“See you tomorrow, kid.”
He nods, manages something close to a smile—small and broken but real—and heads for the door.
But he pauses at the threshold, turns back.
The armor's starting to rebuild itself already, piece by piece.
"Nate?"
"Yeah?"
"That song you were playing. About the girl you never stopped loving." He's quiet for a moment. "If she's worth writing songs about, she might be worth holding onto."
Before I can respond, the door slams open behind him and Ollie storms in, chest heaving, face flushed.
"Why is my sister getting on a plane back to shitsville?”
He stops short, seeing Tommy's red eyes and registers that he just interrupted something.
Tommy clears his throat, wiping at his face one more time.
"Looks like your twelve o'clock is here," he says, voice rough. "So I'm gonna go."
He squeezes Ollie's shoulder on the way out. Ollie watches him leave, concerned, then turns back to me.
“Shit. Did I just—is he okay?"
"He will be."
Ollie nods slowly, processing, then seems to remember why he came. His expression hardens again.
"So?" he says. "You gonna answer my question?"
I move to the mixing board, hands gripping the edge.
"She made her choice."
"That's it? That's all you've got?"
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Don't." He points at me. "Don't do that thing where you act like you don't know what I'm talking about."
I cross my arms. “She made her choice, Ollie.”
"Did she? Or did you make it for her? Again."
The word "again" lands heavy.
My chest tightens.
"I'm not doing this with you."
"Yeah, you are." He moves closer. "Because I'm done watching you do this. To yourself. To her."
"I told her to figure out what she wants?—"
"You told her to leave."
