CHAPTER 43 (2)

The idea that he might not come back the same from this is horrifying. It also feels selfish. How could he be the same? Timothy will have to live with the physical consequences of that night. Even if, through some miracle, they can repair his hand and he can play the way he used to, it’ll be a long road back. Two empathetic faces peer back at me from under knit hats, Avery’s from between her earmuffs. “He loves you. That much hasn’t changed, and no one can take that away,” Avery reassures me. When Avery heads for the benches to take off her skates, chatting with Andie as she goes, Rica stays behind, pulling something out of her jacket pocket. “I got this for you.” She holds up a little souvenir Statue of Liberty figurine on a short chain. I take in Lady Liberty’s resolute expression. “Is this a reminder I’ll always be a tourist?” “No. It’s a reminder that New York welcomes people, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. And that grace and strength aren’t opposites. Sometimes, having both is the only way to survive.” Touched, I take the tiny figure and throw my arms around Rica before she can protest. “Thank you.” “It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles back, squirming. “It was five dollars.” I think about the way Timothy acted after the showcase. He went inside himself and came out with the performance Jacob recorded that ended up scoring him the contract with Zeke. Maybe he needs a reminder of who he is, what he does. “You guys want to go to Leo’s tonight? I know we’re all studying, but only for an hour. Two, tops,” I ask as we catch up to Andie and Avery by the bench. Andie cocks her head, intrigued. “You have something special lined up?” “Not yet.” Conviction surges through me. “But I will.” “You came!” Andie calls from where she’s perched next to Jacob on a stool at Leo’s. She hugs Timothy, and he wraps his good arm around her for a second. “I heard that due to your condition, you got an extension until January to write your exams,” Andie says. “The gifts never end,” he drawls, but his mouth lifts at the corner when he looks back at me, and my heart lifts with it. It’s not the only reason to be in a good mood. I emerged from the library after skating to find two calls about interviews for serving jobs. Plus, I’ve started investigating both student loans and scholarships to help cover tuition and living expenses next semester. Rica orders drinks for the crew—alcohol for all of us except Timothy, who’s still on medication and gets a Coke—and we catch up through a few of the open mic acts. Some Vanier students stop by to talk, and the tightness in my chest eases every time Timothy lets them draw him into conversation. I’m thrilled to see him talking and laughing with our friends. Jacob said Timothy would need time, and he was right. I catch Jacob’s eye and he lifts his glass almost imperceptibly. I smile, sighing out a big breath I’ve been holding for ages. It almost feels like old times. Almost. “Come on, I have a surprise for you.” Excitement bubbles through me as I take Timothy’s good hand and lead him backstage. “A surprise. Are we going to have sex backstage?“ “Better.” “No such thing.” I nod to the woman who does the bookings, and she smiles. “Heard you had a little setback,” she calls to Timothy. “Nice to see you back in action.” “You call this action?” he tosses, lifting his arm. “Chicks dig scars.” The current performer finishes, and I jerk my head toward the stage. “Let’s go.” He balks. “Go where?” I head out to the stage and pull a guitar over my head, nodding to the other mic. A cheer goes up—not for me but from the people who spot Timothy in the wings. I lean into the mic. “So, this is the performance that’s been delayed a few weeks. But it’s the one we planned.” I play the first few chords of our showcase song, and a new round of hoots goes up. Timothy doesn’t move. I step back from the mic, continuing to play as I cross to him in the shadowy wings. “Come on! I’ve never had to drag you onto a stage before.” But whatever’s going on behind those shuttered eyes is dark and private. “You want me to sing,” he says at last. “Yes. You sang at the showcase. You were amazing.” His expression grows darker. “I’m not a singer, Emily. I’m a guitarist. So, give me the damn guitar.” My fingers still on it. “What?” “You heard me.” I lift it over my head. The crowd’s gone silent. He takes it with his good hand, shifts it over his head. He tries to hold the strings with his bandaged hand, his face contorting from the effort or the result. I suck in a breath. Timothy’s pain is mine, and it’s awful. “It’ll take time—” “It’ll take a fucking miracle.” He shoves the guitar into my arms and walks off stage. I chase him into the wings, grabbing his shoulder to make him turn back. “All I wanted was to be a studio musician, Six. I didn’t used to believe in dreams, but you made me. And I wish to hell you hadn’t.” It could be worse. That’s my mantra right now as I curl up in the stacks of the library at Vanier studying. Yes, my boyfriend got stabbed and he hates music, and maybe me. After last night at Leo’s, he went back to his hotel and I didn’t follow him, staying in my dorm room for the first time in over a week. But hey. I survived my first exam this morning and in another forty-eight hours, I can apply myself with renewed energy to the cause of finding money to stay in school. I’m setting down the notes for my Entertainment Management exam tomorrow when my phone vibrates in my bag. The number has me stiffening. “Hello,” I answer under my breath. “Hi.” My dad’s voice is rough. “You called.” “Nine days ago.” I pack up my things and head outside so I don’t disturb the other students taking up study cubes and lounging in comfy chairs. There are a few students out here, too, but not any close enough to listen, if they’d even care. The hype around my dad has all but evaporated. Something else to be grateful for. He huffs out a breath. “I needed time to think about what happened. Haley said I might have overreacted in New York.” “You think?” My voice is sharp enough a girl halfway down the hall lifts her head, and I turn away. “You lied to me, Emily. To both of us.” I can hear him trying to get control of himself. But as I lean against a wall, I can’t bring myself to care. “Timothy got hurt. We were walking home at night. Someone jumped him.” I take a breath. “He’s going to be okay.” “Jesus. Emily, what about you?” “I’m taking care of him.” “That’s not what I meant.” He curses. “Come home. We’ll deal with all of this once you’re back.” I want to. If he’d answered last week when I called and told me he’d fix it all, I would’ve taken him up on it in a heartbeat. My fingers find the little Statue of Liberty keychain and I turn it in my hand. “You told me life in this industry never goes the way you plan, and you’re right. I came to New York to pursue my dreams. You may not agree with them, but you don’t have to. I’m not giving up.” I think he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. “Haley and I will pay your tuition if that’s what you want.” My chest expands in relief. I don’t need to get a job, don’t need to struggle to figure out how I’m going to stay here. But my gaze plays over the students in the hall. They’re from all walks of life, all of them here because they can’t imagine being anywhere else. What they all have in common is they’re here on their terms. The realization that hits me is sobering and freeing at once. “You taught me how to swim. You taught me how to love music. But there’s one thing you taught me without meaning to, and it’s how to make it without giving a fuck what anyone thinks. I don’t need your approval or your money. You started out in this industry when you were my age, and you made it on your own. I will too.” There’s silence on the line, punctuated only by hoarse breathing. “When are your exams finished?” he asks at last. “Next week.” “Come home. Bring Timothy.” I run a finger over the ridges of the tiny figurine’s torch, her gown, her pedestal. “I am home, Dad.”