Page 165 of Resurrection
Curtis’s fist pounded on the door of my stall.
"Yo, Brady! You in there makin’ out with your phone?"
I ignored him. "Wanted you to know that I’m one step closer."
"To what?"
"To getting what I want so I can return to you, so I can give you the things you deserve."
"You left me."
"It’s not forever, Nomes."
"I don’t believe you anymore."
"You’ll see." I paused and pressed the phone harder against my ear, as if I were afraid of losing it, of losing her. "I wish you were here."
"Ty?"
"Yeah."
"You do what you need to do."
The line went dead.
I stood there, staring at the phone as if it might bring her back. As if it might fix the past.
"Brady! Dude! What the hell!" Curtis called.
Dumb motherfucker.
He pounded on the door again, laughing loud enough to wake the whole damn city.
I didn’t react. My heart was thrashing in my chest. The rejection stung. I suddenly wanted it all to go away, wanted to stop feeling so damn much. I wanted to be dead on the inside, and for the next ten years I would be. I would remove her from my mind and leave just one thing that would matter—my music.
EPILOGUE
I watchfrom the back of the community center room. There’s an iPad on my lap with the calendar app up. I’m supposed to be chaperoning our new music instructor, Mr. Brady, and working on next month’s schedule for all the volunteers. But, frankly speaking, my attention has only been on Ty.
Today, he’s at the head of the class. A group of kids are gathered around him. They fumble through scales, the sound sweet and honest.
Ty’s joy is tangible. It’s been two months since the disastrous reunion and since he walked away from his manager, and all this time, I’ve been afraid he’d hate it here, like this, without any harness that would pull him back into that world he came from should things get boring. However, so far, he’s been content with his decision.
He drops into a crouch next to a girl’s guitar, helping her find the right frets. She nods as he explains patiently.
I shove my hand into the large pocket of my summer jacket and squeeze the old promise ring in my fist. I’ve been carrying it around on me for weeks, unsure of what to do with it. Still, I dug it out from the old box of memories in the attic because it meant something. And I think I now understand what.
Next to Ty, Asher moves through the group, handing out sheet music and nodding as the younger kids ask a thousand questions. He’s like a shadow, making sure things run smoothly, soaking up everything Ty has to give.
"And remember, guys, next week, we’re going to meet on Thursday," Ty says as the class is starting to wind down. "My assistant has the info." He gestures at Asher walking across the room.
The boy is eighteen now, and I’m glad he doesn’t need to stay with his parents. Instead, Adri found him a small studio near the community center. It’s tiny, four walls and a kitchenette. But it’s better than what he had before, and Ty’s paying him a little for all his help.
Eventually, the class draws to a close, and the room slowly empties. The kids pile out, clutching their guitars and chattering like it’s the best day of their lives.
I shut off my iPad and slide it into my handbag, then cross the room to where Ty’s standing and giving some instructions to Asher.
"The new music teacher did good, huh, Ms. Medina?" the boy beams at me.
