CHAPTER 35 (2)

I swallow down the emotions so I can find my voice. When I do, it’s stronger than I expected. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get in here?” He shakes his head. “That’s not the point.” “Of course it’s not. The point is you think I’m not good enough for this life. You never felt that way about Timothy.” Dad holds up a hand, gaze narrowing. “This isn’t about Timothy. But it will be—” “You tell yourself you want to protect me,” I continue, raising my voice, “because when you were eighteen, you signed a deal with Wicked. You went on tour. You had me.” I’m losing ground in the battle with my emotions, and they’re threatening to spill over. “Just because you fucked up your life at eighteen doesn’t mean I will.” Tears burn down my face as I spin, grabbing my book bag and lunging for the doors. I pull up for a moment at the figure I see just outside them, looking between us with shock. Rica. I stalk past her, making my way through the halls. I skip the elevator to take the stairs two at a time. On my floor, I pass Andie’s open door, where she’s grabbing her books for class. “Aren’t you going to Entertainment Management?” she asks. “No.” I unlock my door and shove myself inside. Footsteps sound behind me, but I don’t look up. I grab the photo of me and my dad off my dresser and chuck it under my bed. I drop onto my bed and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Whoa. What happened?” Andie’s voice is concerned. I blink to see her and Rica hovering in the doorway. “Don’t worry about it. You guys have class.” They exchange a look. “Fuck it. It was a boring topic lecture anyway,” Rica says. A grateful breath trembles out of my lips as she takes a seat in her chair, Andie dropping onto my bed. So, I tell them both everything, starting with my dad and how I auditioned and that I kept who I was a secret. When I finish, Andie doesn’t look pissed, she looks perplexed. “So, why’d you hide it?” Rica answers for me. “Because in high school, people knew who she was, and they either hated her or wanted something from her.” “And you thought that’d follow you here,” Andie interprets. I nod. “There’s a problem with your logic,” she replies. “High school’s full of assholes.” My lips twitch despite my heavy heart. Rica asks, “Why was he so sure he should’ve known you were here?” “I don’t know. He’s never so much as mentioned Vanier in a conversation.” But Rica’s comment has me remembering something my dad said. “This isn’t about Timothy. But it will be.” He sounded angry, and not only with me. But when Timothy left a year and a half ago, Dad didn’t give any indication they were still in touch. And this fall, Timothy would have told me. Right? “So, are we still going to Leo’s tonight?” Andie prompts. I suck in a breath, making a decision. “Yeah, we’re going to Leo’s.” My phone’s on silent for most of the day, through my classes and guitar lesson. I leave it off while I’m messing with part of the song Emily and I are doing for the showcase. When I unlock it back at home after grabbing a quick bite and showering to change for Leo’s, I pull up in the middle of the living room. The voicemail button shows a new message, and my phone shows three missed calls from the same number. I hit play on the voicemail, my abs clenching even before Eddie’s voice barks from the speaker. “Why is my daughter at Vanier, Timothy? And don’t bother telling me you didn’t notice. You sat at my table last week and acted like nothing was wrong.” Eddie left me this voicemail this afternoon, which means… Emily. I try her number but don’t get an answer. So, I grab my coat and head for Leo’s as quick as I can, turning over Eddie’s call on the way. I get that he’s pissed, but I’m pissed too. He didn’t tell me she was struggling last year. He made me believe she was better off without me. Eddie might be my mentor, but I will always have Emily’s back. Whatever she told him or didn’t, that’s their business, just like what’s between her and me is ours. I get to Leo’s and use the back door to get inside. The place is already filling up, and as the act on stage finishes to applause, I crane my neck to look around the bar. Impatience clashes with worry in my stomach until I spot her through the crowd. I press between bodies to reach her. “Emily. Wait.” I catch up to her near the stage doors. She’s wearing dark jeans and a tank top, her hair down in waves around her head, but even in the darkness, I can tell her eyes are puffy. I reach for her arms, but she steps back, her eyes filling with accusation. “My dad showed up today. He was pissed because he thought you should’ve told him I was at Vanier. Since you guys are so tight.” “Six,” I say, careful. “I didn’t tell him anything.” “So, you were in touch. How often? Once a week? Only on holidays?” My hands fist at my sides. “I don’t know… Every couple months?” “While I was crying over you, you were talking to my dad as if nothing was wrong.” Emily shakes her head, expression full of disbelief. “It wasn’t like that.” “Like what? Like you chose him over me? Because that’s how it feels.” My gut twists, hard. She can’t possibly see it like that. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I can’t ever tell you how sorry. But I realized something this fall—we’re not over.” I step closer, and she angles her chin up to hold my gaze. I thread my fingers into her hair, cupping her neck in my hand. “We’re a song. You and me. What happened before was the first verse, and there’s so much more.” Her fingers wrap around my wrist, but she doesn’t try to move away. “Don’t you ever wonder if maybe we’re meant to be alone?” Her voice is stilted, and every muscle in me strains against the urge to crush her against me. “The liars, the rebels, the dreamers. Up there on the stage, in the spotlight, we bleed to make other people feel. But in order to bleed, we have to be broken.” It takes a moment for me to catch up to her words. “No. I don’t think that.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. Come back to my place. Or yours, I don’t care. We’ll talk.” Emily sucks in a breath. “I don’t need to talk, Timothy.” The firmness of her voice hits me squarely in the chest. “I’ve wasted months—years—pretending I don’t care about you,” I insist. “I’m not doing it again.” Emily’s eyes shine as she steps out of my hold, brushing her thumb across my palm before she drops my hand and moves closer. “I care about you too. But my dad was right about one thing—it’s easy to be shortsighted. This showcase is my first real chance. And it’s your second, which matters even more.” “What are you saying?” The words feel hollow. “That maybe we should take some room to breathe while we get through the showcase and focus on our dreams.” The clawing feeling in my chest wants to argue with her that we can do both, but the look on her face stops me. It’s not a goodbye, but it fucking feels like it. Anything but her coming home with me tonight is suddenly insufficient. When Emily turns to head for the stage doors, my heart goes with her.