I breeze past him as he leans against the metal door.
“You should know, he doesn’t have a lot of time.”
“I’ll make it quick,” I say, keeping up with his swift strides until we reach a white door.
I skip tapping on it and push it open. Everett’s dressing room is three times the size of the ones I’ve seen in the movies. He’s turned away from me, reclined in a chair in front of a mirror. I stand there for a moment, admiring the way his shirt stretches tightly across the broad expanse of his shoulders. It’s short-sleeved, the temperature so much different than the last time he played a concert.
The room is empty and silent, nothing around to distract him but me as I choke out his name. “Everett?”
He jolts out of his chair and spins around. “Summer? What are you doing here? Where’s Quinn?”
“She’s okay. She’s with Caroline.” I leave out the part where she’s sick. If seeing me has him this rattled, knowing that information would only serve to worry him more.
He eats up the space between us, grabbing my forearms. “What’s going on?”
“I just—” I blow out a breath, wishing he wasn’t touching me so I could stuff my hands in the back pockets of my jeans to give them something to do other than shake in his grasp. “I needed to talk to you.”
“It couldn’t wait? I told you that you could reach me through Todd. You didn’t have to fly to another state to do it.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have if…” I should have prepared something more to say. Getting this out is harder than I imagined. “Todd doesn’t know about this though, and it wasn’t my place to tell him.”
“He doesn’t know aboutwhat?”
“Brian. He…”
“What did he do to you?” He brushes the hair out of my face and examines the forehead it was hiding. My arms, my chest, any exposed skin he can find he checks.
“No. He didn’t do anything to me. He…knows, Everett. He saw it in Quinn’s file at school, and he threatened to tell the tabloids. I didn’t know what else to do.”
His hands lift to thread through his hair, and he turns his back to me. He marches away so quickly that when I reach for him, my hands touch empty air. I twist them in front of my lap.
Desperation forces me to take a step forward. “I didn’t want you to be blindsided if he did anything.”
He flips around. “So, you ambushed me yourself right before I’m about to go on stage? Summer, you couldn’t have picked a worse time!”
He’s pacing now, fists clenched at his sides. I knew there was a chance I’d regret coming here. That I was acting on impulse. I didn’t ask Julia’s advice this time. I felt confident Everett would want to control this narrative. Now I’m not so sure about any of it.
“You’re right. I… I should have waited. I’m?—”
Aboomvibrates through the walls and rattles the door. Everett palms his hat off the counter. He fits it to the crown of his head before looking at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, or if he’s going to be okay.
“We’ll talk about this after the show. I’ve gotta go.”
I reach for his hand when he brushes by me. Our fingers touch but never tangle. By the time I turn around, I’m whispering to an empty room, “… so sorry.”
32
EVERETT
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
I thought I’d experienced every stage of grief.
That was five minutes ago.
Before everything fell apart.
I picture Brian’s face stuffed through the sound hole of my guitar. Calluses rubbing off my fingertips with the pressure I’m strumming the strings. Pretending to punch the guy when I had my chance earlier this week.
