Page 84 of Behind the Bars

“Oh! Guess what!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “I have a gig onFriday.”

“No way!” TJ said, slapping his leg. “I was waiting for you to get back into the soul musicscene.”

“Yeah, I’ve been practicing on my own. It’s been so long since I’ve sung what I wanted to.” I smiled and nudged him. “You should come see me just in case I suck so at least I’ll have one friendthere.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for theworld.”

“Thanks,TJ.”

“What about other friends, though?” he asked. “This old fart can’t be your only friend,right?”

I shrugged. “I never had an easy time making friends. My mom didn’t leave much time for building relationships outside of thestudio.”

“There’s that mom word again.” He nudgedme.

I bit my bottom lip. “Another slip of the tongue. Anyway, the last time I really had a solid friendship was a long time ago, but that’s ancienthistory.”

“But history nonetheless.” TJ lowered his eyebrows. “I miss him too, yaknow.”

“It’s weird. It’s been so long, but still… When I met him, I didn’t even know I needed him. When Elliott was my friend, I felt like I was unstoppable, like I was goodenough.”

“He had that effect on everyone. I just wish we could repay him for all he’s done. Anyway, your show—where’s itat?”

“Eve’s Lounge Friday at six.” I wrinkled my nose. “You might be late to your corner to perform,though.”

“No worries.” TJ knocked on the concrete. “This corner ain’t goinganywhere.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elliott

My mother had calledme fifteen times in the past week and had left fifteen messages, which was three less than the week before. Each time she sent me a message, I sent her a text telling her I wasokay.

On Wednesday night, I stood in my apartment lifting weights when I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, Mom was standing there, holding grocery bags in her hands with a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Eli,” she saidsweetly.

I blinked and saw Katie in hereyes.

“Hi, Mom.” I stepped to the side and she walked inside. “What are you doinghere?”

“You didn’t answer my calls. I wasworried.”

“I texted youback.”

“I didn’t text you, I called,” she said nonchalantly, placing the bags on the dining room table. “So you should’ve calledback.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m used toit.”

As she started unloading the groceries, I raised an eyebrow. “I went shopping the other day. I havefood.”

“Not homemade food,” she said, pulling out Tupperware. “I bet your fridge is just packed with chicken and broccoli.” She walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and then cocked an eyebrow. “Andsalmon.”

“I’m trying to tone up some more,” Iexplained.

“Yes, well, one day of cake won’t hurt you,” she said, going back to unpacking the bags. She’d brought enough food for anarmy.

“Actually, it will. I’m on a sugar cut,” I told her, glancing at my watch. “And I’d love for you to st-stay, but I have to get towork.”

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