CHAPTER 60 (1)
I get my bike out to ride to Santa Monica, navigating the ever-present traffic on the way to the address I know by heart. The property’s a house with ocean views—three bedrooms, white stucco, sunshine for days. When I get there, Jacob’s leaning against his car. “Nice of ‘em to let you come see the place again,” my friend comments. I pass him to get to the door, punching in the code the realtor gave me. “For the price, they should.” I put an offer in last week before the house was scheduled to go on the market, but we built into the conditions that I get another look at it. He follows me inside. It’s beautiful, open concept with high ceilings. Too much white, but something tells me that’s by design. I never pictured myself living in something so stunning. I head through the living room to the patio on the other side, a pool and a deck with a glass wall around it. “How’s it look, pool boy?” Jacob laughs. “It’s not bad,” I admit, leaning my elbows on the railing. He takes up a post next to me, sliding his aviator sunglasses off the top of his head and up his nose. “Why do you look so bummed? There are a dozen reasons to be satisfied this week.” He counts them on his fingers. “I have a ten-episode series coming to a streaming network near you. You got your dream house, and Emily got her show funded.” I jerk upright, whirling to face him so fast he jumps. “What did you say?” A guilty expression crosses my friend’s face. “You didn’t know.” My hearts aches. “No.” Because we decided not to talk for a while, I remind myself. It was mutual. So, why does it feel like shit? Since she left, I’ve been trying not to think about her, but I can’t help it. I’m going about my life, but I see her on street corners, I picture her smile at night, I hear her voice whispering in my ear. When I went on tour, I promised I wouldn’t look her up on social. I’ve stuck to that now, too. But I keep looking at the photo of us in that bar in Dallas. It’s not cheating to stare at the curves of her lips in that picture, to remember how it felt to have her next to me. I turn to head inside, Jacob’s footsteps at my back as I wander through the kitchen. Even the microwave is a stainless steel thing of beauty. You could make some bitchin’ Rice Krispies squares. I pull on a drawer, then let it slide back in on its special hinges. Something occurs to me. “Just tell me that douche NT isn’t the one funding her show.” Jacob laughs, but there’s a hint of sadness underneath as he tugs on the door of the fridge to inspect the inside, sliding the sunglasses down his nose to peer overtop. “You heard about Andie’s nickname.” “What does it mean?” “Andie called him Not Timothy from the time they started dating because she knew anyone who wasn’t you wouldn’t measure up.” Forget shutting out the pain. It washes over me in a wave. I cross to the glass doors again, pressing my nose and forehead against the smooth surface as I shut my eyes. It’ll probably leave marks. I give zero fucks. “I wanted to be with her, Jacob,” I bite out through my clenched jaw. “So fucking much.” He snorts. “The Timothy from Vanier wouldn’t have stood by and watched his girl walk away.” I fold my arms over my chest. “The Timothy from Vanier was volatile. All I could think about was getting out from under the weight of my dad, his resentment.” “But you’ve let it go. The past is the past. The things you were, the things you wanted… you don’t owe them anything. That includes this dream of hiding out here alone in the sunshine.” “It wasn’t about hiding out. I wanted to fix my hand, get another album done, and buy my security. It was about—” “Freedom? How’s that feel? Without the people you love, freedom’s pretty fucking quiet, Ty.” Silence hangs between us. “I have you.” “I won’t fuck you.” “Pretty sure you grabbed my ass once when you were drunk.” “More than once,” he concedes. “But I wouldn’t try anything because you and my Manatee… you’re it. What we all want. I know New York’s cold with a lot of memories, but you gotta see both sides.” I arch a brow. “You could be cold outside in New York or cold inside in LA.” I stare at my palm, the web of scars on it. “A long time ago, this girl told me I had a bright future because of my fate line,” I say. “I can’t see it anymore, bright or not.” Despite the heaviness in my chest, I won’t be the same man I was, and it’s not just because of what happened two years ago. It’s because of Emily. She’s made me better, more caring and considerate. Like music, she opened me up. Because of her, I’m the kind of person with friends I count on and who count on me. I have people like Eddie looking out for me, kids like Shane who look up to me. I couldn’t have tolerated it, not to mention sought it out. Once, letting people in was like being scorched by the hot sun. But every day, Emily exposed me to her brightness, whether I wanted her to or not. And eventually, I stopped turning away from it and started turning toward it. “And it’s a problem that your life’s not what you expected?” Jacob asks. “No.” Conviction grows deep in my gut. “It’s not.” I’ll always love her, but I want more than a fucking feeling. I want to be with her. I want a front-row seat to every success and failure she has for the rest of our lives. My phone buzzes and I glance at it. It’s an email from Emily with an attachment. I click it open, zoom in on the lines of the script. “What are you—” I hold up a hand at Jacob as I read the first scene. Then I drop onto the couch and scan the second. After the third I jump up, heading for the door. “Where are you going?” Jacob calls, emerging from the back of the house.
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