When I enter Carter’s office, it’s the same as I remember it, plus a few new awards. The walls are covered in obscure-looking equations and comic book covers. It’s perfect for him. He’s a genius who refuses to grow up.
“I have an idea for a new project,” I say.
I explain it to him. He listens, raising a brow on his unusually tan face.
When I finish, my former professor’s eyes sparkle. “What happened to Mr. Teenager-bait Musician?”
I shouldn’t be surprised he knows about Jax. “He was here to cut an album. It’s over.”
Jax left two weeks ago.
Fifteen days if you’re counting.
We’ve texted a bit but he’s been especially vague about his activities since returning to Dallas. And neither of us has suggested talking on the phone.
Probably because he gets, like I do, that we can’t continue the way we were here. There’s a new normal and we need to respect that if we’re going to move forward with our lives.
I keep telling myself it’s going to be fine, but I miss having him here, smelling him, laughing with him, lying next to him.
“Carter, if you’re gunning to be my rebound, I’m flattered. But it’s not going to happen. Business only.”
He shrugs. “Fine. I’ve been in Costa Rica for the last six weeks. Might go back. I don’t need some kid hanging all over me.”
I know he’s joking about the last part. “You’ve been there six weeks?”
“Never even noticed, did you?” He smirks. “The beauty of the internet. School semester wrapped in April, which means if I’m not teaching, I can work anywhere. Should’ve tried it ages ago.”
We hash out a plan for the app on his whiteboard, and I confirm when I can code the first part by.
“Huh. You really are done with your other life.”
The words hit me. My other life.
Is that what it’ll feel like in a few months? That it was another lifetime? The thought makes my chest ache.
I leave Carter’s office and walk around. Campus is quiet, but a few students are chatting along the paths, on the benches. I could’ve been one of them.
I still can. I can do anything I want.
I’m keeping my shares in the company. But I’m done working at Wicked.
On the way home, I call Serena. “Hey. Do you want to hang out tonight?”
“I’d love to, but I need to work late.” My friend sounds strange, as if maybe she feels badly that she’s still all-in at Wicked when I’m trying to move on.
“Sure, no problem.” I swing in the doors of the house.
“I do need a coffee break though. So talk to me. Any offers on the house?”
I hear her chair creak in the background and picture her going to the kitchen for java.
“Yes, finally.” I think of the FOR SALE sign in the driveway. I don’t need five thousand square feet of Century-home luxury and I’ve been meaning to list the house for months. It finally feels like the right time. “We wondered why it was taking so long but my realtor found this blog post about the house being haunted. Apparently that sparked interest like crazy.”
“Huh.” She sounds far away. “Perfect. Listen. How are you doing with the whole Jax leaving thing?”
I blow out a breath. “It sucks,” I say honestly. “I’m trying to focus on a new program with Carter, then I pull out my phone and start typing some emotional text to Jax. I can’t send them because we agreed we’d be grownups about this.” I sigh out a breath. “Just tell me one thing. Are we still getting messages about the album?”
“It’s insane,” she replies immediately. “Everyone’s connecting to it, feeling it. I mean, come on. It went platinum.”
I feel the weight on my shoulders lift a little. “I don’t care about that part, Serena. I’m just so glad he made it. That it matters to people.”
I don’t know if it’s my words or the wistfulness in my voice that has her concerned. “Haley, maybe we should talk. I can duck out of work in an hour or so—”
“No, it’s fine. Seriously. But can I borrow Scrunchie tonight?”
“Of course. And we’re on for lunch tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
I pick up Scrunchie using my spare key for Serena’s apartment and take him home.
Then I curl up on the couch, stick in my earbuds and hit Play on the album I’ve been waiting to listen to like this.
To feel.
To remember.
I’ve listened to these tracks hundreds of times. Spent hours tweaking them. Now, Jax’s voice seducing me through the headphones is pure catharsis.
“The ground under your feet shifts with everyone you meet
You have a choice, a chance
To keep it all and curse your fate
Tell yourself it’s all too late
Keep counting wrongs until they’re right or find a new line of sight.”
Tears roll down my cheeks through my eyelids. Not because I’m sad.
Because I’m happy.
I’m so fucking happy he made this for the world.
Made it for me.
For all of us.
Scrunchie sniffs my neck in support.
After awhile, I force myself to open my notebook computer and go through emails.
Tomorrow’s my last official day at Wicked. I need to turn in my pass, and clean out my office.
I scroll through the emails, Scrunchie shifting under my hand as I stroke his soft back.
Maybe I need a skunk.
An email comes in from Tyler asking about our last day in studio. I think of his bright future, snuffed out by Wicked’s failing.
I had to tell the kids this week that the program’s cut. I didn’t tell them that the recordings are Wicked’s property.
Now, hearing Jax’s album, that seems like the bigger crime.
An idea comes to me.
You can’t make him Jax, a voice says. But you can protect his work. His voice.
Shifting upright so fast I almost dump Scrunchie from my lap, I dig out the contact list from our board of directors materials.
Then I reach for my phone.