CHAPTER 61

"Here we go," I say as the woman I've been on the phone trying to land for the last few days takes the stage for her audition.

Jeffrey's on one side of me, Miranda on the other. I don't look over to see their reactions while the actress performs the song we sent her.

But I'm sitting bolt upright.

She's good-really good.

When she wraps up, we thank her, and she heads out of the theater.

"We're screwed." Miranda Tamayo's blunt tone has me cutting her a look after the actress is gone.

"What do you mean? She was great."

"She wasn't right," Jeffrey agrees.

My stomach flips. "Come on. She's a household name. I bent over backward to get her"-even using one of my dad's contacts, which I'd decided was worth it given the circumstances-"and she'll definitely get the show attention."

We've been running auditions at a small off-Broadway theater all day to cast the main roles for our show. Even Miranda refused to miss this, insisting the worst of the reaction from her most recent chemo session was over and tearing up a few headshots from wannabe actors would help her feel better anyway.

"It's a no," Jeffrey says crisply, glancing my way.

"We've identified great people for four characters," I point out.

"But not the leads."

"There's another group after lunch, right?" I ask our production assistant.

She shakes her head.

Shit. "I could've sworn there were more..." I riffle through the papers in front of me.

Jeffrey sighs. He's done this a dozen times before, but I can tell he's disappointed. "We don't have a lead, we don't have a show. Frankly, I'm concerned you're in such a hurry to distance yourself from it."

"It's not that. I love this show more than I thought I'd love anything," I promise. "But there's something-someone-I love even more."

His face unreadable, he gets up and reaches for his phone, hitting a contact as he heads down the aisle.

We've thrown ourselves into preparing for this.

I figured today would be more like a victory lap, but it's turning out to be hell. How can it be so hard to find the right person?

"Knock, knock." Andie sticks her head in the door before coming into the theater bearing a brown paper bag.

"Is that something to numb the pain?" Miranda asks dryly as Andie stops next to our row.

"Hoagies," my roommate explains.

"That'll work."

"You want Emily's too?" Andie asks, passing them out. "She likes the pain. It's cleansing."

I shoot my friend side-eye. My phone buzzes, and I glance at it. There's a text from my dad, and the tension in my chest eases just a little.

I walk toward a dark corner and hit his contact, and he picks up on a video call.

"Thought you had auditions this weekend," he says.

"We do. We're at a theater right now." I flip him around to see the space, then back to see me. "Unfortunately, we haven't found the right actors yet."

He frowns. "Don't give up. Sometimes the best things come from the last place you expect. Like Timothy finding Shane. Her single releases next week."

"That's great, Dad." I swallow. "Have you talked to Timothy? I sent him something a few days ago, and I hoped I'd hear back by now."

My dad's expression shifts, and I can't read the strange look on his face. "I think he misses you."

The backs of my eyes burn, and I'm glad I'm in a dark corner. "I miss him too. Well, I should get back to it."

Dad nods. "We're proud of you. All of us. Let us know how your casting goes."

"I will."

I hang up and head back toward Miranda, who has already unwrapped a sandwich and is in conversation with Andie.

"I want to do this show where the audience sits on stage and I'm watching them from the floor," Andie's saying, and Miranda's studying her with a raised brow.

They both look at me when I return, and Jeffrey comes back down the aisle.

"We have one more to see."

"Who?" I ask, frowning. Every headshot in front of me is familiar. We've seen each of these people on stage already today.

But Andie stiffens next to me, grabbing my arm. "Holy shit."

Someone walks past us up the aisle. I lift my head slowly, tingles starting low in my stomach and spreading to my arms, my legs, my toes.

The man takes the stairs to the stage as if this were his house, not an audition. He's confident, relaxed, in dark jeans and a shirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal swirls of black ink.

Timothy hits center stage and turns to face us. I'm so floored it takes a moment for me to catch up when his gaze meets mine.

Jeffrey shifts into the seat next to me. "Well?"

I blink. "Well what?"

"Go with him."

I shift out of my seat, nearly forgetting the book before I trip toward the stage, take the steps, and cross to Timothy. I stop in front of him.

Even under the lights, he takes up the stage, takes up the room.

"What are you doing?" I shake my head in disbelief. I'm so happy he's here I almost don't want to know the answer.

"I'm auditioning. You sent me a script."

My jaw hits the floor. "I wanted you to read it. I wasn't asking you to audition."

His mouth twitches. "You should've been more specific."

"But..." My mouth works, nothing coming out. "You can't be auditioning on Broadway."

"Someone told me you don't need your hands to make good music. That it can come from your head and your heart."

Timothy cuts an expectant look toward my colleagues. Jeffrey folds his arms, and Miranda smiles broader than I've seen her smile since I returned from Dallas.

Timothy nods to the pianist in the corner, who plays the arrangement. The song moves through me, the accompaniment to the song I spent this summer writing.

Timothy sings the first part of the duet, and I melt into the floor.

I can't move.

Can't think.

Can't breathe.

Can't live.

Except I am living, and his voice, his presence, is the only thing responsible for it.

Music is a language that makes sense when all the others don't. And right now, there's no greater expression of life's promise than what's happening around me, inside me.

Hearing Timothy as the dreamer makes my heart explode. I almost miss jumping in at the female lead's part, but once I do, I focus on the song and match him tone for tone, measure for measure, phrase for phrase.

Every verse and chorus I'm vibrating, caught between the stage and the words and the man in front of me.

When we finish, the final notes of our voices and the piano fading, Jeffrey, Miranda and Andie are all standing silently.

They don't need to say it was good.

Because it wasn't good.

It was right.

It was everything.

Jeffrey's the first to move, nodding. "Timothy. You understand we're looking to do previews in three months, then move it to off-Broadway with an initial twelve-month run."

"I have other commitments, but I can fit them around this."

I'm still trying to catch up. "You'd have to move back to New York. You hate New York."

"I can't hate it. It has you." My heart expands.

"Good. We have a show," Jeffrey says.

"I have a condition," Timothy interjects. "Emily has to do it with me."

I can barely breathe through the tightness in my throat. "It's our show. It always has been. But I've been trying to find the right people to play the leads so I didn't have to be in it. So I could be in LA with you."

His forehead presses to mine, and I reach up to tug on his hair, at a loss for words.

"If it's our story, it seems fair we should do it. At least for the initial run."

I shake my head. "But what about your record deal? The house in LA?"

"I withdrew the offer. And I've pulled some strings with the label to give me more flexibility."

"You really want to do this," I whisper.

"I really do. Just tell me one thing-why'd you give them this ending?"

"Because if I got to create my own world... we'd be together in it. Every single time."

My gaze falls to his mouth, his full lips, and I need them on me.

Timothy kisses me, and it's everything-we're everything.

A throat clearing has me pulling back before I can do something about it-Miranda.

Andie's devouring a sandwich, eyes glued to the stage, and even our funder looks entertained.

"If you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make about marketing. This"-Jeffrey nods to us-"I can sell."

My stomach flips as I take Timothy in again, the rest of the room falling away.

There's a tic in his jaw, and he looks hesitant for the first time since he got here. "The ring I gave you-do you still have it?"

I reach into my neckline and pull out the chain, the ring I've been wearing since I returned to New York dangling on the end.

"That's from our past. I have something to give you for our future. And I want a future with you. I even talked to your dad about it."

So that's why Dad was acting so weird on the phone. "I bet that was interesting."

Timothy chuckles softly. "I told him I'm never letting you go again, and if he has a problem with it, he can go through me."

He reaches into his pocket and produces a box.

My heart hammers against my back, and I'm feeling lightheaded.

Then he kneels.

I've always felt at my most powerful and powerless on a stage, but this moment with Timothy Adams on his knees for me puts every other moment to shame.

"Emily, you've always been the best part of my life. Even when I tried not to let you in, you were there. So bright, so damned fresh, and you believed in me when no one did. When I didn't."

His beautiful voice cracks, and I'm trembling from his words, from anticipation of what he'll say next.

"I might have come from nothing, but I've been around the damned world. Which means I can say without a doubt that you are the best part of it, Six. I know we both have dreams, but mine aren't worth living unless I can live them with you."

He flips the lid on the box, and the sparkling contents almost blind me.

"I've never loved anyone the way I love you. I will do whatever it takes to convince you to spend your life with me.

"I'll trade you. The old ring for a new one."

It's gorgeous, reflecting every bit of light in this space, shining every emotion in his eyes back at me.

"No."

Timothy's face tightens in alarm. "No what?"

I rush on. "No, I won't give you the old ring back. Because our past is part of us.

"But you're my best friend. The only boy I ever loved. The person who challenges me, who's there for me, who makes me feel like I am everything I ever need to be. So I guess I could marry you."

Timothy's face is so full of fierceness I could explode.

He slips the ring onto my finger, and it feels like forever.

Then he rises, grabbing me again in a kiss that's hot enough I might melt onto this stage.

"Jewelry whore!"

I reluctantly tear my lips from Timothy's and cut a look toward Andie in the audience.

"You trying to steal my roomie, Adams?" she calls.

"It's done." I love the satisfaction in his tone, the possessiveness.

"I love you so damned much."

My blood heats. "I love you too."

Something lands on the stage, and I realize it's a sock.

"For your bedroom door," Andie tosses as she turns back up the aisle with a wave.

Timothy's grin is delicious. "Tell me we're done here."

I meet Miranda's gaze. "I think we've accomplished what we set out to."

"Agreed," my mentor says. "Emily, we'll talk tomorrow. Congratulations, Mr. Adams. And I don't mean about the role." She smiles and turns to head out.

I don't get to see her leave because Timothy's yanking me against him.

"Come here," he murmurs against my lips.

Then he's kissing me, and my brows shoot up my face.

But I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back with everything in me.

I'm here on a damned New York stage, and all I care about is the man holding me, the one who's always held me up, always made me feel like enough.

Like we're enough.

And despite how far we've come, something tells me w