitched. “My mistake.”
Nate clapped his hands and turned back to the assembled cast. “Okay people, let’s pick up where we left off. After the kiss.”
They ran the scene. Mistakes were made, but none so major as to necessitate a second run. They had time yet for that, and Tyler knew Nate was cutting her a break. As soon as they wrapped for the night, Piper made a beeline for the front row seat where they’d left their bags.
“Are you all right?”
Sensing eyes on her, Tyler looked across the auditorium to where Tucker had cornered Brody. The punch of Brody’s gaze made her pulse leap, but she wasn’t entirely sure if it was fear or anticipation.
I never stopped loving you. Ever.
“I don’t know what I am.”
“Do you want me to come over? There’s emergency Ben and Jerry’s in my freezer. It wouldn’t take me ten minutes to swing by and pick it up.”
Tyler shifted her attention fully to Piper and mustered a smile “No, that’s not necessary. Brody and I have a conversation to finish. It may take a while. You go on home.”
“A conversation,” she repeated. “About that kiss?”
“And what happened eight years ago. We need to clear the air if we’re going to finish the show together, and neither of us wants to let the Madrigal down. I’ll be fine.”
Skepticism and worry warred on Piper’s expressive face. She leaned in for a quick, fierce hug. “Whatever way it goes, if you need to, call me after. Or come over. I don’t care what time it is.”
Tyler knew she wouldn’t do either, but she appreciated the offer.
Everybody filed out, including Nate.
Brody walked over, a keyring in hand. “I said we’d turn off lights and lock up. You good to talk?”
“Yeah. It’s after ten. Dad and I have an arrangement that if I don’t get Ollie by then, he stays overnight.”
The last door fell shut with an echo. In the silence, she heard the softer click of the lobby door shutting behind her castmates, leaving her alone with the man who’d ripped her heart out, all because of his idiotic, stubborn pride. They’d fallen in love in this theater, on this stage. It seemed fitting that the next phase of…whatever they would become should begin here.
Tyler wandered back on stage and sat at the edge, legs dangling into the orchestra pit while the old building popped and groaned like a grumpy old woman, settling around them for the night.
He smiled at her. “I imagined you here, over the years. Wondering what roles you played.”
“None. This is the first show I’ve been in since you left.”
That seemed to surprise him. “Why?” he asked.
“My heart had gone out of it. I couldn’t fathom performing across from anyone else. It seemed best to hang up my dancing shoes and put them away with other childish things.”
“We were hardly children,” said Brody, settling beside her. He was close, but not touching her.
“No, but our romance was the stuff of fairy tales and dreams. And then you left and I woke up to the reality of a life without you.”
“Tyler—”
“No, let me finish. When I saw your name on that cast list, I was furious. Absolutely livid that you had the gall to come back, to audition, now, when I’d spent years making my way on my own. Because it didn’t matter if it was eight years or eight days. The hurt was still fresh. Knowing the why behind your actions mitigates that some, but it just makes me sad and angry for a whole different set of reasons.”
“You have every reason to feel that way. I screwed up.” That he owned it helped, just a little.
“You did,” she agreed. “After you left, a lot of people thought you blamed yourself for your parents’ death. You were messed up and hurting. And they thought your leaving was some kind of admission of guilt. After a couple years, I stopped defending you because I couldn’t make sense of what you’d done either, and I was tired of all the looks of pity.”
“God, no wonder people gave me the cold shoulder.”
“I’m not here to beat you up over it. I find that, faced with the truth of what really happened, it’d be like beating a dead horse. We’ve both been punished enough.”