CHAPTER 12

We splash around for a while, trying to keep a volleyball in the air. Eventually I pause on the wall to catch my breath, watching Avery and Brandon fall into teasing conversation.



Then before I can decide what his game is, he dunks me.







"I keep seeing banners around for prom. That your doing?" Brandon asks Avery as we head inside after we finish swimming to find something to eat.







"I was on the junior prom committee, but one of the directors of senior prom came down with chicken pox." Avery shrugs. "Anyway, A's gonna be my back up."







"We'll see.": I say as we scrounge some sandwiches from cold cuts in the fridge and fresh ciabatta rolls on the counter. "I might still be grounded, and I draw the line at serving drinks to the minions while wearing a monkey suit. Are you guys going?"







"I'm still waiting for the right moment to ask Timothy." Brandon drawls, and Timothy snorts.







"Bring me roses, B, or there's no way I'm letting you blow me in the limo."







I shake my head because, apparently, I'm not getting a real answer. "Carla's been bragging about how Chris asked her. If only that'd get her off my back."







'"Guess you missed your chance." Brandon laughs at Timothy as we take our plates of food back out to sit on the patio.







I shiver at the thought of Timothy taking Carla. I picture him in a tux, soft lights and white smiles and flirting in corners.







"I wouldn't touch her if my life depended on it." Timothy shifts into the chair at the head of the table. Even out here, he naturally assumes the control position.







"What about at the pool party?" I ask.







"I let her use my bathroom, then kicked her out."







"Why?" I can't resist asking. "She's a dick to us, but she'd probably wax your motorcycle with her tits if you asked her to."







"Guess she's not my type." He reclines in his seat, pushing sunglasses up his nose. "I don't want her tits anywhere near my shit."







That pronouncement makes me irrationally happy.







My phone buzzes, and I glance at it. "Miss Norma just said the gym is free for rehearsal for anyone who can go! I need to be there."







Timothy cocks his head. "You're grounded. Yo're not leaving."







I wink at him. "Watch me."







I'm grateful we ended up consuming less than half a glass each of champagne earlier as I say goodbye to Avery, then head to the garage and reach for my keys.







They're not there.







I whirl and stalk back to the patio, where Timothy and Brandon are still sitting.







"Where are my keys?"







Timothy clasps his hands behind his head. "Beats me."







I'm halfway down the driveway to catch the Uber I called when I hear footsteps behind me.







"Come back. Your Dad'll be pissed if you leave on my watch." Timothy's voice at my back is one part amused, one part annoyed.







"I need to rehearse."







"You can rehearse in the house." he catches up and cuts me off.







"I'm going. You can't stop me."







"Wanna bet?"







He slings me over his shoulder before I can take another breath.







The ground is a few feet from my face, blood rushing to my head as I try to orient myself. "What the hell! This is medieval. No, these are like...press gang tactics. Put me down! Timothy!!!"







"Once we get to the house."







I grind my teeth together as I bounce on his shoulder. "You're staring at my ass, aren't you?"







"As much as you're staring at mine."







The finger I'm tracing over the stitching on the back pocket of his jeans stills, and Timothy chuckles.







"I was hoping you'd have a comic strip on your thigh. This is a long driveway."







The only sounds for the next dozen steps are his steady breathing and my awkward huffs of breath. When he finally sets me down, we're in the rose garden where I was with Chris last weekend.







"I have to tell you something." he says.







I blink, feeling the blood flow back down my body and out of my head. "Okay.."







Timothy bends to pick something off the flagstone, turning back to me. It's a purple rose, its stem broken but its petals intact.







"I called you nothing that day because I figured if I said it enough, I'd start to believe it."







My throat tightens. "How's that working out for you?"







"Not great." He rubs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in a way that should be stupid but isn't. "Before I came her, Eddie told me to keep my distance to you."







Unbelievable.







I open my mouth, but Timothy continues first.







"He was right, by the way." He steps closer until I'm forced to lift my chin to hold his gaze. "I have no business inserting myself in your life."







I fold my arms over my chest, taking in his contrite expression. "I will be the judge of who inserts themselves in my anything, thank you very much."







His mouth twitches, and he holds up the rose.







A gift has to cost something. Not money but time, emotion.







The flower's not a gift, but it feels like one.







I take the stem from his hand and turn it between my fingers. "When I lived with Aunt Gwen, back before I learned Eddie was my Dad, we had roses in the house at least once a month. Usually red. Her husband bought them for her." My chest squeezes hard at the memory. "I always knew when they were coming because it was the day after they fought. She'd sleep in that morning, spend extra time putting on makeup when she got up."







Timothy's body stiffens as my words sink in. "Did he ever hurt you?"







His voice is so low I nearly miss it.







"He never touched me."







"That's not quite the same."







My lips curve. "No, it's not."







I think of the backhanded comments he muttered when my Aunt wasn't in earshot. How I was useless, didn't belong, didn't deserve to live with them.







I know now the words were directed at my Dad, not at me, but I found ways to cope. Writing words of encouragement on myself, things I could hold on to, was one of those ways.







Timothy looks past me, his jaw working. "Fuck, you must hate roses."







He reaches for the flower, and I hold it away. "Not at all. They're breathtaking and fragile and resilient. For everything in life that sucks, there's something beautiful if you know where to look."







The disbelief on his face has me smiling in earnest.







"Our lives are the stories we tall about them. The stories we sing about them." I go on pointedly. "And our hearts don't belong in cages. We're meant to be fragile. We're born to bleed."







I squeeze his arm before turning to start back toward the driveway.







"Emily..." His voice is a warning.





I pull up, sighing. "I need this musical. You can let me go to rehearsal, or you can help me."







He stares me down, emotions running together behind his dark eyes. Helping me would mean more than just going against my Dad, and we both know it.







"That's what I figured." I say when he doesn't respond.







When I get to my room, I set the rose on my night stand and call to tell Miss Norma I can't come to practice. Through the window, I hear Timothy's voice, Brandon chuckling on the patio.







I drop the phone on my bed and grab my music box off my shelf, the one that plays "It's a Small World." I lift the window frame and chuck the music box into the bushes, where it lands on a graden light with a sickening crunch.







The laughter stops.



"You gonna tell me where we're going on a Friday?" I ask Eddie, shielding my eyes against the morning sun.







He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "A meeting. Last day of your suspension, so we might as well get something accomplished."







We turn off the main road and drive up to a gate. If there's a house beyond, I can't see it, just rolling pastures and white fence. Once the gate buzzes us in and we make our way up the driveway, a huge house reveals itself.







After we park, a butler shows us to a bright reading room surrounded by glass overlooking a stable in the backyard where horses play in green fields.







"Eddie." The man walking in looks at ease in jeans and a sport coat.







"Zeke." Eddie shakes his hand. "This is Timothy Adams."







I extend my hand, and he takes it.







Zeke gestures out the window. "These are champion racehorses. Retired now. Some take to it better than others. Some of them you'd swear are replaying the races behind those big eyes of theirs."







"Zeke left Wicked a number of years back, but he helped with my first platinum album. He now has a number of interests in Los Angeles and New York."







He smiles."I've established more than two dozen major recording artist at three labels."







My brows rise because that's impressive.







"I'm going to be honest. Eddie tells me you're interested in a career in the industry. He's sent me a few of your demos, but I prefer too see things firsthand."







We follow him to another room, where he flicks the light switch to reveal instruments everywhere. Zeke passes me a guitar. "Let's hear it." Eddie studies me. This is a test. I can play anything for anyone, but I wasn't expecting to do it today. Still, it's as natural to me as breathing.







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"BEAUTIFUL IN MY EYES"

- JOSHUA KADISON -

PLAY: TIMOTHY ADAMS

*THEME SONGS FOR: A LOVE SONG FOR A LIARS*







You're my piece of mind,

in this crazy world.

You're everything I've tried to find,

your love is a pearl.



You're my Mona Lisa, you're my rainbow skies,

and my only prayer, is that you realize,

you'll always be beautiful, in my eyes.



The world will turn,

and the seasons will change.

And all the lessons we will learn,

will be beautiful and strange.



We'll have our fill of tears, our share of sighs.

My only prayer, is that you realize.

You'll always be beautiful, in my eyes.



You will always be, beautiful in my eyes.

And the passing years will show,

that you will always grow,

evermore beautiful, in my eyes.



And there are lines upon my face,

from a lifetime of smiles.

But when the time comes to embrace,

for one long last while.



We can laugh about it, how time really flies.

We won't say goodbye, cause true-love never dies.

You'll always be beautiful, in my eyes.



You will always be, beautiful in my eyes.

And the passing years will show,

that you will always grow,

evermore beautiful, in my eyes.



The passing years will show,

that you will always grow,

evermore beautiful, in my eyes...







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The song starts out slow, picks up tempo without losing its mood. It's thrumming, sweet serenade and precise one. But all of it's on purpose.







Everything is on purpose, or you lose more than a moment.



You lose yourself.



When I finish, Zeke's face is unreadable, until he cuts a look at Eddie. "Say it."





"Told you. "



I pass the guitar back, feeling relief.