Page 123 of Fire

Zara offered to tell me whatever I wanted to know last night about the subject, but it was late. And I didn’t want to darken the mood after the words we’d just shared.

Because honestly, nothing else really mattered after that.

The moment she told me she loved me, I felt like I could overcome anything. But now, hours later, the fear is starting to set in.

What does this all mean?

Will I still be able to play?

What do I tell my family? My agent? The band?

I finally cave and reach for my phone, finding a string of unanswered texts from the night before that only add to the growing anxiety in my gut.

Cash

Have you decided yet?

Saul

Not trying to stress you out, but Seether is pushing for an answer.

Dad

Answer Saul.

Cash

Stop ignoring Dad.

I ignore every single one of them.

I turn to reach for Zara but find the bed empty and the sheets cold. I look around the bedroom, but she is nowhere to be found. What the fuck?

Sliding out of bed, I glance toward the bathroom, but the door is open, and the light is off. Zara has an aversion to early mornings and the gym, so I’m usually the only one awake before seven. We rarely make it downstairs for breakfast most mornings and often order room service so she has extra time to sleep in or get ready.

I have no idea how she survived early morning classes and hospital shifts, because that woman hates to wake up.

I walk into the separate living area, and it’s empty as well. Finally, I notice a faint glow coming from the balcony. I walk closer, and that’s when I see her. In nothing but a fluffy white robe, she’s stretched out on one of the loungers with her laptop in front of her. The screen illuminates her pensive expression as she types.

I pull open the door and step outside. It’s still dark, but the water glints under the moonlight, and you can see the outline of ships in the distance.

Zara turns her head. “Hi,” I say, closing the door behind me.

“Hi,” she replies. I notice a forgotten cup of tea on the table next to her. There are at least a dozen tabs open on her browser. She’s been up a long time. I wonder if she’s slept at all.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers as I sit down in the empty lounger beside her. It’s summer in Boston, which means the morning air combined with the breeze coming off the bay is damn near perfect. I lean my head back and turn to face her.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because I wanted some time to do some research before we left for New York.”

“What kind of research?”

“Well, at first I just wanted to make sure I emailed Eric before I went to bed to ask for recommendations on neurologists who specialize in task-specific focal dystonia,” she explains. “But then he responded, and I kind of lost track of time after that.”

“What did he say?”