CHAPTER 51 (2)
But the way she’s looking at me, I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. “Stay put,” I tell Sophia, “I need to get towels.” She heads for her trucks under one of the patio chairs while I go to the cabana on the other side of the patio. The top shelf is empty, but there should be extras below. I’m rummaging around inside and finally spot a stash tucked behind some other supplies when I hear a splash behind me. “Sophia?” I call over my shoulder, grabbing two towels. No answer. My veins turn to ice. I whirl and bolt from the cabana, my gaze scanning the patio where she was a moment ago. No sign of her. Until I spot her form beneath the surface of the pool. “Sophia!” I scream. I need to get to her. I know it in my mind, but my legs won’t cooperate. My throat tightens, every part of me numb. Go. Go. Fucking go. Suddenly I do, springing toward the pool. But in the same moment, a form leaps over the fence from the direction of the studio and dives into the pool headfirst. My head thuds dully and my nails dig into my palms as Timothy cuts through the water. It feels like a lifetime before he emerges with Sophia, who’s coughing. He lifts her out and sets her on the side of the pool before hefting himself out, his jeans, T-shirt, and jacket soaked and his hair black and dripping. I race toward them, my arms wrapping around her wet form. “Oh my God. Are you okay?” I pull back to look in her pale face. She’s breathing, though blinking and disoriented. When her coughing relents, she mumbles. “My red sister truck was in the pool.” I look over the edge to see the red truck on the bottom. My stomach plummets as I wrap one of the towels still clutched in my hands around her. Timothy’s voice is low, shaken. “I’ll get her toy.” He wrenches off his drenched jacket, but before he can shift away, I clamp a hand around his wrist. I can’t stand the thought of him going anywhere right now. “No.” “Emily, I’m soaked,” he protests. After a moment, his arms go around both of us. I don’t give a shit about his wet clothes. I need him here. “Are you okay?” Tyler murmurs. I shake my head. “I couldn’t move,” I whisper. “I panicked, and I couldn’t do anything and…” The backs of my eyes burn as my gaze drops to his hand, scarred and tattooed. His face fills with understanding and an emotion I can’t name. “It’s okay, Six. It wasn’t your fault.” Sophia squirms, and I shudder out a breath. “Let’s go inside and make a snack. How do Rice Krispies squares sound?” “I don’t like squares. Can we make them circles?” Timothy’s face is pale, but his lips curve up in a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, we can make them circles,” I hear myself say before dropping Timothy’s hand and rising. “You come inside too,” I tell him. “It’s so sticky.” Sophia’s digging into her first circle with fascination—I used a cookie cutter to make them—when Timothy comes in, his hair damp from the shower in the guest bathroom. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt of my dad’s and jeans an inch too short, but he still looks handsome as ever. “I bet this is what you came back from LA for,” I tease, trying to keep it light. “Lifeguard duty.” He steps closer, scanning my form. I’m still in my bathing suit, a towel wrapped over it. “You must be cold. I can watch Sophia if you want to shower.” “Thanks. But I don’t want to let her out of my sight.” I wrap my arms around myself and cut a look towards my sister. She’s turning the pages of a picture book, happily dressed in pajamas in the middle of the day. A week ago, I was barely part of this family. Now, it’s all I can think about. This family and him. The boy who’s always been in me, with me. Suddenly, I can’t hold the feelings in anymore. “Timothy.” The moment I look back toward him, those dark eyes are on me. “How do you know when something’s over? Is it when the world tells you it is? When you decide it?” He’s silent, but I can see the wheels turn behind his eyes. “I know when you went on tour,” I go on, “things were messed up. But there was never a time I didn’t want you,” I tell him. “You didn’t seem to think you were whole anymore, and I hated that I had contributed to that.” His expression fills with anguish as he steps closer, his body a breath away. “Emily, none of it was your fault. You have to know that.” Despite my vows to keep my distance, I can’t keep from reaching my arms around his neck to play with the damp hair that curls at his collar. My gaze runs over his chest, the hard lines under his shirt—not because I’m checking him out, though his closeness is making me ache for his touch, but because I can’t meet his gaze. “In acting class my final term at Vanier, we had to prep monologues about our heroes. Andie talked about her mom. Some people chose public figures. I chose you.” He stiffens under me, and I force my eyes up to his because I need to see his face. His expression is filled with longing and something I’m afraid to name. I’m trapped in his stare, the tension twisting me, wringing me out like one of the wet towels by the pool. “You will always be my hero, Timothy Adams. The way you try, the way you fight no matter what life sends your way… you are everything I want to be, and it has nothing to do with your music and everything to do with who you are in here.” My hand covers his heart, his chest warm through the borrowed T-shirt. “Everyone okay?” Haley asks as she and my dad enter the room. We step apart, but not before Haley’s gaze turns knowing and my dad eyes us suspiciously. “Yeah. Everyone’s good.” A distinctive ringtone from my phone on the coffee table has me stiffening in his arms. “What is it?” Timothy asks. I know before I answer. “Real life.”
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