CHAPTER 44 (2)
The audience will love him because his intensity, his seriousness, his capability, will shine through. He pulls up, still facing away. “With a guitar in my hands, I’m better than anyone at Vanier. Better than Eddie. Or I was—two weeks ago. They took it from me.” The rawness in his voice guts me. I move in front of him, cupping his face and forcing him to look at me with angry eyes. “No one can make you less than you are. And there are plenty of ways to make music, Timothy.” But his cynical expression makes me sick. Tamayo’s words come back to me. Am I the one who’s deluded? These last two weeks have been a nightmare. His hand is healing, but the rest of him is dying. I’ve tried everything to pull him out of it, to show him I’m here for him and we’ll get through this together. He still tells me he loves me, but if he turns down this tour and moves out of the hotel, is this what our new normal will be? His bitter accusations? Me walking on eggshells? The other night at Leo’s, the way he looked at me and at the guitar… That was not the man I love. If he doesn’t love music, I don’t know who he is. I press the ticket against Timothy’s chest, my eyes burning. “You should do it.” “What?” For the first time, the anger leaves his face and he’s my Timothy again. The curious, thoughtful boy with the fast hands and the slow smile. He looks past me, watching a family emerge from the changing room to get into the pool behind us. “You made me promise once to never leave you.” “I’m asking you to.” The words hang between us. My hands fist at my sides hard enough my nails dig into my palms. “Miranda—Tamayo,” I go on at his confusion, “wants my help with the musical. She says I should audition when it’s finished.” Timothy reaches up to tug on his hair. “Wow. Congrats. Your dreams are coming true when mine are going up in smoke.” “I know you’re going through something unimaginable, but don’t accuse me of holding my success over you.” His gaze works over mine as if he’s trying to see through my words, trying to understand. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says at last, gesturing toward the doors. “We should go upstairs.” We head up to his room, and I shower quickly and throw my clothes back on. He doesn’t try to join me. If I expected the tension to have dissipated by the time I’m back in the living area, it hasn’t. Timothy’s standing by the window. He cuts a look toward me when I emerge. “If I go on tour, what happens?” “You get to light up a stage.” “I meant to us.” I count the beats of my heart, the slow, steady rhythm reminding me the world is still turning, even though it feels as if everything’s stopped. I reach for the necklace I put back on after the swim, but it feels too much like a tell. So, I force my hand down to my side as I cross to him at the window, my gaze lingering on the ticket on the coffee table as I pass it. When I stop in front of him, he hooks a finger in my belt loop to fit my hips to his. That tiny gesture nearly breaks me, and when I look up to see Timothy’s handsome face full of frustration and confusion, that only makes it harder. Miranda’s words come back to me. There’s so much ahead for both of us. We’ve always been striving toward greatness, no matter how far away it feels and no matter what gets in the way. I want this chance for Timothy. I want it for me, too. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” I start, “but it’s still an opportunity. And even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, you will hate yourself if you don’t try.” I will hate myself if I let you quit trying. The tears are threatening to spill over. For once, I shove the emotions down. Instead, I kiss him. It’s deep and hard, and every second that my lips move over his, I’m fighting the burning behind my eyes with everything in me. When he pulls back, my panicked thought is that it’s too soon. I need more of him, need his lips on me and his comfort in me, and even if he’s not quite my Timothy, he’s here and that’s enough. “I’ll go.” His words make my stomach drop. The relief I was expecting never comes, but I nod anyway. “It’ll be good,” I promise. I press up on my toes to wrap my arms around him in a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you. Call me from London, okay? I don’t care what time you get in.” Timothy exhales hard, and when I force myself to pull back, the beautiful gaze I know better than my own moves between my lips and my eyes. “Six...Why does this feel like goodbye?” The nickname makes my heart swell and shatter at once. I force my mouth to smile, and every muscle hurts. “It’s not.” But I know the truth. Deep down, I know it is goodbye.
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