CHAPTER 27 (3)

My body goes cold, but he continues before I can process. “I went back to Philly. Stared at his face for two days, couldn’t decide whether I wanted to save him or pull the plug—because the prick listed me to make those decisions, after all we’ve been through. In the end, I told them to do everything they could. For a week, they did. He died anyway.” My gut twists tighter, until all my organs are one giant knot of sadness and rage—sadness for Timothy and what he must have felt, rage for knowing he went through it alone. “I took care of arrangements. Got a loan to cover the funeral.” He grimaces, shoving a hand through his dark hair. “I figured I’d pay the medical bills off with money from my contract. But by the time I got back to New York, I’d been gone two weeks. Zeke was calling, I wasn’t answering, and when I showed up at his door, he was pissed.” “He must’ve understood when you told him,” I murmur. “I didn’t tell him. It was my problem, my shame, my decision.” His voice fills with grief, and every part of me wants to reach across the table and hold him even though I know I can’t. “There was only one person I wanted to see.” He shifts back in his seat, exhaling hard, and those beautiful eyes deepen with an emotion that has my heart kicking in my chest. “It was the middle of July. I’d been keeping my distance from you, telling myself you’d be better off and to give you space. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I needed to know you were okay, that something I cared about was right in the world. When I got to Dallas, I saw you outside the library with some guy”—the disbelief in his voice has me aching all over again—“looking like you didn’t have a care in the world.” I swallow, trying to process even a tenth of what he’s giving me and failing. My fingers trace the place mat in front of me, across the bottom, up the sides. “He worked with me,” I offer at last. “He made you smile. And that was what I wanted for you. I didn’t want to intrude, to make you suffer more than you already had. So, I left.” My throat closes up. Of all the reasons I’d considered why Timothy hadn’t called, that wasn’t one of them. I’d been feeling like shit that entire summer, was devastated to feel alone—truly alone—for the first time in a long time. But now I understand how hard this was for him, too. Timothy’s hands fold in front of him on the table, but they’re tense. “Zeke terminated my contract. Told me to figure my shit out. I had a contact at Vanier and was able to get in last minute. So, I figured I’d take classes until Zeke changed his mind. “The thing is, when I was here, I wasn’t really here. My music had lost something. That’s the problem when you start depending on other people. Like my dad blamed me for interfering with his music by existing.” I trace the top line of the place mat with my finger, and when I get to the center, a few inches of cheap counter top is all that keeps our hands from brushing. I swallow the urge to bridge that distance when he continues. “There’s a difference between caring for people and ignoring your responsibilities,” I say. “Working with people, relying on them… it’s a beautiful thing.” I cut a look over my shoulder toward the door. “Like you and Jacob. He’s so loyal to you, and I can see you’ve earned it.” His heavy gaze meets mine, and the lump in my throat expands until I can’t breathe. “I need you to know something. That day you saw me in Dallas,” I go on, “I might’ve been smiling, but it hurt. Every smile for months was like swallowing glass. I understand why you left, but if you think for a second it didn’t tear me up, you were wrong. I wish you’d said goodbye.” Timothy tugs on his hair, eyes squeezing shut. “Nah. See, if I’d said goodbye, I wouldn’t have gone.” This time, I can’t stop myself from reaching for his hand. His skin is warm under mine, and his chocolate gaze finds me. I’m living for the feel of his skin on mine. “When I saw you walk past that rehearsal room at Vanier last spring,” he says roughly, “I thought I was hallucinating.” Timothy’s hand tightens on mine, his lips twitching with self-mocking. “I thought I wished you here. And you can hate me all you want, but I’m glad you came.” His words slam into me. “What about the girl you were with?” “She was a friend. We were more for a little while, but…” Timothy shakes his head. “She wasn’t you. No one’s ever been you.” I’m drowning in emotions, and I can’t pick one out from the rest or figure out what this means going forward. The one thing I know is that the story I told myself about how we were, how we ended, was wrong. Our past isn’t the story I told myself. Maybe our future isn’t either. Timothy’s eyes warm on mine, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. Jacob drops into the booth, and I pull back my hand. “Got an audition,” he chirps. I glance toward the front door to see Andie and Rica walk inside. Andie looks startled when she sees all of us. “You were great tonight,” I tell her when she pulls up next to the table. Her lips curve, embarrassed. “Thanks. I didn’t know you guys were going to be there.” “What can I get you?” the waitress asks when I shift over to let my roommate and friend in. The waitress goes around to Andie and Rica and Jacob before coming to me. I turn the question over for a long moment before answering. “How’re your cheese fries?” “They’re great,” she answers with a smile. “I’ll take a small.” “Make it a large,” Timothy says smoothly, and I sneak a look at him under my lashes. His expression is filled with an intensity that steals my breath, but for the first time this year, it doesn’t leave me feeling tortured. It leaves me hopeful. The waitress leaves, and my friends start to talk about one of the other performers from tonight’s show. I train my attention on Andie’s animated face, but I’m only half listening when something brushes my leg. Timothy. His calf against my knee. It was probably an accident. Even with the five of us in this booth, it’s not crowded. Except he’s not moving. The single innocent touch has my entire body heating. All it would take would be a tiny shift on my part to break that connection. Instead, I stretch out my other leg and link my feet around his ankle so neither of us can move away.