And then I see it, the thing I couldn’t quite place in my dad’s eyes earlier. He looks… worried. Apologetic, almost. That’s new. And not exactly comforting.
The stone lodged in my stomach drops straight to my fucking feet. “It got declined, didn’t it?”
He opens his mouth to say something, shaking his head, but I already know. I can tell. Before he gets the chance, I cut him off.
“No. No, no, no, no. Please tell me that’s not true. It got declined? Why? Do they even know who I am? What I do?”
Okay, yeah, that sounds arrogant and privileged as hell, and it’ssonot me, but fuck, I’m all over the news. How can they decline me? We filed for artist status, whatever it’s called.
“You said everything was going to be fine!”
The hand on my back tightens, gripping my shirt so hard it almost hurts. I turn around, to my world, and see Ty’s eyes already welling up, even though he’s forcing a smile. Trying to keep me steady. Like everything’s going to be okay.
“No.” I say again. “No, just fuckingno.”
I shake my head frantically, and when my dad starts with a soft “Son…” I cut him off with a glare, pointing an accusing finger his way. It’s fuckingtrembling.
“I trusted you! Ifinallyfucking trusted you! You said you were going to fix this!”
“Jace…” His voice drops low, heavy with regret. “I’m sorry. But that’s not—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry.” My voice fuckingcrackson that last word. “Please don’t say that you’re sorry. When you say you’re sorry, it means I’m right. That wefailed. Thatyoufailed.”
“Jace, please. Just let me—”
“No,” I say again. I want to scream. Vent. Hit something. Anything to finally let loose this storm of emotions I’ve been burying so deep, sofuckingdeep, these past few months.
The crushing fear of maybe getting deported. The label that posts shit without informing us. The relentless shadow of Mick, that fucking asshole. The way he touched me,kissedme, without my fucking consent.
Everything is happening without myfuckingconsent.
“You said it was going to be fine!”
I know I’m going in circles. I know I’m repeating myself. I know it doesn’t make sense. I know I should just let him talk.
“Itisgoing to be fine.Jace, just calm down, please! Let me explain—”
But I can’t.Not anymore. The crack is there, I can feel it. It’s too much.
I suck in a breath, and another, and try for one more, but it lodges somewhere. The air won’t go in. Won’t reach my lungs or something stupid like that, and I thumb my chest, swallow and swallow again, try to inhale through my stupid nose.
“Oh shit,” I wheeze, flinging my hands into my hair, ignoring the sting on my finger. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. This isn’t happening.”
Itcan’t.
It can’t, it can’t, it can’t.
I can’t fucking breathe. Again.But it’s worse this time. Worse than during the drive to the airport. Every time I try to fucking inhale, my throat locks up. My heart pounds behind my eyes, and my brain feels like mush. I know my dad’s saying something, but it doesn’t register at all.
Oh shit. I’m getting deported.
And then it hits me—fully.
I’m getting deported.
I’ll never see Ty again.
Fuckingnever.
