CHAPTER 58

The morning after the party, I wake up to the sound of my phone buzzing. I shift out of bed, taking a second to admire Emily next to me, her red hair splayed over the hotel pillow. Last night, we got back from the party late. I know it’s been a lot for her meeting her birth mom and the pressure of finishing her show. I’m so damned proud of her even as I admire her for doing what she needs to even when she’s afraid. It’s one more thing I love about her. I tug on boxer briefs and head out to the balcony to answer the call from my realtor. “What’s up?” I say by way of an answer. “That property you wanted is a go. You ready to make an offer? If you don’t, it’ll go on the market, and there’s no way you’ll get another shot at it.” I tug the sliding glass door behind me. It’s what I’ve wanted for ages, and this is my chance. “I’ll call you back.” “Today. I’ll try to hold them off, but you’re going to lose this place.” When I head back inside, Emily’s in the shower. I set my phone on the nightstand, and the text that came through while I was talking to my realtor has my abs clenching. “Hey,” Emily says when she gets out of the shower. “You ready for breakfast?” I take a second to memorize the way her hair hangs in wet waves around her shoulders, how the towel leaves miles of her legs exposed. “Yeah. Your dad said the charter is leaving at four. He hadn’t heard from you, so he wanted to make sure you got the message.” Her smile fades as she realizes the same thing I do. Today’s our last day together, and it just got shorter. “Tell me what you want,” she murmurs. “We can stay in bed all day. I’ll call the front desk and book the room for another night if we have to. Or we could go to the beach. We could shoot pool. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.” I can’t breathe because this feels so right, spending the day with her without an agenda. But it also feels wrong as hell to know it’s the last time we’ll do it this summer. “I want to show you something,” I tell her. I drive her to the house in Santa Monica and park outside. “This is it?” she whispers. “Yeah. Did you want to go inside? I can call the realtor. Have him meet us here.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Shit,” I mutter, shifting across the console to wrap an arm around her. “This is not what I was going for.” “It’s not that. Last night, I wanted… I dream of you too, Timothy.” she swallows. “This show in New York, it’s not only my dream. It’s other people’s. I need to see it through—not because I want to prove I can, but for them.” I heave out a breath. I’ve never been willing to have people rely on me like that, but I love her for it. “I hate this,” I confess. “Not this time with you. I hate that I can be a part-time brother or friend or son. I can move in and out of Eddie’s life or Sophia’s or Jacob’s or even Shane’s. I can stop by for a weekend or a vacation, and we can catch up, and it’s like old times. And thanks to you, I want to. I know what it’s like to have people in my life I care about and who care about me. “But I can’t be with you part-time. You need someone with you always. Someone who’s all in. Someone to wake up with, to laugh with. Someone to hold you when you’re freaking out.” Her soft face, full of love and sadness and hope, has my chest caving in. “Maybe not. I could be in New York, and we could go back and forth.” “You deserve that, Emily. I couldn’t live with the thought of you having less than you deserve.” She’s too bright, too creative, too connected. “And this sounds selfish as fuck, but letting you in… it’s hard for me. To do that, I need you with me. To see your face, to hold you, to know everything’s going to be okay.” “I keep feeling,” she starts, swiping at her face, “like it’s not our time. Like I’ve been waiting for years and I only get glimpses of it, and we have to fight for every single moment. I just want it to be our time, Timothy. Just once, I want today to be our day.” I tug her against me, dropping my lips to her forehead. “Then let’s make today our day.” So, we do. We stroll LA like tourists. We laugh and dance and make out like we’re in high school. I have my best friend, the woman who makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. I hate letting go of her hand when I drive her to the airport. Watching her walk away is a million times harder. I stay at LAX, staring at the departures level until someone honks loudly from behind and I eventually pull out. On the way back to my place, I roll down the windows. When I thought of being in LA, staring at the ocean, I dreamed of freedom, but now the air feels colder, and I’m left thinking freedom never felt so lonely before.