Page 60 of The Encore’s Crown

I watched him hand off his bass and jump into a crowd without hesitating. Watched him force a path through hundreds of people, pull someone off the floor, separate two men who were seconds from swinging, and somehow turn the whole thing into cheers instead of panic. Kiri is reckless, infuriating, and probably missing whatever part of the brain is responsible for self-preservation. But he isn’t a coward. I know that, I saw that. Except, it seems, when it comes to me.

The bus stops outside the hotel. The bathroom door flies open before the brakes finish sighing, and Kiri moves down the aisle so quickly he’s little more than black clothes and hair disappearing into the night. I stare after him through the window.

“Subtle,” Rithy mutters. I look at him while he pretends to be deeply interested in his phone.

When we reach our floor, everyone is tired enough to stop pretending we’re going anywhere for dinner. Kasia slides her keycard into her room door while Rafe stands behind her with both hands on her hips, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“We’re ordering room service,” she says.

“Making the most of the last night,” Rafe adds, far too pleased with himself.

I look between them. “I’m grateful for the rooms between us.”

Kasia rolls her eyes.

Rafe grins. “Goodnight, Nat.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know I’m about to hear something traumatic.”

“You won’t hear anything,” Kasia says.

Rafe’s smile widens.

I point at him. “That face is exactly why I don’t believe her.”

Kasia pushes him through the doorway before he can make it worse. “Go order food.”

“Yes, doctor.”

She gives me a quick hug before following him inside. “Try to sleep. We have an early start.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

Their door closes, and I stand alone in the corridor for a moment, looking toward the other end of the hall. Kiri’s room is down there. Close enough to reach in less than a minute, yet still far enough that neither of us can manage it. I go to my own room instead. The silence immediately makes everything worse. I order dinner because I barely ate before the show and because chewing seems like a healthier activity than marching down the hall and kicking Kiri’s door until he answers. When the food arrives, it looks beautiful. Rice, grilled chicken, vegetables arranged with enough care to deserve appreciation.

It tastes like nothing. I sit cross-legged on the bed, take three bites, and give up. My anger keeps colliding with the tight, ugly worry left over from the pit. Every time I close my eyes, I see Kiri vanish into the crowd. I see bodies close over him. I hear metal scream even though there was no metal tonight, only my brain dragging an old nightmare into a new place because it hates me.

Tomorrow I’ll be on a plane, and this is what he’s giving me? Nothing? He’s brave enough to jump into a fight but too scared to knock on my door.

I shower until the bathroom fills with steam, scrubbing venue smoke and sweat from my skin while I rehearse everything I would say if he were standing in front of me. After, I pull on an oversized sweatshirt and pajama shorts, still rehearsing it all in my head. In the space of one shower I’ve built an entire prosecution. I climb into bed with my laptop and try to work. Midnight passes, then one. I answer emails I don’t care about, adjust the brightness on photos that were already fine, and rearrange the same six clips three different ways.

At 1:46, I open our chat. His last message still sits there.

I’m sorry, Nat.

I type:

Are you planning to hide until I leave?

Delete.

Then:

You’re an asshole.