She smiles tenderly. “It’s your turn. Take us home.”
“You’re not going to speak?”
She shakes her head. “This one’s yours.”
Kenny and Ripper clear a path to the mic. I grip the sides of the podium, and for a second, all I feel is terror. Then I picture my mom watching and holding her breath for me the same way I held mine for Hannah—and suddenly, I can breathe again.
“When you’re a manager or a producer, you dedicate your life to the people you work for, and if you’re like me, you’re more than glad to do it.” I squeeze the mic tighter. “But tonight I’d like to dedicate this award to a little boy who grew up lonely in Virginia, listening to Whitesnake after his father left, dreaming of a day when he would feel happy and whole again.” I stand up taller and look straight into the audience, straight into the cameras, straight into the eyes of anyone watching from home. “The seed of this dream might’ve been planted in sadness, but it’s grown into something joyful. We did it, kid. I hope I’ve made you proud.”
Lights flash and wrap-up music plays as the audience applauds. Kenny and Ripper, giddy and laughing, push me toward the curtains where Grammy producers stand with golden gramophones, one for each of us, and it’s all so overwhelming that I almost miss when Han-nah leans in and whispers, “Meet me at the back door in ten minutes.”
Chapter 63
Hannah
Sunday, February 2, 2025
He’s late. My chaperone raises an eyebrow and taps her watch. “We should get going. It’s going to be a madhouse on the roads.”
“Give me one more minute.” I study the winding maze of hallways. Before I’d slipped away, I’d watched Theo get caught up in a wave of congratulatory hugs from industry people suddenly excited to know him again, and then in a gauntlet of flashing lights. As comfortable as Theo is at saying no to photographers on our behalf, he hasn’t learned how to decline for himself yet. And he’s never been good at navigating backstages, so maybe he got lost.
I’m clinging to these thoughts instead of the more painful option: that in the months I’ve been in rehab, Theo Ford has moved on, as he has every right to do. I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, it would be the smarter choice.
Please come anyway.It’s a quiet plea inside my head.Please have meant it when you said you’d follow me anywhere.
He appears like a mirage at the end of the hall, out of breath and unspeakably beautiful in his fitted tux. So far from the boy who was once teased for his shabby clothes.
Like earlier during my award speech, my heart soars at the sight of him. All the therapists at Atone insist you’re not supposed to get better for other people, but in this moment, I realize a very small part of me is doing it for him, that I will always, for the rest of my life, be proud of myself for putting that look back on Theo’s face, that mix of awe and respect. I love when he looks at me like that. Like he’s my biggest fan. I missed that look.
“Hannah.” Theo blows past Sharon, my Atone Center chaperone, and throws his arms around me, lifting me off the floor and spinning me in a dizzy circle. I’m still laughing when he kisses me, but soon these last months of longing, of wishing I could touch him, turn our kiss slower and more passionate. I consider never letting go, the rest of my life be damned.
Sharon clears her throat.
Theo breaks away and turns, noticing her for the first time. “Oh— I’m sorry.” He lets me slide back to my feet.
I clear my throat. “Theo, meet Sharon. She came along to make sure I’m on my best behavior tonight. No drinking champagne under the table or finding someone with a flask in the bathroom. Or snorting anything with the boy bands backstage.”
“I see you’ve really thought through your options,” Sharon says dryly.
Theo studies me. “Does that mean you’re going back to rehab?”
I feel the wistful smile curve my mouth. “I’m only out for one night. Special dispensation. Call me Cinderella. This dress turns into rags and Sharon turns back into a mouse at midnight.”
Sharon coughs.
It’s the right choice. I have more work to do. It turns out grief and dependencies aren’t solved overnight. But even knowing that, every-thing inside me revolts at the disappointment on Theo’s face. Then he shakes it away and composes himself.
“That’s okay,” he says, in a quieter voice, like he’s trying to convince himself. “It’s good.” He rubs my bare shoulders. “Cinderella was never a two-time Grammy winner. She’s got nothing on you.”
I brush a lock of his dark hair off his forehead. “I’m proud of you too.” “Hannah.” To her credit, Sharon sounds regretful. “We really need to go to make it back by curfew.”
“It’s okay,” Theo repeats, when I frown up at him. The neon-green Exit sign above the door makes his skin glow. He slides his hands down my forearms, lifting goose bumps. “Do you know when you’ll be out?”
A pit opens in my stomach. “I don’t.” Slowly, understanding dawns on his face. “That’s why the band’s breaking up. Because you don’t know.” I swallow the sharpness in my throat. “It’s not fair to Kenny or Ripper to hold their lives hostage while I figure myself out.”
It’s funny. I’m standing backstage at the Grammys. Two golden gramophones have my name on them. I’ve dreamed about this a thousand times. It should be one of the happiest moments of my life. But nothing ever happens the way you imagine it. Life’s sucker punches are one of the things I’m still learning to deal with.
The pained comprehension in Theo’s eyes deepens. “You don’t knowifyou’ll come back to music, do you?”
