CHAPTER 44

“There’s a problem with your writing,” Ms. Tamayo informs me, looking up from the computer in her office. It’s quiet at Vanier since exams finished yesterday. Only a handful of students staying for the holidays remain, plus a number of the faculty. “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s better than any other student’s I’ve seen. These lyrics you wrote are meaningful and specific.” My shoulders relax. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding until she said those words. “Thank you.” “I’d like you to help me finish the book for this show. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a good learning experience. And you should consider auditioning, at the right time.” Excitement surges through me. “I’d love to.” I could be in an off-Broadway show. One I helped write. “But,” she goes on, “I need your commitment. You pulling out of the showcase was shortsighted and foolish.” “I understand. This is my dream. I’ll do whatever it takes to see it through.” “Good.” Her gaze narrows. “On another front, I heard about Mr. Adams’ injury. I’m sorry. He was a tremendous talent.” “Is,” I correct. “He can’t play yet. But he’s still the same person he was.” In the days since Leo’s, I haven’t slept at Tyler’s hotel. I wanted to help him. Wanted him to open up. He did, didn’t he? He said he wished I hadn’t made him believe in something bigger. “Life changes us.” Tamayo’s voice brings me back. “It can happen over years or in an instant. He may never be the same person. But there’s another risk, which is that you might lose yourself in trying to find him.” I want to reject her words, but my throat is too tight to produce sound. “How old are you?” she goes on. “Nineteen.” Her clear eyes crease at the corners. “Life will change you in more ways than you can imagine, good and bad. Now, you have an opportunity. Don’t let that go to waste.” I nod. “Thank you, Ms. Tamayo.” “Emily.” I don’t realize the tear has streaked down my cheek until she holds out the tissue. “Call me Miranda.” On my way out, I make a decision. Timothy and I need to talk. Maybe he’s wrong and maybe I am, but we’re going to figure this out together. The whole subway ride over to Timothy’s hotel, I’m torn between thoughts of him and the opportunity I’ve been given. When I get up to street level at the other end of the line, there’s an incoming call on my phone. “Miss Carlton, this is the financial aid office at Vanier. I know the last time we spoke there wasn’t anything available, but we have new funding that hadn’t been added to our online system. It would cover tuition, plus a stipend.” I pull up in the middle of the street, the backs of my eyes burning. “Miss Carlton? Are you still there?” “Yes, I’m still here.” I swallow. I could stay in school and have this huge opportunity. “Are you interested in applying?” “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.” After hanging up, I bound to Timothy’s hotel. When I get to his suite, he’s gone. But a note scrawled on the hotel stationary on the counter says he went to a meeting at the studio. I hope they’re not kicking him out. Although, maybe it would be for the best if he went back to his apartment. He needs to get back into his routine, his life. If this is your last time here, you might as well take advantage. I write a note back to Timothy, then put on my bathing suit, which I’d brought over last week and hadn’t had a chance to use, and head down the elevator. The swimming and fitness area is quiet mid afternoon. As I dive in the deep end, the feel of the water on my body is heaven. I front crawl the length of the space, then back. Again. I put in a dozen laps, then another dozen, until my muscles burn and my head is clear. When I finally lift my head and take off my goggles, pulling myself up with my forearms to rest on the edge of the pool, a pair of shoes fills my vision. I peer up those denim-clad legs, the dress shirt, the towel under one arm. There will never be a day when seeing Timothy Adams doesn’t make me happy. “Hi,” I say, smiling. “How was your meeting?” “Surprising.” He drops the towel on the deck and crouches down. I notice a slip of paper in his hands. “Are they kicking you out of the hotel? We knew it’d happen eventually. I can help you move your stuff home.” I shift forward to take the paper, my damp fingers leaving drops on its surface. “It’s a first-class ticket to London. Leaving tomorrow.” My brain struggles to do the math. When I put the pieces together, they leave me breathless. “He still wants you on the tour.” Timothy grimaces. “I can’t play guitar worth shit. But he wants to capitalize on my fifteen minutes of fame after the video from Jacob’s vlog as the front man of some manufactured band.” “By performing music,” I emphasize. “This is a good thing.” He turns away. I set the ticket carefully on a dry part of the deck before hoisting myself out. I wrap the towel around myself as I straighten, grabbing the ticket again. I follow him as he paces the length of the pool. “So, you’re okay with it?” he tosses over a shoulder. “You want me to live out of busses and planes with a bunch of dudes. To flirt with women who think more about what it’d be like to fuck me than the music I’m making.” Jealousy rises up, and I shove it back down. “That’s not what this is.” If he goes on tour, it won’t matter if he plays guitar or sings or juggles on stage with his feet. He’ll make it work. The audience will love him because his intensity, his seriousness, his capability, will shine through. He pulls up, still facing away. “With a guitar in my hands, I’m better than anyone at Vanier. Better than Eddie. Or I was—two weeks ago. They took it from me.” The rawness in his voice guts me. I move in front of him, cupping his face and forcing him to look at me with angry eyes. “No one can make you less than you are. And there are plenty of ways to make music, Timothy.” But his cynical expression makes me sick. Tamayo’s words come back to me. Am I the one who’s deluded? These last two weeks have been a nightmare. His hand is healing, but the rest of him is dying. I’ve tried everything to pull him out of it, to show him I’m here for him and we’ll get through this together. He still tells me he loves me, but if he turns down this tour and moves out of the hotel, is this what our new normal will be? His bitter accusations? Me walking on eggshells? The other night at Leo’s, the way he looked at me and at the guitar… That was not the man I love. If he doesn’t love music, I don’t know who he is. I press the ticket against Timothy’s chest, my eyes burning. “You should do it.” “What?” For the first time, the anger leaves his face and he’s my Timothy again. The curious, thoughtful boy with the fast hands and the slow smile. He looks past me, watching a family emerge from the changing room to get into the pool behind us. “You made me promise once to never leave you.” “I’m asking you to.” The words hang between us. My hands fist at my sides hard enough my nails dig into my palms. “Miranda—Tamayo,” I go on at his confusion, “wants my help with the musical. She says I should audition when it’s finished.” Timothy reaches up to tug on his hair. “Wow. Congrats. Your dreams are coming true when mine are going up in smoke.” “I know you’re going through something unimaginable, but don’t accuse me of holding my success over you.” His gaze works over mine as if he’s trying to see through my words, trying to understand. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says at last, gesturing toward the doors. “We should go upstairs.” We head up to his room, and I shower quickly and throw my clothes back on. He doesn’t try to join me. If I expected the tension to have dissipated by the time I’m back in the living area, it hasn’t. Timothy’s standing by the window. He cuts a look toward me when I emerge. “If I go on tour, what happens?” “You get to light up a stage.” “I meant to us.” I count the beats of my heart, the slow, steady rhythm reminding me the world is still turning, even though it feels as if everything’s stopped. I reach for the necklace I put back on after the swim, but it feels too much like a tell. So, I force my hand down to my side as I cross to him at the window, my gaze lingering on the ticket on the coffee table as I pass it. When I stop in front of him, he hooks a finger in my belt loop to fit my hips to his. That tiny gesture nearly breaks me, and when I look up to see Timothy’s handsome face full of frustration and confusion, that only makes it harder. Miranda’s words come back to me. There’s so much ahead for both of us. We’ve always been striving toward greatness, no matter how far away it feels and no matter what gets in the way. I want this chance for Timothy. I want it for me, too. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” I start, “but it’s still an opportunity. And even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, you will hate yourself if you don’t try.” I will hate myself if I let you quit trying. The tears are threatening to spill over. For once, I shove the emotions down. Instead, I kiss him. It’s deep and hard, and every second that my lips move over his, I’m fighting the burning behind my eyes with everything in me. When he pulls back, my panicked thought is that it’s too soon. I need more of him, need his lips on me and his comfort in me, and even if he’s not quite my Timothy, he’s here and that’s enough. “I’ll go.” His words make my stomach drop. The relief I was expecting never comes, but I nod anyway. “It’ll be good,” I promise. I press up on my toes to wrap my arms around him in a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you. Call me from London, okay? I don’t care what time you get in.” Timothy exhales hard, and when I force myself to pull back, the beautiful gaze I know better than my own moves between my lips and my eyes. “Six...Why does this feel like goodbye?” The nickname makes my heart swell and shatter at once. I force my mouth to smile, and every muscle hurts. “It’s not.” But I know the truth. Deep down, I know it is goodbye.