CHAPTER 43

“Tell me why you want this job busting your ass for people who couldn’t care less if you were born unless you forget the refill on their Pellegrino.” Jacob’s rapid-fire question has me leaning across the kitchen table in his and Timothy’s apartment. The first of my two final exams isn’t until tomorrow, but already, I feel as if I’m being grilled. “Because I need money to pay next semester’s tuition and living expenses and my rock star dad cut me off for failing to tell him I was at performing arts school.” He cocks his head. “Cute. One more time.” I square my shoulders. “Because I’m a hard worker, I don’t give up, and I’ll wait whichever tables you tell me to for as many hours as you want.” “Good.” Jacob rises from his chair and goes to the fridge, where he pulls out two Coke cans and hands me one. I pop the tab and take a long drink. “Thanks for helping me practice for interviews.” The reality that I need to provide for myself is sinking in. I’ve submitted resumes to at least twenty places—a few administrative positions, plus serving since there seem to be more of those available. “Give them the answers they want, and someone will give you a chance.” My gaze scans the apartment, landing on the guitar leaning against the wall. “Think I should take his guitar to him at the hotel?” “So he can play it with his teeth?” Jacob’s laughter dies when he sees my expression. “Manatee, he’ll ask for it if he wants it.” That statement bothers me. Timothy’s been doing his best to assure me he’s okay, but it doesn’t feel right. “I ran into the nurse on my way to school this morning. She said his hand seems to be healing, but I don’t know about the rest of him. Have you noticed anything strange in the last couple of days?” The way Jacob shifts against the counter, frowning, doesn’t ease my mind. I turn my soda can in my hands. “I know it’ll take time, and this is part of the process. He’s been through a traumatic event, and—” “You both have.” Jacob crosses the distance between us, tilting his face down to search my expression. “Timothy dropped one of his classes rather than rescheduling the final.” My brows shoot up. “What?” He didn’t say anything this morning in the hour it took me to get up, shower, put away the pullout couch and leave for Vanier. Jacob shrugs. “I think he figured he had enough on his plate. The pain’s been bad again.” Something else he didn’t tell me. My hand tightens on the can until it makes a crunching noise, and I set it on the counter. Jacob lays a hand on my shoulder. “He’s gonna work it out. It’ll take time. More than four days.” But I hate the thought of Timothy lying to me. If he wanted to keep me from worrying, it’s having the opposite effect. I get why he kept things from me back in high school, when he was trying not to want me. Now, we’re together. We don’t need secrets. They’ll only keep us apart. The door opens, and Timothy starts inside before pulling up, looking between Jacob and me. “Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you were studying.” Jacob’s hand slides off my shoulder. “Jacob’s helping me with practice interviews for jobs,” I respond. “I’m surprised you’re here.” “Needed some more clothes.” He hasn’t been back since that night. This is good. A step forward. “Let me help.” I follow him into his room. “Jacob said you dropped a class.” “You’re talking to Jacob about me?” Timothy turns, arching a dark brow. Before I can answer, Timothy closes the distance between us and presses me up against the door. The expression on his face turns hungry in a heartbeat. He drops his mouth to mine, kissing me hard. There’s an edge that didn’t used to be there, as if he’s proving a point. To me or himself, I don’t know. “We should talk,” I protest even though my body’s already loving his new plan. “You don’t want me.” He says it like a statement, not a question, but when he pulls back to study me with dark eyes, there’s a wariness underneath. I take his face in my hands, struggling between giving into his immediate intention and forcing us to talk. About school, or what’s in his head, or what I can do to help erase the dark shadows under his eyes. Timothy’s said himself he’s a doer, not a talker. Besides, the fact that he showed up here is progress. I can try to understand that instead of getting hung up on the fact that he’s not telling me every thought in his head. I can meet him where he is, get him through this however he needs. “I always want you.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He reaches under my skirt to grab my tights, and I take over, working them down my legs. When I have one foot off, he pushes my hand back against the door and grinds into me. I work on his jeans, get them and his boxer briefs down. He’s positioned himself between my thighs, his mouth hungry on my jaw, my neck. I shut my eyes as my head falls back against the door, but we can’t get the right angle. “Bed,” I murmur, and he tugs me toward it. He drops down first, and I move over him. If this is what he needs, what we need, I can do it. Having tons of sex with my crazy-hot boyfriend is not a hardship. He’s breathing shallowly, eyelids at half-mast and gaze smoldering. “Feels like you’re doing all the work lately, Six.” “If this is work, sign me up for overtime.” His shirt is halfway up his chest, revealing cut abs and smooth skin I want to trace with my lips and tongue. His slow smile grips my heart. “I owe you one. When this is all over, I am going to lie you down on this bed and eat you until you scream.” “Deal.” If I wasn’t already wet, I’m soaked now. I position him at my entrance, brushing him through my slickness once before I sink down on his cock. We both groan at the feel of it, and I move to thread my fingers through his, hitching a breath when I realize I can only grab one. His fingers tangle with mine, gripping hard, and I arch my back to take him as deep as he can go. His heavy exhale is satisfying, but the look in his eyes isn’t. He’s not here. And it hurts. I thought I could reach him without words, meet him the way that he understands. But if he’s not here when he’s inside me, I don’t know where to find him. I don’t know how to bring him back. “Happy start of exams,” Avery sing songs as she grabs my waist. I lose my balance and wobble on the skates. “Only you would get excited at the prospect of high stakes written evaluation,” I say once I right myself. “I only have two, but I might not survive it if you take me out and I end up concussed. I have a very high center of gravity.” “Hope you’re talking about your huge brain… because your tits aren’t that big.” I laugh, the cold air rushing down my throat. The ice rink in Central Park is full on a weekday afternoon. Andie, Rica and I decided to take a break from cramming for finals in the Vanier library to meet up with Avery. It feels like a spot of brightness in the horror of the past week. “Your parents must be stoked you’re going home,” I comment. “My dad’s been asking for weeks what food I want for the holidays. Knowing my mom, she’s probably making it in small quantities so I don’t get fat. Have you talked to your dad?” Avery prompts. “No.” I think of the unanswered call I made from the hospital a week ago. “But Haley sent me an ‘exam emergency kit’, with socks and notebooks and a huge Starbucks card. At least she’s in my corner.” Avery’s brows rise. “Did you tell her about Timothy?” I stare past her at the dozens of people skating happily around the rink oblivious to what’s going on with us. “Not yet.” Avery slides to a crisp stop thanks to the figure skating lessons she took freshman year of high school. “How is he?” “The wound is healing. But the cut only tells half the story. I found a list of the best physical therapists in New York, but Timothy says he can’t afford them. I told him that’s the only way he’ll be able to play again, but he shut down.” Motion catches my eye, and I see Andie waving from the boards with cups of something on the railing in front of her. Rica’s there too. I head for them, Avery gliding smoothly beside me as we weave through the skaters. “I’m on to desperate measures—having sex just to get him to talk to me.” “We’re talking about sex now? I would’ve put Baileys in this hot chocolate,” Andie comments as we pull up next to the boards. Rica hands me a steaming cup. I’m relieved to see them. Their comfort has been steadying. If there’s a silver lining to what happened, it’s that I have real friends here to support me. Not only that, but they understand the pressure Timothy’s facing, because they signed up for it, too. “Right now, it’s the only time I feel connected to him. Timothy’s never been the most talkative person, but… he used to talk to me. I think he talks to Jacob. But I can’t help feeling like he’s slipping away. When we’re together, I don’t know if he’s lying there thinking ‘I’m lucky I’m not dead,’ or ‘I can’t believe this happened to me,’ or”—I take a breath—“‘There goes my future.’ I keep thinking it could have been worse. I could have lost him. But in a way, it feels like I already have.” It’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud, and they gut me. The idea that he might not come back the same from this is horrifying. It also feels selfish. How could he be the same? Timothy will have to live with the physical consequences of that night. Even if, through some miracle, they can repair his hand and he can play the way he used to, it’ll be a long road back. Two empathetic faces peer back at me from under knit hats, Avery’s from between her earmuffs. “He loves you. That much hasn’t changed, and no one can take that away,” Avery reassures me. When Avery heads for the benches to take off her skates, chatting with Andie as she goes, Rica stays behind, pulling something out of her jacket pocket. “I got this for you.” She holds up a little souvenir Statue of Liberty figurine on a short chain. I take in Lady Liberty’s resolute expression. “Is this a reminder I’ll always be a tourist?” “No. It’s a reminder that New York welcomes people, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. And that grace and strength aren’t opposites. Sometimes, having both is the only way to survive.” Touched, I take the tiny figure and throw my arms around Rica before she can protest. “Thank you.” “It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles back, squirming. “It was five dollars.” I think about the way Timothy acted after the showcase. He went inside himself and came out with the performance Jacob recorded that ended up scoring him the contract with Zeke. Maybe he needs a reminder of who he is, what he does. “You guys want to go to Leo’s tonight? I know we’re all studying, but only for an hour. Two, tops,” I ask as we catch up to Andie and Avery by the bench. Andie cocks her head, intrigued. “You have something special lined up?” “Not yet.” Conviction surges through me. “But I will.” “You came!” Andie calls from where she’s perched next to Jacob on a stool at Leo’s. She hugs Timothy, and he wraps his good arm around her for a second. “I heard that due to your condition, you got an extension until January to write your exams,” Andie says. “The gifts never end,” he drawls, but his mouth lifts at the corner when he looks back at me, and my heart lifts with it. It’s not the only reason to be in a good mood. I emerged from the library after skating to find two calls about interviews for serving jobs. Plus, I’ve started investigating both student loans and scholarships to help cover tuition and living expenses next semester. Rica orders drinks for the crew—alcohol for all of us except Timothy, who’s still on medication and gets a Coke—and we catch up through a few of the open mic acts. Some Vanier students stop by to talk, and the tightness in my chest eases every time Timothy lets them draw him into conversation. I’m thrilled to see him talking and laughing with our friends. Jacob said Timothy would need time, and he was right. I catch Jacob’s eye and he lifts his glass almost imperceptibly. I smile, sighing out a big breath I’ve been holding for ages. It almost feels like old times. Almost. “Come on, I have a surprise for you.” Excitement bubbles through me as I take Timothy’s good hand and lead him backstage. “A surprise. Are we going to have sex backstage?“ “Better.” “No such thing.” I nod to the woman who does the bookings, and she smiles. “Heard you had a little setback,” she calls to Timothy. “Nice to see you back in action.” “You call this action?” he tosses, lifting his arm. “Chicks dig scars.” The current performer finishes, and I jerk my head toward the stage. “Let’s go.” He balks. “Go where?” I head out to the stage and pull a guitar over my head, nodding to the other mic. A cheer goes up—not for me but from the people who spot Timothy in the wings. I lean into the mic. “So, this is the performance that’s been delayed a few weeks. But it’s the one we planned.” I play the first few chords of our showcase song, and a new round of hoots goes up. Timothy doesn’t move. I step back from the mic, continuing to play as I cross to him in the shadowy wings. “Come on! I’ve never had to drag you onto a stage before.” But whatever’s going on behind those shuttered eyes is dark and private. “You want me to sing,” he says at last. “Yes. You sang at the showcase. You were amazing.” His expression grows darker. “I’m not a singer, Emily. I’m a guitarist. So, give me the damn guitar.” My fingers still on it. “What?” “You heard me.” I lift it over my head. The crowd’s gone silent. He takes it with his good hand, shifts it over his head. He tries to hold the strings with his bandaged hand, his face contorting from the effort or the result. I suck in a breath. Timothy’s pain is mine, and it’s awful. “It’ll take time—” “It’ll take a fucking miracle.” He shoves the guitar into my arms and walks off stage. I chase him into the wings, grabbing his shoulder to make him turn back. “All I wanted was to be a studio musician, Six. I didn’t used to believe in dreams, but you made me. And I wish to hell you hadn’t.” It could be worse. That’s my mantra right now as I curl up in the stacks of the library at Vanier studying. Yes, my boyfriend got stabbed and he hates music, and maybe me. After last night at Leo’s, he went back to his hotel and I didn’t follow him, staying in my dorm room for the first time in over a week. But hey. I survived my first exam this morning and in another forty-eight hours, I can apply myself with renewed energy to the cause of finding money to stay in school. I’m setting down the notes for my Entertainment Management exam tomorrow when my phone vibrates in my bag. The number has me stiffening. “Hello,” I answer under my breath. “Hi.” My dad’s voice is rough. “You called.” “Nine days ago.” I pack up my things and head outside so I don’t disturb the other students taking up study cubes and lounging in comfy chairs. There are a few students out here, too, but not any close enough to listen, if they’d even care. The hype around my dad has all but evaporated. Something else to be grateful for. He huffs out a breath. “I needed time to think about what happened. Haley said I might have overreacted in New York.” “You think?” My voice is sharp enough a girl halfway down the hall lifts her head, and I turn away. “You lied to me, Emily. To both of us.” I can hear him trying to get control of himself. But as I lean against a wall, I can’t bring myself to care. “Timothy got hurt. We were walking home at night. Someone jumped him.” I take a breath. “He’s going to be okay.” “Jesus. Emily, what about you?” “I’m taking care of him.” “That’s not what I meant.” He curses. “Come home. We’ll deal with all of this once you’re back.” I want to. If he’d answered last week when I called and told me he’d fix it all, I would’ve taken him up on it in a heartbeat. My fingers find the little Statue of Liberty keychain and I turn it in my hand. “You told me life in this industry never goes the way you plan, and you’re right. I came to New York to pursue my dreams. You may not agree with them, but you don’t have to. I’m not giving up.” I think he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. “Haley and I will pay your tuition if that’s what you want.” My chest expands in relief. I don’t need to get a job, don’t need to struggle to figure out how I’m going to stay here. But my gaze plays over the students in the hall. They’re from all walks of life, all of them here because they can’t imagine being anywhere else. What they all have in common is they’re here on their terms. The realization that hits me is sobering and freeing at once. “You taught me how to swim. You taught me how to love music. But there’s one thing you taught me without meaning to, and it’s how to make it without giving a fuck what anyone thinks. I don’t need your approval or your money. You started out in this industry when you were my age, and you made it on your own. I will too.” There’s silence on the line, punctuated only by hoarse breathing. “When are your exams finished?” he asks at last. “Next week.” “Come home. Bring Timothy.” I run a finger over the ridges of the tiny figurine’s torch, her gown, her pedestal. “I am home, Dad.”