“The right time was somewhere between the airport and that Ferris wheel.” She curves her lips into a fraudulent smile. “But that’s okay. It doesn’t matter now. It’s worked out for the best.”
“It isn’t worked out. I tried to get in touch. You never responded.” “Nothing to say.” She lifts one slim shoulder, perfectly executing carelessness. “It’s behind us now, and we can have a fresh start.” Is she saying . . .
“You mean—”
“As friends, yes.” She looks at me pointedly. “Look, I’m on a whole new coast and starting my new job. Figuring out where I’ll live. Getting Rhyson’s career off the ground. There’s a lot of things I need to focus on. What might have been between us if you hadn’t lied isn’t one of them. Let’s forget all the other stuff.”
I roll back the sleeve of my denim shirt, showing her the black watch I wear every day. The cheap watch she won for me on a priceless night.
“Does that look like I’ve forgotten, Bristol?”
Surprise flits across her face before she cements it back into her designated expression.
“Look, we’ll both be in Rhyson’s life,” she says with her eyes on the floor. “You trying to make that week something it really wasn’t will only make things awkward.”
“I’m not trying to make it something.” My voice scolds and pleads. “It was something, and you know it.”
“I know you lied to me.” Her voice is flat, eyes steady. “And the only thing left for us is friendship.”
Her face softens, and a smile warms her eyes for a moment.
“I actually think we could be good friends,” she says. “Who else is gonna teach me remedial hip-hop?”
I can’t bring myself to smile at her lighthearted comment. She’s offering me crumbs when I want the whole loaf. I want so much more than she’s willing to give me. If I’m honest, I want more than I deserve. Doesn’t make me want it any less. We only had a week together, but the conversation, the connection—I never had it with anyone else before or since. It is real, and real is so rare, you can’t ignore it when you find it. You don’t give up on it.
The kitchen door swings open, and Rhyson rushes in, his face alight with excitement, his phone pressed to his chest.
“It’s them,” he whispers to Bristol. “It’s the label about the deal.” “Oh my God!” Bristol waves him over to the kitchen table and he lays his phone down on the table, putting it on speaker.
“Hey, I’m back.” Rhyson glances at his sister, their identical eyes locked. “You’re on speaker with my manager Bristol.”
I half-listen as they start preliminary talks for what will be the foundation of Rhyson’s first record deal. I know later on I’ll be thrilled for him. Right now, though, as I glance at the cheap rubber watch on my wrist and remember that night at the carnival, the kiss when our hearts wheeled with the stars, I’m sad. And I can’t help but think the watch is a perfect symbol.
Because I’ll be biding my time.
Chapter 1
BRISTOL
PRESENT DAY
THERE ARE DAYS you want to just start over because it feels like every hour takes you into a deeper level of hell.
And there are days you wake up already scraping the very bottom of the pit, unable to claw your way up the fiery walls.
This week has pretty much alternated between the latter and the former. Today, I’m trapped in some purgatory between the two.
No matter how I look at it, this week’s been hell.
“Sarah.” I barely raise my voice, but I know my assistant hears through the open door connecting our offices.
At first, I managed everything for Rhyson’s music career by myself. He translated his fame as a classical piano prodigy into a modern rock sound that made him one of the biggest stars in the music world. Now, in addition to managing Rhyson and helping with Prodigy, the record label he recently launched, I also manage the other acts on our fledgling label and our friend Jimmi, who isn’t actually signed to Prodigy. Rhyson and I recognized once I took on those additional responsibilities, I would need help. We’ve made astounding progress in just a few years.
The things you can do when you have no personal life. “Yeah, boss.” Sarah appears at the door. “You need me?”
I thought I was in hell. Sarah looks like hell trampled her face. She isn’t so much standing as allowing the doorframe to prop her up. “Sarah, I hope we’ve reached that point in our relationship where I can tell you when you look like shit.” Sarah nods weakly.
“Good.” I grimace and gesture for her to sit down in the chair across from my desk. “Because you look like shit.”