Page 49 of Counting Down To You

Call your brother.

A weight settles in my stomach, one I do my best to hide. Because, for the first time in my life, Robyn may have set me a challenge I can’t do.

Chapter

14

Karaoke—seriously, Robyn?

I opened the calendar first thing this morning, determined to make up for yesterday’s failure. And Robyn hasn’t even given me the choice of song I will embarrass myself with at said karaoke.

Make sure you perform “Like a Prayer.”

I shiver at the memory. Like, literally shiver. We’d gone out in London, with a bunch of Robyn’s actor friends, one of whom Robyn had a crush on at the time. Robyn had insisted on a karaoke bar—and not the kind where you are just in a booth with three other people, but where you had to get up on stage, the whole shebang. Of course, the actors had all been brilliant, and Robyn had been epic, making me wonder why the hell she hadn’t been cast in a musical yet.

I have a different memory then, one of Robyn in hospital. Of the two of us singing—because singing, Robyn claimed, had made her feel normal, even if she got out of breath so much that I had to carry the songs—badly.

“Maybe I’ll try to get my support group to sing Disney songs with me at the next meet,” Robyn had mused, after we’d finished “A Whole New World.” “I feel like it might create some positive vibes.”

I nodded noncommittally, the way I always did when she mentioned the support group. The one comprised of people in this very hospital who were also on transplant lists, which the nurses had encouraged Robyn to sign up for.

Robyn gave me a sidelong glance. “You’d like them, you know. The people.”

“I’m sure I would,” I said, with forced lightness. But I had no desire to meet the other people on transplant lists, especially anyone else who might be waiting for a heart. I didn’t want to think of them as real people, because I only wanted to think of Robyn and her heart. And, deep down, I didn’t want Robyn to get to know them, either. I wanted her to fight, to be focused, and not to feel sorry for anyone who might be lower down on the list than her. It was a horrible, selfish, ugly thought, but I couldn’t help it. I never admitted this to Robyn out loud, but the way she looked at me when the subject of the support group came up made me suspect she guessed my darkest thoughts.

And now, one of those very people has Robyn’s heart. And I find it very, very hard not to feel bitter when I think of that. Not to feel an ugly sort of hatred for whoever that person is, that they should be alive when Robyn isn’t. It’s a terrible, awful thought and it probably makes me a terrible, awful person, but there it is. Someone else has Robyn’s heart, despite the fact that she was at the top of the list. Something about it being more compatible for them, and, the worst part, about the doctors not being sure that Robyn was well enough to survive the surgery. Too ill to go through with the surgery. But not well enough to survive without it.

I push the thought aside, trying to focus on the challenge instead. I can’t for the life of me remember why I’d chosen “Like a Prayer” for karaoke that night, but my song choice turned out to be irrelevant, because I’d got up there and choked. Even the tequila shot that Robyn made me do beforehand hadn’t helped—and Robyn hadn’t been able to convince me to go back up.

“I’m not making an idiot of myself in front of all of your friends,” I said, arms crossed, trying to choke down stupid, irrational tears. “And don’t tell me I’ve already made an idiot of myself. I know that.”

Robyn shook her head firmly, curls bouncing around her face. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

I closed my eyes briefly. It was stupid, to feel this upset. “I think we can all agree I wasn’t born for the stage.” I sighed, opening my eyes. “I hate it. I don’t know how you stand being the center of attention like that.”

“It can be fun. You might find you like being the center of attention if you give it a go. I’m not saying all the time—we can’t all be drama queens. But every now and then.”

I pulled a hand through my hair—I was trying out a fringe at the time and already regretting it. “Just—not now, okay? I can’t do it now.”

For a moment, I was sure she was going to push the issue. Then she leaned in for a hug instead. “Okay,” she said against my neck. “Not now. But one day, Al, we’re going to go out and you’re going to channel your inner Madonna and I will be cheering for you the whole damn time.”

We’d gone back in and all Robyn’s friends had tactfully not mentioned the incident, and I’d managed to have a good time despite the embarrassment. Robyn successfully ended the evening by kissing the man she had a crush on, only to decide about two weeks later that “actors were not her type.” She’d very much been a fan of casual dating, assuming that she’d have plenty of time to settle down with someone later—which hurts, if I think about it.

I didn’t realize that she’d remembered that night, or at least not in any meaningful way. It hadn’t come up again, life steamrolling on the way it has a tendency to. And now Robyn may have set the challenge, but she’s not here to see it, is she? I crunch the paper in my fist, take a slow breath to fight the anger that wants to rise.

When I let myself out of my cabin, Leo is across the other side, locking his own cabin door. Despite the wave of emotion the thought of karaoke had triggered, my heart still manages to stutter at the sight of him. Or at the sight of his back, apparently.

Stop it, Ali, I tell myself. This is not helpful. You have seen attractive men before. Get a bloody grip.

It’s only because of the other day, him teaching me to ski, that’s all. The way he looked at me, as we sat opposite each other, drinking hot chocolate. It’s totally ridiculous. Just because someone is nice to you, does not mean you immediately have to start fancying them. Especially when they are a) technically your manager; b) pretending to be dating you; and c) not going to be in the same country as you for much longer.

Leo has stopped on the path to the hotel, waiting for me to catch up with him. He smiles when I reach him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black ski jacket. “Hey.” His spicy mezcal scent twines around me.

“Hey.”

We fall into step beside one another, walking the short distance to the front of the hotel. It’s actually really bloody annoying, the way my body seems so aware of his presence next to me. Like I’m aware of the exact distance between us, and how close his fingertips are to the top of my leg. When did this happen, exactly? I swear I wasn’t this distracted by him two days ago.

“Are you okay?” Leo asks.