I roll my eyes and laugh when I read the text. “He’s so crude.”
“I mean, I’d rather do the latter, but if you want to go to the party, we can,” he says. “I know you want to hang out with Ava, though Eli is going to monopolize as much of her as he possibly can. He’s so glad she’s here.”
“I know he is. They’ve missed each other. She complains to me all the time how much she hates being down there when we’re all here,” I say.
“They’ll make it work,” he says firmly, and I love that he believes in them as much as I do. “And the party tonight should be fun. I haven’t been to one since last year.”
“Are you still active with the frat?” He joined his freshman year but hasn’t really mentioned anything about it at all lately.
“Didn’t I tell you? I dropped out,” he says. “I had too much going on. They want you fully committed, and I just couldn’t manage it.”
“You do have a lot on your plate,” I murmur, just before I sit up straight. “Oh! You never told me what happened with the guy from Evergreen last night!”
The look on Jackson’s face tells me what I’d assumed yesterday. He doesn’t have good news. “They liked Cupid’s Bow better.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
He nods. “They set up a meeting with those guys for next week. The lead singer texted me earlier, thanking me for asking them to open for me. And that’s what sucks the worst—I did this to myself.”
My heart breaks at seeing the miserable expression on his face. He’s never really cared about the record deal offers before, but I’m guessing this is the one he’d finally set his hopes on. “I’m so sorry, Jackson.”
“It’s okay.” He waves a hand, smiling faintly, but it seems forced. “They liked my song, though. Pink.”
“They did?” I smile, thinking of it. How he wrote it for me.
“Yeah. That Rick guy was really laying it on thick last night. Gushing over me. They all were. He had a team with him. But they never asked to set up a meeting, so I figured they weren’t interested,” he says. “Guess they’ll sign Cupid’s Bow instead.”
“They might still be interested in you,” I suggest, not wanting him to give up yet. “You never know.”
“I know,” he says firmly. “I can tell. And it’s okay. I’m still not ready to do this, I don’t think. Especially now.”
“Why especially now?” I ask with a frown.
“Because I’ve got you.” He reaches across the table, settling his hand on top of mine. “If I were to make a record, I’d probably have to leave the football team. Eventually even drop out of school. Record. Tour. Make publicity rounds. Appearances. Whatever. It would take up all my time. I’d never see you.”
I frown. It’s his secret dream, becoming a recording artist. A rock star. Playing music for a living. He’s told me that more than once. I don’t want to be the one who crushes his dreams. “We could make it work.”
“Could we, Ellie?” His tone is serious as he links his fingers with mine. “We’re finally really together, and you’d be perfectly okay with me leaving for months at a time? While you’re here at school? We’d be living separate lives.”
No. I wouldn’t be okay with any of that, but I’d figure out a way to deal with it. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up.”
Just like I put so many expectations on him, I don’t want him to put a bunch on me either. The pressure would be too much. Being responsible for his future is a lot. Watching him give up on something he’s worked toward these last few years isn’t what I want for him.
Not even close.
“You’re not. I’ve come to realize I’m just not that good,” he says, his voice light. As if it’s no big deal. But it is. This is a huge deal. And I don’t believe him. I think he’s just trying to convince himself. “I don’t necessarily fit a certain mold. I’m just doing my own thing, and I don’t think I’m marketable.”
“You had other record labels wanting to sign you,” I remind him. “They thought you were marketable. Because you’re unique. You’re not the same old pop star. You have a little more edge.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my biggest fan,” he says with a smile. “And did they really believe I’m marketable? Or were they momentarily caught up in the hype?” He shrugs, pulling his hand away from mine. “Maybe I’m already a ‘has been’ at nineteen.”
“Jackson…” I start, but he shakes his head.
“I still need to process this,” he says, his voice firm. “And I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. Okay?”
I slowly nod, trying not to frown. I can tell he’s upset, and I don’t want to make it worse. He’s struggled the last year with all of this. The sudden local fame, and how fast it grew. The attention from social media, and the record companies. How he turned them all down when his friends—including me—thought he was crazy. Why not jump on the opportunity when it’s being presented? He should’ve.