Tessa H: I know, but should we have some kind of signal so I can recognize you? Just in case?
Taylor: Whatever makes you feel safe. You want me to wear some hot-pink bunny slippers?
Tessa H: Perfect :P
Taylor: If only I knew someone who could lend me a pair…
Tessa H: I know. How about a hot-pink rabbit’s foot?
Taylor: Where am I supposed to get one of those?
Tessa H: They sell them at the service station. Exit 54. It’s just a couple miles down the road. Will you do that?
Taylor: Of course. Rabbit’s foot. Good idea. I’m gonna need all the luck I can get.
He’d dutifully picked up the rabbit’s foot on his way into town that afternoon. The pit stop had raised a few eyebrows, although not for the usual reasons. The men loitering around the service station barely gave him a second look once they caught sight of his car. The baby-blue Ferrari stuck out like a sore thumb among all the tractors and rusty pickup trucks. The mechanic behind the counter even had the nerve to offer him $50,000 cash, right there on the spot, to take the car off his hands. Eric couldn’t quite tell if the guy was kidding.
“Nice try,” Eric had laughed back nervously. He didn’t bother to say it, but they both knew his car was worth four or five times that much. The guy had merely shrugged in response and taken Eric’s $3.99 for the rabbit’s foot without another word.
Eric glanced down at the piece of pink fluff that dangled on a chain around his neck. The pop of neon color stood out starkly against the black leather of his jacket. How exactly would Tessa react when she laid eyes on it?
He had his opening line all planned out, complete with choreography. Maybe it would come across a little cheesy, but he didn’t want to wing it. This particular meet-and-greet was way too important to leave to chance. He rehearsed it one more time inside his head. He knew exactly what he would do. The moment she stepped out of the car, he’d saunter over and hold out the good luck charm for her to see.
“I’m looking for a girl named Tessa who’s really into rabbits’ feet,” he’d say. And then, before she could breathe a single word, he’d hit her with his most handsome, charming, lady-killer smile.
“Guess what,” he’d say. “I’m Eric Taylor Thorn. And today’s your lucky day.”
? ? ?
“Showtime.”
Tessa murmured the word aloud as her hand came to rest on the bedroom doorknob.
She couldn’t procrastinate any longer. Dr. Regan would arrive in a few minutes to pick her up, and Tessa intended to be ready. Nothing would stop her. No triggers. No flashbacks. No panic episodes. She wouldn’t bail out at the last minute. Not this time.
This was it. December 31. New Year’s Eve. The final day of what had to be the worst year of her life. Tonight she would shut the door on all the irrational fears that had held her prisoner for so long. She would leave her home and make the twenty-minute journey to the concert venue—even if it killed her.
Tessa gritted her teeth as she pulled the bedroom door open and made her way to the bathroom in the hall.
Eric one…Eric two…Eric three…
She’d kept her mind clear for most of the day by focusing on the superficial details. What shoes would she bring out of storage? Which purse would she carry? What clothes would she wear? She must have tried on every single item in her closet before she finally settled on the perfect outfit: dark-washed skinny jeans, paired with a sparkly V-neck top that skimmed her hips and revealed a hint of cleavage.
She took in her appearance in the bathroom mirror. Too much skin? She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but she didn’t want to hide her assets either. Tonight, Taylor would lay eyes on her for the first time. She wanted him to like what he saw.
Tessa stared at her reflection, forcing a too-bright smile on her face. Happy. Excited. That’s how a normal person would be feeling. The boy she loved had come all the way to Texas just to meet her. Her heart should have been thudding with anticipation, not with fear.
Eric Thorn…Eric four…Eric five…
Forget the outfit, Tessa told herself. She was running out of time. The clock was ticking, and she still hadn’t done her hair and makeup. Her wavy, brown hair had grown out during the months of her self-imposed confinement. She normally kept it tied back in a braid, but she’d left it down tonight, a shimmery cascade that fell below her shoulders. Hopefully, Taylor wouldn’t notice the split ends.
Eric six…Eric sucks…Eric seven…
Then there was the question of makeup. She hadn’t worn a drop since the day she fled from New Orleans. Her old beauty supplies never made the trip back home, long since abandoned in her temporary dorm room. She would have to ransack her mother’s makeup stash. Tessa knelt down and sifted through the contents of the cabinet beneath the sink. Her eyes landed on a black leather satchel, and she quickly snapped it open, but it didn’t contain cosmetics. Looked like a spare set of medical supplies that her mother had brought home from work: needles, rubber tubing, antiseptic wipes…
Tessa pinched her lips together. Maybe she should have asked before her mother left for work. But that would have meant explaining why she needed makeup.
Tessa hadn’t breathed a word to her mom about the contest or the boy she was leaving the house to meet. Some guy she met on Twitter? A total stranger? She knew her mother would disapprove. It came as a stroke of luck, really, that Tessa had won a show on New Year’s Eve. Her mom was working another double shift. She’d left for the hospital a couple hours ago, and she wouldn’t be back until morning. Tessa would be home by then, safely tucked in bed, and her mother never had to know she’d left.
But first Tessa needed makeup. Her hands shook slightly as she pawed through the mess below the sink.
Eric eight…Eric nine…Eric ten…
Nervous jitters, she told herself, as she released the knot of tension with her breath. Anyone would feel some nerves on a night as big as tonight.
She still couldn’t quite believe that it was happening. It didn’t feel real—this whole scenario with the Twitter contest. More like the plot of some fanfic she might have written. What were the odds? A private Eric Thorn show, here in Midland, twenty minutes from her home. Things like that didn’t happen by chance. It had to be a sign. The universe was trying to tell her something. This meeting with Taylor was meant to be—the miracle she needed to get her life back on track.
“Aha!” She let out a cry of triumph as she pulled open a plastic grocery bag full of cheap cosmetics. She didn’t have time for anything elaborate, but she didn’t need too much. The complexion of her heart-shaped face was naturally smooth and unblemished, if a bit pale from lack of sunlight. Tessa mostly wanted to play up her hazel eyes, large and almond shaped, ringed with thick lashes. Mascara was a must. Maybe a smudge of eyeliner?