Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
You just have to be brave enough to walk inside it.
A door opens at the end of the hallway, and one of the assistants steps out with a clipboard in hand.
“All right,” she calls. “We’re ready for the next group.”
Everyone shifts as papers rustle, and my heart lodges in the middle of my throat.
The assistant looks down at the list. “Cheyenne Benson?”
For a split second, I forget how to breathe. The room quiets as everything narrows to this moment. And I realize that if I really wanted to, I could leave. I could mumble an excuse and walk right out the door. No one would stop me. I could save myself the humiliation of trying and failing in front of people who have been doing this for years.
Or I could go through with the audition.
My fingers tighten around my bag again before I consciously relax them.
I didn’t come this far only to walk away without trying.
I force myself to step forward. My boots echo against the floor as every doubt in my head starts screaming at once.
You’re going to embarrass yourself.
You don’t belong here.
They’re going to laugh at you.
My mouth dries and my pulse pounds hard enough to echo in my ears. I smooth my hand down the front of my shirt before lifting my chin and taking a second step. And then another. By the time I reach the door, I’m still shaking.
But I’m here.
The assistant pushes it open. “You can go in.”
I nod once and walk past her into the room. The lights are bright and there’s a piano tucked in the corner. The three people seated behind the table look up in unison.
For half a second, I want to turn around and run.
Instead, I square my shoulders, step onto the mark, and take a steadying breath.
Maybe I don’t belong here. Maybe half the people in that waiting room see exactly what Lisa implied—a reality star playing dress-up in a world she doesn’t belong in.
Except… they don’t get to decide who I am before I have a chance to open my mouth.
With that, I lift my chin, meet their eyes, and begin.
38
Knox
There’s nothing more I hate than waiting. I’ve played in game sevens of playoffs, overtimes, shootouts with everyone in the building on their feet, and none of that gets under my skin the way sitting outside this audition room does.
At least on the ice, I can do something.
Hit someone.
Score.
Shift the momentum.
But here?
I’m stuck in a hallway that smells like dusty books and burnt coffee, staring at a closed door while the woman I can’t stop thinking about stands on the other side of it, fighting for a dream that has the potential to change her life.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do to help her.
I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, trying to remain calm even though I’ve been counting every second she’s been gone.
She didn’t ask me to come for support. I just grabbed my keys and followed her to the elevator.
There was no damn way I was going to let her walk into this building alone with how nervous she looked this morning. Sure, she tried to act like she had it all under control, but I saw the tension in her muscles and the way she smiled, as if already bracing for disappointment.
The door opens at the end of the hall, and another girl steps out, clutching music sheets to her chest. She rushes past me without bothering to look up. A few more minutes drag by before the door opens again, and Chey emerges. The moment I see her face, I shove away from the wall. Her gaze lands on me, and for half a second, her expression eases. Her tight smile tells me everything before she even says a word, and my gut flips.
“Are you done?” I ask.
With a nod, she shifts her purse from one hand to the other. “Yeah.”
When she doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “So, how’d it go?”
Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I don’t know.” There’s a pause before she continues, “I really don’t know what to think.”
We head toward the exit. Her steps are slower than they were going in, and I match them without thinking.
“Well, they didn’t throw me out,” she says, trying to make a joke. “I suppose that’s a positive.”
“They wouldn’t have dared,” I mutter. “Or they would’ve dealt with me.”
Her lips tremble before she leans over and presses a quick kiss against my cheek. “I appreciate that. But I’m serious, Knox. There were people in there with real credits. Broadway. Tours. Lead roles.”
“And?”
She glances at me as if the answer is obvious. “And I’m just… me.”
I stop walking.
She takes another step before realizing I’m no longer beside her. When she turns back, her brows pull together. “What?”
“You did it.”