I could have texted, but instead, the ringing rattled in my ear.

"Hey, Lil," Tim's voice was tired; I had never heard Tim's voice tired.

"Hey, you okay? Bad time?"

"No, it's just," he paused, "it's late, Lil."

The clock was close to midnight. I didn't know where the night had slipped away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize," I apologized.

"It's fine. What's up?"

"Do you think you could get me Billy's albums?"

"What?" Tim's voice was suddenly awake.

"What's going on?" I heard Tess' panicked voice in the background.

"Sorry, nothing. Go back to sleep," Tim spoke in a tender voice. After a pause and some shuffling, he was back. "What?" His voice was quieter, but just as urgent.

"I'd like to listen to Billy's albums," I flatly spoke.

"Why?"

"Because it's time."

"Lil, you know I love you, but he's gone. There's no repairing that bridge. No one wants you two to repair that bridge."

My mind whirled to my father. 'He's gone' bore deep into my brain even though I knew Tim was talking about Billy. "I know; that's why it's time."

"Okay, which one do you want?" Tim's voice filled with skepticism.

"I want all of them. Everything he's done, superfan me."

"Lil, I don't think this is a good idea; one song destroyed everything last time," he cautioned.

"Yeah, but there is nothing to destroy this time."

"There's you, Lil. It could destroy you."

I let out a laugh. I was already destroyed; I wasn't worried about any more pain.

"I think I'll make it this time." I bit the side of my cheek to prevent a callous laugh from escaping. "Thanks, Tim," I added to remove 'no' as an answer.

I hung up and stared at the record player again. I could still remember my dad explaining how it worked: the spinning record, the needle, mechanical energy to electrical energy. Even without an album to listen to, I could hear the chorus of pops and cracks that flush out the best music. He told me once that if you unwound a record's groove, it'd be one and a half times taller than the Eiffel Tower. Years later, as I stood alone before the Eiffel Tower, I felt my dad there with me, staring up at the top. He probably would have murmured something about Led Zeppelin II being more impressive, and I'd have agreed. But he had been back in Maine then, and he was gone now.

"Hey," Tim's voice startled me.

"What are you doing here?"

"You wanted Billy's albums." He looked at me like I was the crazy one.

"I didn't mean right now. You could have dropped them off tomorrow." I bit back a laugh.

"Well, next time, say that. I never know with you two... er, you."

"Does Billy have a lot of middle-of-the-night album requests?" I teased.

"You'd be surprised." His eyes met mine. "Actually, you probably wouldn't be surprised at all."

I agreed with a nod. "So, this is them?" I took the record box from him.

"Yeah, I brought it all: studio albums, singles with unique B-sides, live albums. This is officially the Billy Collins superfan starter kit."

I shuffled through them. The first two albums from his first band brought me back to my dad's clubhouse. They were the only two albums I had listened to, and that had been over chess with my dad.

"So, you want to start at the beginning," Tim said as he started to pull a record out.

"Timmy, I love you, and I love that you came here in the middle of the night, but I need to do this alone."

"No, Lil. You can't do this alone." His eyes met mine and softened. "I mean, you don't have to do this alone."

"I know, and if I can't, then I'll call you, or Tess, or Mary. But I want to start alone."

"I don't like it, Lil. You and alone make terrible friends."

"I know, but you don't get a vote. I'm sorry."

"Call me tomorrow; let me know you're alive," he conditioned.

"Of course. And Tim-Tim, please don't tell Billy I'm listening to them. It'll... It'll make him angrier if that's possible."

Tim looked at me for a moment. Genuinely inspected my face in the way Billy once had. "Lil," I thought he could tell, could figure out what really brought me to Duluth, see the loss of my dad in my eyes. But if he did, he didn't press. "Call me if you change your mind."

"I will. Thanks, Timmy."

He slowly shuffled out, hoping I'd call him back.

The first vinyl was not the first album I listened to with my dad; it was a 7" single. It was raw and young, and even though it came out nearly five years before I met Billy, it encapsulated the energy from that first night. I listened to both sides multiple times, smiling to myself. I tasted the egg creams and smelled the burned cigarette filters. I felt his excitement; how much he loved playing. He loved the music, the song, the lyrics, and the instruments. He loved the world, and that was all he needed in those moments: simple songs, simple love, simple life.

I was feeling confident; I knew this Billy. I understood him. So, I moved on to his band's first album. I had heard it once twenty years ago and knew it was good. It was something I'd listen to if circumstances were different.

Billy exploded from the speakers on the first note. It was gruffer than the single. He was getting serious. This wasn't a novelty single of a mechanic from Duluth. He had set his goals, and this was the first step forward. But despite the confidence, the cracks began to show. There were already allusions to hiding in his words. He was hiding Billy Collins, the mechanic from Duluth, as early as the first LP. But still, the swagger around love was there, comically so for the shy boy I had met outside a grungy club.

Album two burst into where he was going. It was unmistakable. But this time, I didn't listen as I had with my dad. I had been looking for the Billy I knew. I tried to shift through the guitar riffs and distorted singing voice to find what I wanted to hear. I hadn't bothered to listen to what he was putting out. There was anger, tenderness, and loneliness. His guitar often spoke much louder than his lyrics. Despite the roughness, it was fragile. Something in me swelled up in my eyes. He had been so much lonelier when we first met than I had thought.

I feared the third album. This was when I would start to seep into his thoughts. This was when the mirror wouldn't just reflect Billy; it would reflect Billy affected by me. I took a deep breath and let the album spin. The immediate riff was alone and slicing but then gave way to softness. It was a surprisingly tender song of longing. Song after song, affectionate love bled through scorching guitar riffs. As kind as the first half had been, the second half hit with multiple gut-wrenching punches of lost love. The anger came through so viscerally for three tracks that I had to stop. If I hadn't already thrown up dinner, I was certain this would have finished me.

I fell asleep with the screams running through my head, but it didn't bring enough rest. I woke up wired for the day. Mary suspiciously eyed me through breakfast. She could tell something was different, but she couldn't tell what it was; she couldn't hear all of Billy's songs blasting through my brain like a drug. She didn't prod, mostly because I shoved food in my face with such ravenous hunger that I'd have rivaled Tim.

And it was Tim that stopped me from eating everything Mary had made.

"Hello, hello," he called from the door as he stomped off the snow that clung to his sneakers.

"Take them off," Mary called.

There was a groan from the entryway, but Tim joined us a moment later in his socks.

"Morning," he nodded to us both.

"I wasn't expecting you and Lily here just about ate everything," Mary teased.

"I did, and I don't regret it." I jabbed Tim's stomach as I pushed the last of the pancakes toward him.

"Well, I ate at home," he said as he rubbed his stomach. "But I wouldn't want to see food go to waste." He shoved an entire pancake into his mouth.

"Still haven't mastered the art of bites, I see." I shook my head in astonishment at his childishness.

"Bites are for losers," he managed, while still chewing.

"Ew," I groaned as Tim opened his mouth to show his partially chewed pancake. "You're so gross."

Mary shook her head in awe of our juvenile fight before turning to the dishes.

Tim leaned in close. "How did last night go?"

"Three down," I murmured back.

"And..."

"I don't know if you know this, but Billy is really talented."

"Geez, Lil." Tim gave me a shove.

"No, like he's really good. I think he's going to be pretty successful."

"All right," he said, trying to feign annoyance. "I gotta get to the studio." He downed the last of my coffee. "Bleh, only psychos drink black coffee."

"What can I say? I'm already sweet enough." I batted my eyes at him.

"Seriously, no one would ever say that. No one, ever." Tim put his hands on my shoulder and stared me straight in the eyes to drive home his point.

"Rude," I shot back.

"Oh, yeah, we'd all agree on rude. You're rude, erratic, not nearly as funny as you think," Tim absently listed.

"You can leave now, Timothy," I turned away from him as I spoke.

"Timothy, well, that's prickly," he shot over his shoulder as he approached Mary. "Breakfast was fantastic, as always." He gave her a peck on the cheek. "And Lil, I suppose it was a pleasure." He leaned in and gave me a matching peck on my cheek. "I'll see you all later. Mary, dinner Sunday, right?" There was a tentativeness in his voice.

"Of course," she called over her shoulder.

He gave a nod before heading out.

"Tim's coming over for dinner on Sunday?" I asked as I poured more coffee.

"Yep, he comes over every Sunday."

"Oh, cool," I added with a sigh. "Well, I should get to work. Let me know if you need anything."

Billy's songs rolled in my head, and the record player called to me all day. It was a struggle to focus on work at all. Typically, my days flew by, but this one lasted years. The only saving grace I had was a stream of texts from Tim.

"I need to know what you thought. It's killing me," he started.

"What do you want to know?" I texted back as I kept my phone out of my computer camera view like a sneaky teen.

"What's your favorite so far?"

I spent the next hour ignoring any content in my meeting and mulling over Tim's question. I wanted it to be one of the tender sweet songs that had made the world fall in love with Billy Collins, but it wasn't the song that stuck, if I was honest. It was a blistering angry song called While You're Away. It kept repeatedly playing in my head and felt like Billy to me. Even though it condemned the girl in the song for their separation, it was raw and honest. It was so unplanned and well-crafted all at once that it was hypnotic.

"While You're Away is probably one of the best songs I've heard in a very long time."

"No way, I'm calling. I need to discuss this," Tim typed.

"Sorry, meetings. No can-do, Tim-Tim-Aroo," I smiled at my rhyme.

"We should leave rhyming couplets to Billy," Tim shot back before adding, "call me as soon as you can talk. I have all the questions."

I wanted to geek out with Tim about Billy Collins just like we had geeked out about Bob Dylan and Led Zeppelin. The day continued to crawl by until, finally, Tim was at my office door.

"So many questions," he began.

"Tim, you need to get those snowy sneakers off before Mary catches you," I warned.

"Can't, must hear all the things." He flopped down on the couch, ripped his sneakers off, and shoved them under the sofa.

"You realize there is a trail of puddles leading directly to you."

"Or is it leading to you?" He argued.

"No, it's not leading to me; it's leading to where you're sitting."

"Lil, stop changing the subject. Tell me your reviews." He wasn't messing around.

"They're all so good. I mean, I knew Billy during that third album, but it's so Billy. Did people know how Billy it was, or did they think he was a music man?"

"I know, right? He's just so honest. That kind of honesty that made me think you'd be pissed, but then you're all like 'While You're Away is my favorite,'" he finished with a poor impression of my voice.

"It's so good. I mean, the guitar riff at the front and the lyrics are just perfect, and his voice. Did he do the drums for that track? They sounded like him."

"He totally did! No one knew that either. I can't believe you spotted that."

"Are you kidding me? That was a full-on Billy tantrum. I'm just going to say it, three albums in, and I'm good for business."

"Lil, I should warn you, these first albums with the band are nothing. When he's solo, he gets mean, like really mean. That first album after you left... he just put it all out there."

"Does he regret it?" It mattered to me. If he regretted it, then it was too far. If not, then... my mind drifted to what then, but I couldn't complete the thought.

"I don't know," Tim mulled for a moment. "You know, I've never asked if he ever regretted anything. I wonder if he has. The last album..." Tim's words drifted off.

"What?" I pressed.

"Well, I hope he regrets some things from the last album." Tim gave a somber nod as he contemplated something.

Both our minds whirled from each other in our own directions. If Billy regretted something, I needed to listen to it. If he regretted it, it was what he felt, what he had been hiding. Tim's mind went in the opposite direction.

"I can ask him. If he regrets anything, you shouldn't listen. It must be too much if he is guilty about it." Tim pondered.

"No, you can't. First, he'd want to know why you were asking, and you're not telling him I'm his newest superfan," I reminded.

"He wouldn't be suspicious. I ask random questions all the time."

"You don't ask random questions just after I've shown up in town. Anyway, if he regrets it, I want to hear it. That's what he feels. That's the shit he's too much of a gentleman actually to say."

"Billy's changed a bit; I'm not sure if he is still the gentleman you remember," Tim's voice came as a warning.

"Well, lucky for me, he can't stand to be in the same room as me, so I don't have to worry either way."

As I finished my words, the shrieks came from the hallway, "Timothy Denning, I know you're here. I can see the mess you've made."

"Oh shit," Tim's eyes went wide like he was twelve again.

"Oh shit is right, she sounds pissed," I laughed.

"Coming, Mary, I was just getting the mop," he called out. "We're not done here. I have like twenty hours of geek review."

"Let me get through a couple more albums. I'll update you if I get a new favorite."

"Lil, they get dicey now; you sure you don't want me to hang out?"

"No, I want to do this alone. It's good. I'm good," I promised.