I treat Molly and I to room service breakfast the next day. She didn’t ask too many questions about last night or even seem all that upset—although considering she barely understood a quarter of what was said, that’s not surprising—but I still felt like I owed her something nice today.

“It’s been way too long since I’ve had waffles,” she tells me, eyes glued to the trail of maple syrup she’s drizzling over her plate. She’s sitting up against the headboard, tray balanced on her blanket-covered lap as she eats breakfast in bed.

“Get up here,” she urges. “If you’re going to get room service, you have to go all out and eat it in bed.”

I shake my head from where I’m sitting at the room’s tiny desk. “I’d spill everything. I don’t think I can sit still long enough.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” She jerks her chin at my lap, where I’m messing around with mon truc. “You haven’t put that thing down since last night. You okay?”

I stop rolling the ball over my thigh and set it next to me on the desk. “I’m okay.”

She’s not convinced. “You’ve seemed...off...since we left Montreal. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about anything? Dinner seemed, uh, intense last night, and then after...”

After we laid in our hotel bed in the dark, and when she started kissing my neck, I asked if we could just go to sleep. I felt like an asshole, but I was too worked up to give her the kind of attention she deserves. She fell asleep eventually, turned away from me on her side, but I stayed awake for a long, long time.

I forgot what being at my parent’s place is like, especially without Alain there. When Papa can keep himself busy discussing all my brother’s accomplishments, he usually leaves me alone. I’m like the court jester at family events, prancing around in the background, doing stupid shit people laugh at when they want a distraction. That’s my role. As soon as the serious discussions begin, I’m inadequate. I don’t measure up. I have nothing to contribute.

Even my own band sees me that way. I just show up and make interesting noises, embellishing other people’s creations. I’m not the mastermind; I’m the monkey, hopping around, charming the crowd and collecting coins.

That doesn’t make you a showcase son, no matter how many records you sell, and it definitely doesn’t make you a showcase boyfriend. You need something solid to build a real relationship on, and I’m always shifting, always moving, rolling through life like my fucking petit truc. Molly deserves someone who can sit still long enough to appreciate her properly. She deserves a boyfriend other people can take seriously. She deserves more than me, and I don’t know how I didn’t see it this clearly before.

My phone lights up on the desk beside me, and I swear under my breath when I see it’s a call from Papa. Bastard has always had great timing.

“I have to take this,” I tell Molly, avoiding her eyes as I head out into the hall. I lean against the patterned wallpaper and press the ‘Accept’ button on my phone. “Salut, Papa.”

“Salut, Jean-Paul.”

A moment of silence passes.

“You can’t bring your little friend to the gala,” he tells me. “You understand that, don’t you?”

I sigh, knowing he doesn’t actually expect an answer.

“Don’t be obstinate, Jean-Paul. Our family has a place in this community, and we all need to uphold it. I know you don’t take much seriously, but I do know I at least raised you well enough to have some respect for that.”

“I take Molly seriously,” I mutter.

“Don’t mumble. What did you say?”

It’s like I’m fucking five years old to him.

“I said,” I repeat, louder this time, “that I take Molly seriously—my little friend.”

“You don’t need to mock me. I know this is all a joke to you, but—”

I bang my fist on the wall. “It’s not! Don’t you see that it’s not this time? I brought a girl to meet you. She means something to me, Papa, and I want her at that gala. I already invited her, and I’m not going to un-invite her just because you think English people—”

“It’s not about that,” he interrupts. “I don’t want you showing up with her because she’s not...she’s not enough, Jean-Paul. She’s just a McGill student who hasn’t even finished her degree yet. I know you feel like you have to settle for things. You settled for your music...hobby instead of finishing your degree, you—”

“My music hobby went platinum,” I remind him.

I don’t think he even hears me. “The point is, Jean-Paul, you shouldn’t let it get the better of you. I taught you to be a fighter. I taught you to go after what you want.”

It. That’s what we’ve always called what’s wrong with me. Papa said if you give something a name, you give it power.

“What if what I want is Molly?”

He scoffs, but I continue.

“And what if what she wants is me? You don’t know anything about her.”

I can almost hear him raising his eyebrows. “And what does she know about you? Have you told her about your...issue?”

“No,” I admit.

“Good,” he quips. “At least you remembered one thing I taught you. Now, back to the reason for this call. You’re free to do whatever it is you do in Montreal, but you’re in Trois-Rivières now, and you owe it to your family to respect their wishes. I’ll send you the details of where you’re supposed to meet Gabriel Laframboise’s daughter tonight. And Jean-Paul?”

I stay silent.

“You know I’ve always wanted what’s best for you,” he tells me. “I just wish you wanted that too.”

He ends the call. I pull the phone away from my ear, fighting the urge to smash it on the hallway floor. I fish my key card out of my pocket and fling the door to our room open. I need a scalding shower, or a boiling cup of coffee, or a—

Molly.

Hot fucking damn. Molly.

“Hey, handsome.”

She’s lying on her side across the bed, completely naked, all smooth skin and soft curves. My phone slips out of my hand and lands on the carpet.

I see the nervousness in her—the flush in her cheeks, the quick glance down at the floor—but she doesn’t back down.

“I know you were worried about spilling things...” She reaches behind her and lifts up the dish of maple syrup. “But I decided I’m not worried at all.”

Then she tilts the dish sideways until syrup drips all over her tits.

“Tabar-fucking-nak.”

No one can call me out on a lack of bilingualism.

Every other thought in my head flies out the window. I’m leaning over her in a matter of seconds, trailing my tongue over the sticky sweet drops of syrup as she gasps and digs her hands into my hair. I suck on her nipple and then pinch it between my teeth, just hard enough to make her shudder.

“Give me that,” I growl, straightening up to take the syrup dish from her hand.

We both watch as I pour a thin trail between her breasts and down her stomach, stopping just shy of the little patch of hair between her legs.

She grins at me. “You gonna clean up your mess?”

“Avec plaisir.”

She moans and trembles as I take my time working my way down. The combination of the sugar and her skin is intoxicating, like top shelf liquor and a Michelin star dessert menu all rolled into one. I dip my tongue into her belly button and she giggles.

“You’ll get syrup on the bed,” I warn.

“If there isn’t syrup on the bed by the time we’re done here, then we’re doing this wrong,” she shoots back.

She’s feistier than I’ve ever seen her in bed before. When I finally get down on my knees and dip my tongue between her legs, she tugs my face closer, making me press myself as deep inside her as I can. I’m more than happy to oblige. She bucks her hips and calls my name, teasing her own nipples as I shift to slide a finger inside her and move my mouth up to her clit.

It’s only a few minutes before she comes with a spasm that rips through her whole body. The way she squeezes around my finger while she writhes on the mattress has me so hard it hurts. Her arms jerk, and one of her hands lands in the syrup bowl. We both break out into laughter.

I crawl my way up her naked body and take my time sucking each one of her sweet and dripping fingers.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers, staring at her pinkie between my lips like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. “Now.”

I stand up long enough to tug my shirt, pants, and boxers off, and then I’m tugging a condom on and positioning myself between her splayed legs. She’s so wet already, so fucking ready for it. I take a second to just appreciate the sight of her body before I let myself slide in.

She’s stares up at me with longing, with hunger and hope and trust. In her eyes, there’s expectation.

Expectation I don’t know if I can meet.

I freeze. My arms shake as they hold me over her. I want to move in her, with her, but I can’t. With those blue eyes looking up at me like I’m the fucking sun, I see it more clearly than I ever have before: I can’t be what she needs.

Giving her knee a squeeze, I get off the bed again and reach for my boxers on the floor.

“JP?” She doesn’t sound anything but confused. “What’s wrong?”

I feel my jaw clench. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? I don’t understand.”

I rub the back of my neck, standing there with my back to her. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“This?” she repeats. “What does ‘this’ mean?”

I don’t give her an answer. I’m not even sure I know the answer.

“JP.” There’s a rustling on the bed, and then her arms slide around my waist from behind me. She presses her bare chest to my naked back. “Talk to me. I know something is going on with you, and I want to help you work it out. Is it your dad?”

“It’s...I mean, sort of. He doesn’t want me to go to the gala with you,” I admit.

I feel her go rigid against me. She draws in a sharp breath before she responds.

“So we won’t go to the gala, then. Fuck the gala. We don’t need a gala.”

“Yeah, fuck the gala,” I mutter.

Her lips touch my spine. “Is that all this is about?”

I can’t lie to her. I can’t lie, and I can’t tell the truth. I’m stuck in limbo right now.

“No,” I finally admit. “That’s not all it’s about. It’s also about...me, Molly. I’m not this person.”

She releases her hold on me and then steps around me so we’re face to face. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me, searching for something.

“What ‘person’ are you talking about?”

“I don’t...I’m not serious. About anything. I don’t think I can be.”

She lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“You’re wrong,” she says simply, like it’s a plain and obvious fact.

I’m taken aback by her certainty. “Huh?”

“I said you’re wrong.” She moves closer to me, getting right up in my face. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to tell me to have faith in myself and then give up when it’s your turn. We knew this would be hard. We knew we were both going out of our comfort zones by pursuing...whatever this is, but I’m not letting you fall back into some role you think you’re supposed to play when we’ve both finally realized how bullshit roles like that are. You can do serious if you want. You can do anything if you want. I’ve never believed in someone more than I believe in you. I’m still your biggest fan, JP. Please don’t let me down.”

She’s blazing right now, practically shining with determination, and once more I’m struck totally speechless by the fact that she ever thought anyone was out of her league. It’s the other way around. It always has been. She’s pleading for me to avoid the inevitable, because one day I will let her down.

Just like I let down my parents.

I’m not built to feel something as huge as what I feel for Molly. I’m just a stupid goldfish, and she was meant to swim in bigger ponds.

“I think I need some time, Molly.” I stare past her at the wall. “We said we’d take this slow, but it’s moving so fast, whether we want it to or not. I...I...It’s just so much.”

She reaches up to cup my face. “I know you’re scared, but—”

“But what?” I’m so desperate I sound angry. She lets her hand fall away. “There’s no ‘but’ here. I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have brought you with me. It was a mistake. It’s too soon.”

Her shoulders droop, like a flower giving up on the rain. She reaches for her shirt on the floor and pulls it over her head. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No! No, it’s not that. It’s not that at all.” I shake my head, stepping past her so I can start to pace the room. I need to move right now. “I’m ashamed of myself.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.

“And I can’t explain!” I hurl back. “I just...I need some time.”

This room is too fucking small. I bang my knee on the desk chair and stop, cursing as I bend down to rub my leg. I hit it hard enough to bruise.

“What does that mean?” Molly asks me.

“Maybe we need to...” I pause to blow out a breath. “Maybe we need to take a step back, before we get hurt. We were good as friends—”

“No.”

I look up at her from where I’m still crouched on the floor. Her face is all hard lines, her body braced for a fight.

“That is not an option, JP. Don’t insult what we have by suggesting we can just go back to being friends. I know you feel this too, and I know you realize there’s no backing out of it. You either hold on or you let go, but there’s no going back to the moment you decided to jump. There’s just a cliff there, just rocks and a dead end.” Her fists are shaking at her sides. “I know something is going on with you. There’s more than what you’re telling me. It’s not just about us. You can trust me with it. We can take as long as it takes. You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped, to feel like everything you need to say is stuck in your throat? I’ve spent most of my life feeling that way. Just trust me.”

I couldn’t stand up if I tried. I feel paralyzed, drained—like everything that keeps me going is slowly seeping out.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I rasp, “and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You are losing me. You are hurting me.”

Not as much as I could, though. Not as much as I would if I let this thing keep going.

“If we just took a step back...” I’m practically begging.

“Fine.”

She whirls around all of a sudden and grabs her suitcase, flinging it onto the bed.

“Molly, what are you doing?”

“I’m taking a step back.” She starts tossing all the clothes she can reach into the case. “I’m taking a step all the way back to Montreal. I don’t want to see you anymore, not when you’re acting like this.”

“Molly, that’s not what I meant.”

She stops packing long enough to point a finger at me. “I told you, there’s no going back. I’m not going to let us both tear ourselves to pieces pretending we’re ‘friends.’ You need to sort yourself out, and I can’t be with you unless you’re willing to try.”

She disappears into the bathroom and comes out fully dressed, with an armload of toiletries and the rest of her clothes. They all get dumped into her suitcase before she zips it up and grabs her coat, then yanks her boots on.

I manage to pull myself to my feet. “Molly, you can’t just go all by yourself.”

“I can buy a bus ticket without you,” she huffs. “I can do things without you. I just...I just wanted them with you. I wanted everything with you.”

Her voice breaks on the last sentence. I swear I see tears start to form, but she squeezes her eyes shut before they can fall.

“I still believe in you,” she whispers, “but you need to believe in yourself.”

Then she’s gone.