Page 88 of Behind the Bars

I knew I was—I’d fought to feel that way. I had earned myhappiness.

But he was right. On my journey to making it home, I’d hit a few bumps and gained a few bruises. The bruises I thought I had healed, TJ could still see. That scared me. What scared me even more was the idea of diving deep inside of myself, asking myself what those bruises meant, remembering what had caused them. I liked to hover over my emotions, touching them a bit but keeping the majority lockedaway.

If I hadn’t fallen apart in front of TJ the first day I met him, he probably wouldn’t have known about the rainclouds that sometimes danced over me each day. If I hadn’t shown him that side of me, maybe he would’ve believed I wasokay.

My music did suffer from me not opening up more, though I’d never really noticed how much I held back until TJ made meaware.

I just pretended it was okay, even though it wasn’t. TJ pretended with me, too, even though he didn’t want to. He believed in me more than I believed in myself, but he wouldn’t push me to open myself up unless I wasready.

The saddest truth was that I wasn’t certain I’d ever get to that point. I wasn’t certain my voice would ever discover its true magic. I wasn’t certain I’d ever be ready to stare at my cracks and call thembeautiful.

But still, I was happy. It just turned out that every so often, the cloud above me would release a few raindrops—not heavy showers, not a deluge, just a fewdrops.

I could handle a few drops. Who was I to complain about a few raindrops when I knew others, like Elliott, were dealing withhurricanes?

Every person had lyrics in their life that were too painful tosing.

But others’ lyrics were far worse than myown.

I was a luckyone.

I washappy.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jasmine

“Got PB&J today, young lady,”TJ said the next week, sitting down beside me after the first half of hisperformance.

“I’m pretty sure it was my day to get dinner, seeing how you didyesterday.”

He shrugged. “My mistake. I’m sure you’ll get it tomorrow. By the way, I think our lesson was good today,” he toldme.

“I feel like I’m letting you down,” I confessed. “I know I’m not giving you my all, and I know that’s my own fault. It’s like I have a mentalblock.”

“Give all you can, and I promise you that’s enough. When you’re ready, you’ll be ready. We’re not here to be perfect, so for right now, let’s just begood.”

“Thank you,TJ.”

“Anytime.”

We finished eating our meal, and TJ stood up and went back to his music. I stood up to go back to work, but something made mehesitate.

His sounds were different this time—sad, almost. His music was quieter than before, still beautiful, but more like a whisper. As I got ready to head into work, my heart flew to my throat in panic. TJ’s saxophone dropped to the brick road, the impact intense. The sound it produced when it hit made my skincrawl.

“TJ,” I whispered, confused as my stare shot up to his. His brown eyes were bugged out and his hands flew to his chest.No…I rushed over to his side as his knees buckled from beneath him. “TJ, no, please…” Tears flooded my face as I wrapped my arms around his body, trying to help him up. He shook in my hold and my tears kept falling, hitting his sweet, scared face. His gaze burned into mine, and I swallowed hard, shaking him, begging for him to stay awake, to stay with me, to not fade away into thenight.

His breaths were heavy. He wheezed and huffed as a crowd formed around us. A few people called 9-1-1, and others shouted, terrified, filled with worry andfear.

And my voice saidnothing.

It cracked, it burned, and still, no sound came out until I could only say the four words that sat deep in my heart. “Please don’t leaveme.”

The paramedics came and pulled me away. I fought and clawed and shoved them, wanting nothing more than to hold on to TJ. I needed to hold on to him for a little bit longer. I needed to be there when we found out he’d beokay.

He had to be okay. He was Theodore James, the most talented musician, the most wonderful man, and myfriend.

But they refused to let me hold on tohim.

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