THE FINAL BOOK 2: EPILOGUE (1)

“You look good,” a familiar voice comments from the doorway as I step into my high heels. I look up to see my roommate. “Thanks, Rica.” I glance between her and the fish on my desk. “I appreciate you looking out for Heath while I was gone. You didn’t have to clean his bowl, too.” “I didn’t.” I rise from the bed, smoothing down the silver dress that ends halfway down my thighs. I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah, you did. But it’s cool. You don’t have to admit it.” She rolls her eyes, and I continue. “DJ Payne’s playing in Brooklyn this weekend. I saw him on your playlist. Andie and I want to go, and we want you to come.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Her mouth purses. “Where are you going in the ‘fuck me’ dress?” I grin. “Timothy’s taking me out.” Rica arches a dark brow. “You guys have cool energy together. Don’t take it for granted.” “Trust me, I won’t ever take what we have for granted.” With one last look in the mirror, I head down for my date. The last twenty-four hours after returning from LA have been a whirlwind. After meeting Tamayo yesterday, I got to work on her revised assignment. I was up all night and sent it by email at four in the morning. She wrote me back at five with a response that had my jaw dropping. Now, it seems the surprises aren’t over. The limo outside the front doors can’t be for me. But as Timothy emerges from the back seat, I know it is. The driver gets out to hold the door, but Timothy waves him off. “Are you kidding me?” I laugh, but before he can respond, I pull up short, taking in his pants, shined shoes, and tailored winter jacket. “Damn. This is a date. I’m impressed you found a pea coat. What’s under it?” Timothy unbuttons the coat with one hand and holds it open. The suit jacket underneath has me sucking in cold air that burns my lungs. “You dressed up. I’m kind of shocked.” His gaze roams up my bare legs, ending on my long jacket. “Your turn. Unless you’re not wearing anything under that coat, in which case, fuck the date, we’re going upstairs.” I unbutton the front of my coat, put both hands on my hips, and pose. “Damn, Six.” His voice is reverent, and I’m glad I sprung for the new dress. “You’re stunning.” I feel myself flush in the dark. “Thanks.” His gaze drops to the necklace hanging between my breasts. “Like your bling too.” “First boy I ever loved gave it to me. Never forgot it, or him.” Timothy’s face fills with emotion as he helps me into the car. We talk on the ride, but he refuses to tell me where we’re going. When the car pulls up and the driver holds my door open, I step out into lights as bright as day. “Broadway!” I huff out a happy sigh. Timothy shifts out after me, and as the car pulls away, he links his warm fingers through mine. “You asked me to a show a couple weeks ago, and I passed. I wanted to make it up to you.” The marquee on the theater has my eyes bugging out even more. “Hamilton? You’re joking.” I start toward the doors, but our linked hands tug me back. Timothy’s eyes shine as he stares at me. “I love that about you,” he murmurs. “What?” “You could have anything you want, and you’re still thrilled by the world.” “The best things aren’t about money,” I remind him, smoothing a hand down the soft fabric of his coat. “Though if this is some male ploy to get me to sleep with you at the end of the night, it’s not going to work.” The exposed bulbs cast Timothy’s face in half shadow, and he has the decency to look offended. “Don’t sleep with me because I took you to Hamilton.” He steps closer to let a stream of people past us, bending toward my ear and lowering his voice. “Sleep with me because you want to. Because even though the world’s been offering you things this entire week, all you really want is to be alone with me.” I pull back to look him in the eye. “How about because I’m not wearing underwear?” Tyler threads a hand into my hair, kissing me hard and hungrily. “Fuck Hamilton,” he grinds out, and I suck in an appalled breath. “Absolutely not. We’re going.” Timothy’s groan vibrates through me. “Fine. But I’m feeling you up at intermission.” The theater is beautiful, and I love everything about it. It’s opulent yet intimate, with plush red seats and arching gold decorations. Our seats are in the second row. I point it all out to Timothy, and we discuss it until the lights go down. From the opening number, I’m rooted in place. So many stories are powerful, but this one grabs me and refuses to let go. It’s about building a legacy. Taking action. Fucking up. Every word, every song, fills me as if I’m the one singing, and my lungs expand until I think my chest will burst. It’s beautifully, achingly human. By the end, I feel reborn. “Well?” Timothy asks when the ovation finishes and our row files out. I don’t move, staring at the stage after everyone’s left our row. “This is it,” I state. “This is what I want to do.” I cut a look up at Timothy’s amused face. “Tamayo sent me part of the book she’s cowriting for a new musical. It’s nearly finished, but she’s been stuck on a couple of songs. I sent her some lyrics, just some spur-of-the-moment ideas, and she actually liked them. There’s a chance I could work on it with her.” His grin is dazzling. Timothy wraps an arm around me, and we head down the aisle for the exit, my program tucked safely in my little bag like a perfect memory of tonight. After the theater, the car takes us to a bar. “Don’t wait. We’ll find our own way home,” Timothy tells the driver when he lets us out, and we watch the car glide slowly down the street. We reach the bar, and he holds the door. Inside, it’s charming and funky, and we weave through the hip crowd and snag two stools. We order from the bartender, and he returns a moment later with our drinks. I lift mine as I consider. “To big dreams.” “To being so good they can’t look away.” Timothy’s mouth tugs at the corner as if he’s remembering the moment a year and a half ago when he gave me those words. I take a sip of my drink, humming with pleasure at the smoothness as I glance around the bar. “You hear anything from your dad?” Timothy asks. Sadness edges into my excitement, though if I’m honest, a part of it’s been there the past week, lingering in the corners of my mind, my soul. “Just Haley.” Timothy reaches over to rest a hand on my thigh. “He’s not perfect, Emily, but none of us are. I know you’ve had your issues, and I don’t agree with everything he does, but he loves the hell out of you.” Timothy’s words have me sighing. “I know. And I probably should have told him. But I’m stubborn and so is he, and we both suck at backing down.” I turn that over. “I told him about the letter from my birth mom. He was shocked. He almost looked… guilty. Like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t.” “You could reach out to her.” “Maybe I will.” I scan the bar over his shoulder, the dozens of people drinking and laughing and joking. Is she somewhere doing the same thing right now? I shake it off as my attention comes back to Timothy. Tonight’s not for that—tonight is for us. “So,” I start, my mouth twitching, “what does the future look like for Timothy Adams now that he has a record deal?” His thumb strokes my thigh absently, sending little ripples of awareness through me. “Zeke wants me to record an EP to start. A combination of my own songs and a cover or two. I told him I wanted to record our songs, if you’d be open to that. The one from the showcase, and maybe we could work on more together.” Disbelief washes over me. “Timothy?! Yes. A million times, yes.” He grins at my response. “There’s more, though.” The brightness in his eyes dims a few watts. “The band I played with loved my sound, and they have a slot for an opener on their tour in a couple months. They want me to go with them. I have a couple days to decide.” My jaw drops. “Wow. That’s huge.” “Two months ago, all I wanted was to get the hell out of Vanier. Now, I don’t want to leave my friends or New York.”