You Belong With Me

What the...

 Wes helped me over to the sofa, his strong hand steadying me as I sank into the plush cushions. The exhaustion from my earlier jog washed over me, but there was something comforting about having him nearby. 

"Do you want anything to eat?" he asked, genuine concern etched across his face. I shook my head quickly.

 "No, I had a big breakfast," I replied, forcing a smile. The truth was, I had barely eaten, and I didn't want him to pry. 

"Come on, you need to fuel up," he pressed gently, leaning against the armrest, his eyes studying me with that familiar intensity. I was firm in my response. 

"I said no, Wes." The sudden assertiveness surprised even me, but I didn't want him to worry, or worse, see through the facade I had built. As I pulled out my phone, the familiar dread settled in my stomach. A flurry of texts lit up the screen: more messages from my boyfriend, pestering me about my late night out, and a barrage of notifications from my music director asking for new material. Ugh, I groaned inwardly, frustration boiling over. Wes caught the shift in my mood. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. I sighed, rubbing my temples.

 "I can't write anything. It's like...everything is stuck," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. 

He thought for a moment, then said, "You just need inspiration. Sometimes, you have to really think about what your heart is telling you." I raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a sarcastic retort. 

"A football player giving me songwriting advice? That's rich," I shot back, half-smiling despite the tension in my chest. Yet, as I said it, memories flashed through my mind. My first hit, "You Belong with Me," was born from a truth that resonated deep within me—a song that was a raw reflection of my feelings for Wes. It had been one of the few songs that came directly from my heart, unfiltered and pure. And now? So many of my recent tracks felt molded to fit someone else's expectations, stripped of their essence. But I didn't say any of that aloud. Instead, I offered him a weak smile, hoping he wouldn't read between the lines. Wes seemed to sense my withdrawal, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Well, you'll figure it out," he said, standing up. "I should let you...rest or something." He hesitated at the door, looking back at me as if he wanted to say more, but the words never came.

 "Thanks for stopping by, Wes," I said, trying to inject warmth into my tone, even as my heart sank at the thought of him leaving. He nodded, still looking perplexed, and stepped out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in a silence that felt oppressive. ---

 Wes's POV

 As I walked away from Lana's penthouse, confusion swirled in my mind like a chaotic whirlwind. The day had unfolded in ways I never expected, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was troubling her. She seemed so distant, her laughter from earlier replaced by a weight that pressed heavily on her shoulders. I replayed our interactions in my head: her exhaustion, the way she deflected my concern about food, the flicker of something unspoken in her eyes. It felt like she was hiding more than just her struggles with songwriting. She had a knack for masking her feelings, and as much as I admired her strength, it worried me. Why was she struggling to write? Didn't she have a wealth of experiences to draw from? Her frustration had been palpable, and I couldn't help but think that my earlier comment about inspiration might not have been what she needed to hear. It was easy to say, but the reality was far more complex. 

I remembered her first hit—the one that felt so real, so connected to her heart. Had that song been about me? The thought sent a rush of emotions through me. If she had written that song about our past, then why was she avoiding the truth now? As I reached my car, I couldn't help but feel a tug in my chest. I wanted to help her, to pull her out of whatever was holding her back. But how could I do that if she wouldn't let me in? Sighing, I slid into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel tightly. I couldn't shake the worry that there was more beneath the surface—something that needed to be uncovered. The connection we shared felt stronger than I had realized, and the thought of losing it only fueled my desire to understand her better. With the engine rumbling to life, I pulled away from the penthouse, my mind still racing. I had to figure out a way to reach her, to be there for her, no matter what it took.