FINAL BOOK 2: EPILOGUE

“You look good,” a familiar voice comments from the doorway as I step into my high heels. I look up to see my roommate. “Thanks, Rica.” I glance between her and the fish on my desk. “I appreciate you looking out for Heath while I was gone. You didn’t have to clean his bowl, too.” “I didn’t.” I rise from the bed, smoothing down the silver dress that ends halfway down my thighs. I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah, you did. But it’s cool. You don’t have to admit it.” She rolls her eyes, and I continue. “DJ Payne’s playing in Brooklyn this weekend. I saw him on your playlist. Andie and I want to go, and we want you to come.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Her mouth purses. “Where are you going in the ‘fuck me’ dress?” I grin. “Timothy’s taking me out.” Rica arches a dark brow. “You guys have cool energy together. Don’t take it for granted.” “Trust me, I won’t ever take what we have for granted.” With one last look in the mirror, I head down for my date. The last twenty-four hours after returning from LA have been a whirlwind. After meeting Tamayo yesterday, I got to work on her revised assignment. I was up all night and sent it by email at four in the morning. She wrote me back at five with a response that had my jaw dropping. Now, it seems the surprises aren’t over. The limo outside the front doors can’t be for me. But as Timothy emerges from the back seat, I know it is. The driver gets out to hold the door, but Timothy waves him off. “Are you kidding me?” I laugh, but before he can respond, I pull up short, taking in his pants, shined shoes, and tailored winter jacket. “Damn. This is a date. I’m impressed you found a pea coat. What’s under it?” Timothy unbuttons the coat with one hand and holds it open. The suit jacket underneath has me sucking in cold air that burns my lungs. “You dressed up. I’m kind of shocked.” His gaze roams up my bare legs, ending on my long jacket. “Your turn. Unless you’re not wearing anything under that coat, in which case, fuck the date, we’re going upstairs.” I unbutton the front of my coat, put both hands on my hips, and pose. “Damn, Six.” His voice is reverent, and I’m glad I sprung for the new dress. “You’re stunning.” I feel myself flush in the dark. “Thanks.” His gaze drops to the necklace hanging between my breasts. “Like your bling too.” “First boy I ever loved gave it to me. Never forgot it, or him.” Timothy’s face fills with emotion as he helps me into the car. We talk on the ride, but he refuses to tell me where we’re going. When the car pulls up and the driver holds my door open, I step out into lights as bright as day. “Broadway!” I huff out a happy sigh. Timothy shifts out after me, and as the car pulls away, he links his warm fingers through mine. “You asked me to a show a couple weeks ago, and I passed. I wanted to make it up to you.” The marquee on the theater has my eyes bugging out even more. “Hamilton? You’re joking.” I start toward the doors, but our linked hands tug me back. Timothy’s eyes shine as he stares at me. “I love that about you,” he murmurs. “What?” “You could have anything you want, and you’re still thrilled by the world.” “The best things aren’t about money,” I remind him, smoothing a hand down the soft fabric of his coat. “Though if this is some male ploy to get me to sleep with you at the end of the night, it’s not going to work.” The exposed bulbs cast Timothy’s face in half shadow, and he has the decency to look offended. “Don’t sleep with me because I took you to Hamilton.” He steps closer to let a stream of people past us, bending toward my ear and lowering his voice. “Sleep with me because you want to. Because even though the world’s been offering you things this entire week, all you really want is to be alone with me.” I pull back to look him in the eye. “How about because I’m not wearing underwear?” Tyler threads a hand into my hair, kissing me hard and hungrily. “Fuck Hamilton,” he grinds out, and I suck in an appalled breath. “Absolutely not. We’re going.” Timothy’s groan vibrates through me. “Fine. But I’m feeling you up at intermission.” The theater is beautiful, and I love everything about it. It’s opulent yet intimate, with plush red seats and arching gold decorations. Our seats are in the second row. I point it all out to Timothy, and we discuss it until the lights go down. From the opening number, I’m rooted in place. So many stories are powerful, but this one grabs me and refuses to let go. It’s about building a legacy. Taking action. Fucking up. Every word, every song, fills me as if I’m the one singing, and my lungs expand until I think my chest will burst. It’s beautifully, achingly human. By the end, I feel reborn. “Well?” Timothy asks when the ovation finishes and our row files out. I don’t move, staring at the stage after everyone’s left our row. “This is it,” I state. “This is what I want to do.” I cut a look up at Timothy’s amused face. “Tamayo sent me part of the book she’s cowriting for a new musical. It’s nearly finished, but she’s been stuck on a couple of songs. I sent her some lyrics, just some spur-of-the-moment ideas, and she actually liked them. There’s a chance I could work on it with her.” His grin is dazzling. Timothy wraps an arm around me, and we head down the aisle for the exit, my program tucked safely in my little bag like a perfect memory of tonight. After the theater, the car takes us to a bar. “Don’t wait. We’ll find our own way home,” Timothy tells the driver when he lets us out, and we watch the car glide slowly down the street. We reach the bar, and he holds the door. Inside, it’s charming and funky, and we weave through the hip crowd and snag two stools. We order from the bartender, and he returns a moment later with our drinks. I lift mine as I consider. “To big dreams.” “To being so good they can’t look away.” Timothy’s mouth tugs at the corner as if he’s remembering the moment a year and a half ago when he gave me those words. I take a sip of my drink, humming with pleasure at the smoothness as I glance around the bar. “You hear anything from your dad?” Timothy asks. Sadness edges into my excitement, though if I’m honest, a part of it’s been there the past week, lingering in the corners of my mind, my soul. “Just Haley.” Timothy reaches over to rest a hand on my thigh. “He’s not perfect, Emily, but none of us are. I know you’ve had your issues, and I don’t agree with everything he does, but he loves the hell out of you.” Timothy’s words have me sighing. “I know. And I probably should have told him. But I’m stubborn and so is he, and we both suck at backing down.” I turn that over. “I told him about the letter from my birth mom. He was shocked. He almost looked… guilty. Like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t.” “You could reach out to her.” “Maybe I will.” I scan the bar over his shoulder, the dozens of people drinking and laughing and joking. Is she somewhere doing the same thing right now? I shake it off as my attention comes back to Timothy. Tonight’s not for that—tonight is for us. “So,” I start, my mouth twitching, “what does the future look like for Timothy Adams now that he has a record deal?” His thumb strokes my thigh absently, sending little ripples of awareness through me. “Zeke wants me to record an EP to start. A combination of my own songs and a cover or two. I told him I wanted to record our songs, if you’d be open to that. The one from the showcase, and maybe we could work on more together.” Disbelief washes over me. “Timothy?! Yes. A million times, yes.” He grins at my response. “There’s more, though.” The brightness in his eyes dims a few watts. “The band I played with loved my sound, and they have a slot for an opener on their tour in a couple months. They want me to go with them. I have a couple days to decide.” My jaw drops. “Wow. That’s huge.” “Two months ago, all I wanted was to get the hell out of Vanier. Now, I don’t want to leave my friends or New York.” He inspects the contents of his drink, then tosses it back in a single gulp before setting the glass down with a thud and meeting my gaze. “I don’t want to leave you.” My chest warms at his admission. “I feel as if I’ve always wanted you,” he goes on, “and this is the first time I have you.” He reaches for my hand, and instead of threading his fingers through mine, he flips my palm. His thumb traces the lines of my palm in a way that feels far too intimate for public. “Nothing can pull us apart if we don’t let it,” I promise softly, and his jaw tightens. “Good.” He reaches into his pocket for something, holding it up. It glints between his fingers, the size of a nickel, but it’s gold. “What is that?” I ask. “A promise.” His voice goes rough as he stares at me. “I told you once I’d never leave you. I might have moved to New York last summer, but my heart never left you. I meant what I said. I mean it still.” My breath trembles out, unsteady. “You are the only person I let under my skin,” he goes on, his voice rough. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. The way you see the world, the way you care, the way you try, the way you get up when you’re knocked down.” My throat is tight with emotion, and every word adds to the sensations overwhelming me. “I choose you, Emily,” he says. “Over uncertainty, over fear, over doubt. I will always choose you. Whether you’re next to me or a thousand miles away, when you look at this, you’ll know it’s true.” I take the ring from him, and it’s cool and heavy despite the narrow band. The inside is smooth, the outside scarred. No, carved. The band is engraved with flowers. “It’s beautiful,” I manage. Timothy rounds my stool and unfastens my necklace, then slips the ring over the chain and refastens the clasp. I adjust it, and the ring settles between my breasts along with the pressed flower. My fist closes around it. I twist in my seat, needing to find his gaze. Once I do, it’s so full of love and awe I never want to let it go. I never want to let him go. He claims my mouth in a long kiss that’s searing and tender at once. By the time he pulls back, I’m tugging at his hair, needing to feel his body on mine. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs. “That dress is killing me.” “I thought you liked it.” “I’m going to like taking it off you more.” We pay for our drinks before putting on our coats and stumbling outside. “Let me call a cab.” “Come on,” I tease, “we can walk.” With everything that’s happened tonight, I could use the air. I could inhale and entire city’s worth of oxygen right now. “So… sign, join, or jilt?” Timothy drawls as he holds the door, reminding me of our old game. “Who?” I retort. “Me.” I don’t realize how late it is until we get into the street. “Well,” I say, pretending to consider. “You’re already signed, so unless I lure you away from your label—” “Which you could do in a heartbeat.” “Really?” I trip over the pavement, falling against his side with a laugh. “I have nothing to offer you.” His low chuckle buzzes through me. “Your mouth is remarkably persuasive.” “You’d leave Zeke for a blowjob?” I demand, mock aghast. The idea of Timothy coming apart under my hands, my mouth, is impossibly sexy. He groans. “I’m walking home in the middle of the night with a fucking hard-on, and it’s all your fault.” I laugh as we stumble down the road toward Timothy’s place. He takes my hand as we talk about all kinds of things, our voices raised from the alcohol. Nothing can break the beautiful imperfection of this moment. Despite the rift between me and my dad and the uncertainty of my future, Timothy’s finally getting what he deserves, I’m learning to stand on my own feet, and we have each other. We’re a few blocks from his apartment, and I’m already imagining the things we’re going to do together when a rough voice interrupts my fantasy. “Give me your purse.” I glance at Timothy, sure I’ve misheard. “What did you say?” But the words didn’t come from him. I spin to see a guy in black from head to toe. He’s half in the shadows of the alley, which is why I didn’t spot him. “Your purse. And phones.” Timothy moves between the guy and me, stilling when something under the guy’s jacket glints in the streetlight. My body goes cold. I don’t know what it is, a knife or a gun, but every part of me’s focused on that silver flash. “Give it to him,” Timothy says calmly, reaching into his pocket and holding out the phone. Give what? Shit. My bag. I swallow and force myself to hold out my purse with my phone inside. The man takes it and shoves it in his jacket. He hasn’t touched me, but I feel violated, as if someone’s burst our perfect bubble. I cut a look down the street. The closest major intersection is five blocks away. “Wallet too.” Timothy reaches slowly into his pocket and holds it out. The guy takes it, flips it open to check for cash. “Got any jewelry?” “No,” Timothy answers steadily. How can he be so calm? “What about her?” I shake my head fast. The man’s gaze drops to my chest. My fingers close around the gold necklace. “It’s nothing,” I say softly. “It was a gift.” “Hand it over.” My eyes burn as the ring and the rose warm in my hand. I can’t move. “Give it!” He makes a threatening gesture, and I hiccup a breath as I reach for the clasp with trembling fingers. “No.” Timothy’s voice has an edge this time. Something silver flashes again, and Timothy moves, every bit as fast at the other guy. “The fuck you doing?!” the other guy shouts as Timothy lunges. They’re on the ground, and I’m watching in horror as they roll. I want to scream, but it’s stuck in my throat. It’s like seeing a car crash. I can’t call 9-1-1; he has my phone. They roll over and over, and there’s panting and grunting. Then the guy’s out from under Timothy, sprinting down the sidewalk. A sickening groan pulls me back. “Timothy!” I drop to the ground next to him. One hand’s still on my necklace, and I force myself to let go in order to roll Tyler onto his back. The second I do, there’s blood. The smell of it invades my nose, and I fight nausea as I search wildly for the source of it in the dark, patting his chest through his black dress shirt, rumpled and dusty from the fight. “Timothy, oh my God. Say something.” His lips are parted, and the only thing that escapes is a grunt of pain. Relief edges in as I shove Timothy’s sweat-damp hair off his face, searching his half-lidded gaze. I feel dampness around my knees, and my chin jerks down. There’s a bloom of red pooling at my leg near Timothy’s side, and the moment I realize what’s happened, the knot in my throat loosens. Now, I scream.