Toby’s voice went high. “Cassie. That was Wolf Records as in Wolf Records. Holy shit.”
“That’s the one.” I smiled, feeling my head shake, shocked.
He laughed, and began to talk logistics.
Suddenly, as had happened several times over the last forty-eight hours, my thoughts ran smack into a wall. I could barely move from room to room, let alone think about banging on an instrument in front of people.
I sniffed, trying to make my throat loose again.
“T, I need a second.”
“Okay, no problem,” he said, absent, still flipping through records. “I’ll just find this real quick.”
He held out the album, a preacher with a Bible. “You know how many bands would kill to be considered by Wolf Records?”
I sighed, pushing sleeves to my eyes, wishing his giant sweatshirt would swallow me whole so I could be in darkness and softness and nothingness. “Yes. I do happen to know that,” I muttered.
“They’re one of the only indie labels that puts out Billboard-level stuff. They’ve got great shit going on. And they want us!”
“I know!” I shouted. “I fucking know that!”
He stared at me, mouth open. Tears were coming soon. I clenched my gut hard, keeping them in. I hated feeling like a child, like a kid who’d gotten sick at a sleepover and was ruining the fun. I opened my mouth and took a breath, holding the small, rocky ocean that had started to occupy my stomach whenever I thought about the last few days.
Toby opened his arms. I went to him. Lorraine, Toby’s cat, seemed to understand. She wound between our ankles, purring. “Remember my friend who was in the army?”
“Yeah,” he said, and I could feel him tense under me.
“Well, Frankie died.”
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Cass,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”
“We’ve been friends since we were little,” I said.
Toby said nothing, waiting, stroking my hair. I let myself remember Frankie as I’d last seen him, at the airport, looking at Elena with total devotion. I let myself remember how he looked when I’d first met him, wearing a Power Rangers shirt with his little belly always hanging out.
I breathed again, no longer able to hold back. For now, the present—the night and the floor and the cat and the feel of Toby’s paisley chest against my cheek—these were the only sure things. I held him tighter, and let myself weep.
