CHAPTER 54 (1)

Timothy Adams is a sore loser. We play games on the plane back from New York. It’s been a while since I traveled first class, but with him, I wouldn’t care if we were stuffed in with the bags. Sitting next to him, hearing him laugh and seeing him smile, is amazing and maddening. “It’s a word game app,” he argues, jerking his chin at my phone in his hand for emphasis. “You’re going to win by default.” “That’s not true,” I say, wrenching the device away from him. “Man up and compete already.” He narrows his gaze. “You’re going to attack my masculinity in the middle of a commercial flight?” Then I feel a tickling at my waist and stifle a surprised shriek. “Sorry,” I say to the flight attendant and the cabin in general as I shove his hands away and face the front of the plane, flushing. To him, I murmur, “You are a menace to society.” His curved lips brush my ear. “That’s not what you called me last night.” My thighs squeeze together at his lowered voice because I think I’m wet again. We had sex three times before falling asleep, and twice more this morning. How either of us is still horny defies logic and biology. “You promised not to do that on the plane.” “Do what? Distract you with thoughts of what else we could be doing right now? Forgive me if two years is a long time and I’d rather be so deep inside you—” I clap a hand over his mouth because if he finishes that sentence, I’m going to come right in the middle of first class. I shove my phone in my bag because there’s no way I can concentrate on a game now. After the flight attendant comes around to offer us drinks—we both opt for water, which comes in individual bottles with fancy glasses on the side—he asks, “So how does Mr. Douchey Ex not being involved affect your show?” “If Ian’s not the first investor, I need to line up some alternatives. And the truth is he was our best chance because he knew us and knew our work.” I pull out my tablet and open up the files I started to pull while we waited for our flight. “Bios,” I explain as he looks over my shoulder. “On every other funder in Ian’s circle of friends.” “Blackmail?” I laugh. “Not quite. I know what they’ve invested in, what their history is. Ian’s not going to do me any favors, but I’m hoping he won’t interfere. Still, on the chance he won’t…I need a Plan B.” His slow grin has me arching a brow. “You’re sexy when you’re plotting,” he decides. I laugh, realizing we haven’t talked much about serious stuff in the past week. “Thank you. What about you? Why are you chasing women to New York instead of working on new music?” Timothy leans in. “I told you, I’m on a break. I’m getting surgery.” “But you’ve already had surgery.” “This’ll be the fourth time.” My heart squeezes as the pieces click into place. He’s still trying to fix it. He might be past holding a grudge against the world and more relaxed with himself, but he doesn’t believe he’s as good as he was. “Listen to what Zeke sent me.” He digs out his phone, and I pop in the wireless headphones he offers. The track streams out, and I listen. “How much did you contribute to this?” I ask after the first chorus, pulling out the headphones. “I didn’t.” “There’s your problem.” Timothy looks past me, idly scanning the first-class cabin as if he’s reaching for patience. “I’m not going to write something if I can’t play it.” “Why not? Music is in your head and your heart, not your fingers. Especially when you live and breathe it. You could lose every sense you have and still feel it.” I pop the headphones back in and listen to the chorus once more, making some notes on the cocktail napkin in front of me. “I don’t know why you’re trying to take a studio song and make it work for me. I can’t make the music I want.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. The morning scruff is giving me all kinds of ideas of where I’d like to feel it. “Maybe you can make something better. You know,” I go on when he doesn’t respond, “It’s cute how much you care about putting Shane in the studio.” He picks at his armrest. “I don’t.” “But you do. You barely know her, but you want her to succeed, because she’s talented.” The Timothy I knew before wouldn’t have been as invested in someone else. It gives me hope. Not only for Shane, but also for him. “What about you and your dad?” he comes back. “You still look stiff when you’re in the same room together.” “I told you I found out Dad paid my tuition through an anonymous scholarship. Which means he didn’t think I could do it on my own.” “Or he didn’t want to watch you struggle. He loves you, Emily. Maybe he doesn’t express it right, or use the words you want, but he does love you.” “What does that mean—like how you’re all action and I’m all talk?” I tease. “That’s part of it. But I meant more like the way you can imagine your mom loved you, even though you’ve never met her.” The words land between us, and I blink to make sure I heard him right. “That’s not true.” Timothy’s eyes soften but he doesn’t press. “If it was a big deal,” I go on, “don’t you think I would’ve contacted her? I don’t need to. I didn’t even know about her until I got that letter four years ago.” “Yeah, but the difference is now, even if you don’t mean to, even if he doesn’t know it, you’re comparing him to her.” I fold my arms over my chest, staring at the water glass, the liquid vibrating slightly with the movement of the plane. “So what? You think if I want to square things with my dad, I have to contact her?” Timothy’s hand covers mine, and he tugs it toward him, threading our fingers together. Warmth spreads through me. “You don’t have to do anything. But I don’t want to see it eat at you.” I shift in my seat. “Did you make peace with your dad and what he did to you? The bills he left you with after?” Timothy’s head drops back against the headrest, but his eyes stay on me. “Yeah, I did. It took a long fucking time, but I did.” I turn that over the rest of the ride back to Dallas. When the plane arrives, the car drops Timothy off at his hotel, then takes me back to Dad and Haley’s. I walk in the door and immediately know something’s wrong. “Sophia, we need to go.”