Encore
NICKY
Lucy guided the Jeep to the curb on Stockley Street, right in front of the old house.
It looked like it needed new siding and probably a new roof, but Nicky would have recognized it anywhere.
The image of it had lived in his memory like one of the seven wonders of the world.
He could remember the feeling of joy in his belly as he’d glanced at it in his rearview mirror, headed back to Dover to load up his shit and spend the summer with Lucy.
And he could easily recall the despair when he’d driven by it in Super’s first beat-up old tour van.
The Jeep they were in now was a hell of a lot nicer than either of those cars, and a whole lot of years had passed. But he and Lucy were finally getting their summer at the beach.
‘There it is,’ Nicky said as Lucy put the car in park.
‘Yep, there it is,’ she parroted. ‘Hey, Nicky?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I didn’t get us an Airbnb on Silver Lake.’
‘No?’
She brushed her windswept bangs from her eyelashes and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Remember how you told me that I should spend some of your money—’
‘ Our money,’ he corrected.
‘Right, our money.’
He noticed then that Lucy seemed a little nervous.
‘Did you?’ he asked. ‘You don’t have to feel bad about it, Lou.’
‘I bought you something,’ she said.
She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a Philadelphia Eagles keychain. She shook it between them, the three keys there jangling like bells.
He was utterly fucking speechless, could feel his eyes bugging out of his head.
Nicky snatched the keys from her hand. ‘Are you serious?’ he screamed, about to jump out of his skin with excitement.
‘Look, I paid too much,’ she said as he whipped the car door open. Somewhere behind him she shouted, ‘Kim acted as her dad’s broker and I’m not entirely sure if that helped us or made it ten times worse. But it’s ours, either way.’
Nicky raced to the back door of the house on Stockley Street, fumbled with the keys until he found one that fit into the lock.
‘Oh, my God, it’s the same! It’s almost exactly the same!’ he yelped.
He ran through the living room and opened the door to the front porch. The cushions were different but … ‘Is that the same fucking porch furniture?’ he yelled out to Lucy.
She stepped out from the house. ‘Probably.’
‘And we get to live here together, alone all summer?’ he exclaimed.
‘I mean, all the kids are coming in July. But I rented them a house down the block. We can live here as long as we want.’
‘We’ll get a boom box off eBay, okay? Put it right there in the corner.’ He felt like he was bouncing on marshmallows, like his damn chest was full of bubbles. It was ridiculous.
Lucy laughed. ‘I mean, I thought we should probably get a dumpster and have everything hauled away.’
‘No. Nope,’ Nicky griped. ‘Veto.’
He raced to Lucy and held her tight. Pressed a kiss to her temple and tried not to cry.
‘Best present ever, Lou,’ he said when her eyes locked on his.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
He said, ‘Some superfan is making a museum out of my old apartment in Seattle. Did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Closing off the room I slept in behind velvet ropes and using old pictures to recreate it. My lumpy-ass mattress on the floor and the dresser I used to prop my guitar on in the corner. Making it a shrine.’
‘Because that’s where you wrote “The Breathing Room,”’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘Because they think it is the Breathing Room, Lou.’
Nicky laced his fingers in Lucy’s and pulled her through the living room, past the bathroom (that he might be willing to have gutted) and down the hall.
And then, there they were. Together. In the Breathing Room.
Fucking finally.
‘Better late than never,’ he roared, flinging himself on the bed, not caring one bit that he was acting like a kid on Christmas. ‘Why do you still have clothes on?’ he quipped to Lucy.
She laughed, a sound better than any song he’d ever written. He wanted to hear it every fucking day for the rest of his life.
‘Slow your roll there, big guy,’ she griped playfully.
Lucy pulled her phone from the back of her jeans and fumbled around clicking apps.
He was about to get up and drag her into the double bed that was way smaller than he remembered when the first heavy growls of ‘Speedy Marie’ came out of her phone.
‘ Jesus ,’ he said, lying back and letting thirty years or so melt away.
Just when he thought he couldn’t get any happier, Lucy nestled herself next to him. Found her favorite spot with her head on his shoulder and her leg draped over his thigh.
‘I fucking love you, Lucy Broome.’
‘I fucking love you more, Nicky Broome.’