Page 84 of We Could Be Heroes

“Care to play something for us?” Tabby asked.

“Sure,” said Patrick, the people pleaser in him speaking out before he could remind himself that he did not, in fact, play the guitar. Simone must have seen the mounting panic in his eyes, holding her phone out in front of her like a pistol.

“I’m so sorry, but something has just come up and Patrick is needed elsewhere,” she said. “I hope you got everything you needed!” she added, guiding Tabby and the videographer out of the room.

“Actually, we didn’t—” said Tabby.

“Fantastic!” Simone exclaimed. “We can’t wait to see how it turns out. Can we, Patrick?”

“Sure can’t,” said Patrick. “Thank you, everybody.” And then he was clapping. Oh god, why was he clapping? Somewhere along the way of promising himself he would never take anyone or anything for granted in this industry, he had become the corniest, most condescending mook in the business.

Tabby, visibly bewildered to realize she and her camera crew had allowed themselves to be herded out onto the driveway, raised a hand as if to ask a question. Simone closed the door on them.

“How are you?” she asked. “We haven’t caught up in a while. Not in the flesh.”

“I’m good. How’s Harper?”

“Infuriating. Messy. I’m obsessed with her.”

Patrick smiled. “Good.”

“What about William?” Simone asked.

“Who? Oh. Will.” Patrick wasn’t sure he had heard anybody use Will’s full name the whole time he had been in Birmingham. But Simone would only know him as a signatory on a piece of paper, swearing on his government name to never tell the world what he meant to Patrick Lake.

“That’s over,” he told Simone. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

Simone simply nodded.

“It’s good that you had some fun,” she said. “While you were away. Because you’ve got a packed summer of press ahead of you.”

“That’s fine. I’m ready to work.”

“Great.” Simone adjusted her necklace and cleared her throat. “Well. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She turned toward the door and paused. “You should come over for dinner sometime. Harper told me to tell you.”

“I’d like that.”

“All right.” She nodded once more and opened the door. The AD team were gone. Patrick suddenly, desperately didn’t want her to go.

“Simone—”

“Welcome home, Patrick. The place looks great.” She closed the door quietly behind her, and Patrick was left with nobody to talk to but the idea of the man who lived in this house. He strolled back into the lounge, stood in front of the huge painting, and, after a moment’s consideration, clambered up onto the couch and lifted it off the wall, carefully maneuvering it down and placing it in the vast window, facing outward. The tourists and dog-walkers could appreciate it while he figured out what to do with it.

Patrick perched on the edge of the sofa next to the coffee table and the script that didn’t exist until the sky outside had dimmed and he had lost almost all feeling in his lower body. Finally, too tired to go upstairs to bed, he stretched his legs out on the cushions and closed his eyes, telling himself that first thing in the morning he would order a blanket online.

Chapter 31

Two Months Later

It was a Friday night in Birmingham, and as had become a norm for Will in the months since moving back in with Margo and Dylan, everybody had plans but him. He lay on Margo’s bed, watching her do her hair, and for just a moment he could almost imagine that the last twenty years hadn’t happened yet, that he was a little boy watching this difficult, impossibly glamorous creature getting dolled up for a night out. He had once gazed so longingly, so transparently, at Margo’s makeup that she had groaned and tossed him an eyeliner.

“You should try a cat eye,” she’d told him. “You’ve the coloring for it. Just don’t go mad or you’ll end up looking like Amy Winehouse.”

In retrospect, Margo was probably to thank for him falling in love with drag. Or to blame, depending on how you looked at it.

“You look nice,” he said now, somewhat pitifully. “Where are you going, again?”

“Just dinner with The Girls,” she said.

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