CHAPTER 38

“So, then he moons the cops and runs ten blocks with his pants around his knees,” Avery says, clanking her glass on the side table in the dressing room for emphasis. “And this guy’s running for treasurer?” I reply. “Apparently.” We’re backstage after Frank’s second show in LA. The past two days have been nuts between rehearsals and soundchecks and hanging out with my friend. It feels strange not doing my own material after all my work for the showcase. But I’m working—as a singer. Frank’s people not only paid for the hotel—I’m actually getting compensated. “Emily! That’s Emily Carlton. Eddie Carlton’s kid.” I turn to see the guys bent over the coffee table, and Frank waves me over. “You must’ve grown up backstage,” one of the guys drawls. “Bet you have some great stories.” I cross to them, the cowboy boots I changed into after the show clacking on the hard floor. “Honestly, I was a kid the last time he toured. And the best stories I have of him are personal.” I haven’t talked to my dad since coming to LA. Haley called me last night, but it was a short conversation. I can tell she’s disappointed, which hurts too, but she said she’d work on him as far as tuition. Clearly, she doesn’t agree with his position, but I don’t see her going behind his back unless I really need something. “We’ll take personal stories,” Frank says with a grin, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. My dad’s name is currency here. It gives me renewed appreciation for the way Timothy was always chill about it. More than that, he lied for me. I shove the thought away. “You know what?” I ask. “You should be remembering nights like tonight instead of asking for old stories. Someday you won’t be asking me about him. You’ll be asking him about me.” I arch a brow, and a round of hollers goes up. I cut a look back at Avery, and she nods. “We’re gonna get out of here. Thanks for the gig,” I tell Frank, starting for the door. Avery goes to grab her things while Frank follows me toward the hall. “Don’t take it personally. Someday you’ll have stories. Until then, the sexiest thing about you is him.” I size him up. “Did you know who my dad was when you took me on? Before it came out at school?” He grins. “I did my homework. Can’t fault me for that.” Some of the joy I felt about making it to LA on my own merit falls away, but I refuse to let it vanish entirely. Jacob’s right. I’ll always be Eddie Carlton’s kid, and I need to make peace with that. Even if my dad and I can’t find a way to make peace with each other. Avery joins me, and I nod to Frank. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the final show.” I grab my friend, and we take off back to our hotel. “I’m glad you came with me this weekend. It means a lot,” I say. “Of course! I can afford to make a DIY long weekend by blowing off a single day of classes.” November in LA is balmy as hell. I stick my hands in the pockets of my jean shorts as we pass palm trees. “I’ve been wondering if I made the right call in going to Vanier instead of Columbia. The highs and the lows are a kind of extreme I’ve never experienced, not even when I learned Eddie was my dad or when Carla tortured me.” “Well, if you ever decided to transfer to Columbia, obviously I’d be supportive,” Avery says. “We’d have a fabulous apartment with a wine fridge, and I’d be the best sommelier-slash-roommate ever.” My chest expands. “I’ll miss you when you go back tomorrow. And I’m taking you to the airport whether you like it or not.” “You’ll spend the whole day in traffic,” she warns. “You should just fly back with me.” I kick a stone on the pavement with my boot, thinking about everything that’s gone down. “Nah, I’ll stay and do the final show tomorrow night. But I do want to see Andie and Jacob. Hell, maybe even Rica.” “And Timothy.” “Definitely Timothy.” His handsome face appears in my mind. I wish I had him to talk to. I know what I’d say. I miss you. I shouldn’t have blamed you. I’m sorry I fucked up your chance in this industry. Back in the hotel, Avery’s sprawled across the other double bed when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. Andie: You need to see this. It’s a link for Jacob’s vlog. Something’s glitchy though, because the number of followers is off by a few zeroes. I reload the page, but it shows the same thing. It’s not only the follower count that’s off—it’s the views. The top video is one called “Unhinged.” Most of Jacob’s videos are ten or fifteen minutes, but this one’s nearly an hour long. I hit Play. It’s Timothy sitting on his bed with his guitar. My heart sticks in my throat. A few seconds in, I hear Timothy’s voice, humming over the chords. He’s riveting. From the comments, a lot of people think so—hundreds of thousands of likes, more than one million views. “Shit. Is that him?” Avery drops onto the bed next to me. I didn’t know she was still awake. I turn up the volume. Then Timothy sings, and I recognize the words. Because they’re mine. The words are from our showcase song at first, then another and another. Comments from people saying he’s talented, he’s gorgeous, and I stop reading the comments because they’re meaningless. The only thing that matters is him. “Avery, I’m in love with Timothy.” The words hang between us. The only backdrop is the music continuing to stream from my phone. “Well, obvs.” My chin snaps up as I seek out her gaze in the dark. “What should I…?” I shove a hand through my hair. “I need to tell him.” “That might be a good start,” she says with a half smile. I pause the video and open a text window, typing a message to Jacob with shaking hands. Emily: Your vlog exploded. What’s going on?! Then I pull up a browser window. “I need to look for flights,” I say under my breath. “Maybe I can get on yours.” Finding a Monday flight on Sunday night is hit or miss, but there are a few options since it’s a popular route. But before I can book anything, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. “Jacob,” I say breathlessly. “Hey. Ty had a meeting with Zeke today.” “On the weekend?” “Guess they saw the video and decided they couldn’t wait. They put a contract in front of him and everything.” Emotions wash over me. There’s pride, overwhelm, happiness. “That’s… wow.” Avery shakes her head, eyes wide. What? she mouths. I hold up a finger as Jacob continues. “Yeah. I’m sure he’ll want to tell you himself.” “I can’t wait.” “But… don’t hurry back to New York, all right?” Jacob says, and it sounds like a warning. What’s going on? Is Timothy doing better without me? Did he say something to Jacob about wanting space, too? I swallow the disappointment that rises up. “Okay. Can you tell him… tell him I’m so happy for him. And if he wants to talk, I’m here.” “Ah. Sure. It’s early here, Manatee. I gotta get ready for class.” I swallow as I hang up, reminding myself to be thrilled. Timothy’s getting everything he ever wanted, and that’s enough. The next day, I take Avery to the airport and hug her for ages. “Text me when you get home, okay?” I say when I pull back. “Thank you for everything.” “No prob. I needed a few days of sunshine and drama after midterms anyway.” When I get back to the hotel, I spend the afternoon swimming and working on some homework, trying not to check my phone to see if Timothy’s called. But there’s nothing. Not before I head to the venue to get ready for the gig. Not after. Not when I get back and order delivery from a restaurant down the street before I take a hot shower and steam the makeup off my face. “Well,” I say in the silent bathroom. “Here we are.” I booked a flight back tomorrow after the final show using my credit card, which I’ll have to pay for—and I will. Skipping the showcase was a setback, but it’s not the end. I’m more determined than ever to succeed. I’ll get a job. I’ll see if there’s anything part-time at Vanier or maybe the library at Columbia. I haven’t waited tables, but I could do that, too. I’ll do anything. I’ll learn to stand on my own feet. I pull on clean underwear, then reach for the sleep T-shirt on the counter and tug it over my head. Staring at my reflection, I suddenly remember wearing the Ramones T-shirt the night after Timothy saved me at the cast party. Now, I’m grown-up enough to save myself. I’m also grown-up enough to know that what I feel for Timothy isn’t some passing thing—I love him. I miss him. I crave his company. In the silent hotel room, a wave of longing hits me. The knock on the door makes my stomach growl. I switch off the bathroom light and cross the hotel room. When I answer the door, every thought evaporates. A gorgeous guy with a day’s scruff blocks the light from the hallway. In a bomber jacket and faded jeans, his hair falls across his face as if he’s been running his hands through it all night. “Hi, Six.”