Stoned (Wrecked, #1) - Mandi Beck

Stoned Copyright © 2016 by Mandi Beck

Editing by Lisa Christman with Adept Edits

Cover design by Sommer Stein with Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Cover photography by Lauren Perry with Perrywinkle Photography

Interior design and formatting by Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents STONED DEDICATION PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CHAPTER FORTY CHAPTER FORTY-ONE CHAPTER FORTY-TWO ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR Excerpt of LOVE HURTS

To my boys, Ran, Jake and Linc. And for those brave enough to take on a fight that so many can’t win.

“When you meet the one who changes the way your heart beats, dance with them to that rhythm for as long as the song lasts.” –Kirk Diedrich

Stone HEAD SWIMMING, HANDS CLAMMY, AND with cold sweat trickling down my spine, I stand on the stage

with the lights beaming down on me, hotter than the fucking sun. With the music humming through my body, I let the deafening roar of the crowd wash over me like a balm to my toxic soul. I would kill for a fucking line of blow right now. This should be more important than any high. Then again, so should she. I shake my head to rid myself of that shit and the world of hurt that goes along with it. There’s no time to waste on things I can’t change, not on this stage anyway. I smile at them, raise my arms, and motion with my hands for them to give me more, and they do. I feed off their energy; the stadium is alive with it and I need it to breathe life back into me. Not that I fucking deserve it. Reaching for my mic stand, I bring it to my mouth and give them my “rock star” smirk. The one that says I’m the guy your mama warned you about and the one that your daddy has dreaded since the day you were born. “Hello New York!” I yell into the mic, making them go even crazier. “Are you guys ready to rock?” Behind the drums, I give Lawson the cue to start the countdown and the show begins despite the fact that my heart isn’t really in it tonight. She isn’t waiting in the wings for me. Two hours later we head off stage toward the dressing rooms and the after parties that I love a little too much. Wiping the sweat from my face, I almost miss her standing there with her back against the wall, that sad damn look on her face that I put there. Willow was here. I was crazy to think she wouldn’t be. With new- found confidence I watch as she gives the guys a wave as they greet her. Knowing that something isn’t right with us, the boys are smart enough not to linger. “Willow.” Her name leaves my mouth on a strained breath. I was sure that I would have to hunt her down and beg for forgiveness after the shit I said to her. The accusations I hurled all while tears streamed down her face. Shit I can barely remember because I was so fucking high. Words that I thought I’d said in a dream, only when I woke up to find her gone, I knew it wasn’t a dream. More like a goddamn nightmare, and I was living it. “I need to get my things out of the hotel room, and I don’t have my key. My name isn’t on the

reservation so they won’t give me one at the front desk. I wasn’t sure if you were planning to leave right after the show or not, so . . .” She trails off. “I won’t take long, and I’ll leave it at the front desk for you, for when you get back.” All of this is said in a cold, detached ramble that I’m not used to hearing from my Wills. Her face looks drawn, her eyes red-rimmed. I broke her and that kills me. We’ve been together for years, and in one night, I threw it all away. And for what? I can’t even remember right now. No, that’s not true. It wasn’t just one night. I’ve been throwing her away every damn night for months. Chasing that high, letting the paranoia seep in where it didn’t belong. “I just need to grab my stuff and then I have a flight to catch.” She’s so . . . empty. Void and despondent. It stabs at my insides. Bile churning with the knowledge that I snuffed out her light. “You—you’re leaving Wills?” The pain I feel at that rocks me. Shaking her head at me, I see the tears glistening in her hollowed out eyes. “Don’t. Don’t call me that! The only reason that I’m even still here is because my purse is in the room with my phone and ID in it. Otherwise, I would be home by now.” There’s an underlying thread of hysteria and damning heard in her words. It hits me then just how big of a bastard I really am. I hurt her, forced her to walk out on me last night, all because of my insecurities, my need to occupy that place of numbness, my heaven and her hell. And now she tells me that she had no phone, no money, no clothes. Nothing. “Where did you stay last night, Wills? Where did you go without your purse?” She flinches mildly and then shuts down again. “Don’t worry about it, Stone. I’m not your concern anymore. You don’t have to take care of my ‘needy ass.’ I can take care of myself.” I can see the anger flaring, red creeping across her beautiful face, but I can also see her lip quivering as she recounts the hurtful things I said to her last night. Words meant to hurt but that were in no way true. I was a dick, I screwed up, and I know in my heart she won’t give me a chance to make it right. I pushed her too far for too long, and now she’s done. “Willow, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I was drunk and stupid. Please, baby, let’s talk about it. As soon as the tour is over we can go away just you and me.” There’s desperation in my voice, fear lacing my words. I can’t lose her. I’m not me without her. “I’m finished talking. I am sick of being accused of things I would never do. I am over walking on eggshells with you, afraid to upset you. Worrying that I’ll end up alone in our room again, in another strange city that I followed you to, wondering where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing. Hoping this high won’t be the one that you take too far. I’m done with all of it. I love you and I have stood by you, putting up with all of it because I wanted to support you. To be there for you because I know that you are under a lot of pressure, but now I’m done. I’m going home. I see now that I never should have left.” This is all said with such finality that I feel panic bubbling up inside me. I open my mouth to beg her to stay and talk when a trashy-looking blonde walks up and slides her hand up my arm. “Stone, I thought you were going to call me,” she whines as she strokes her fingers back and forth

over the tattoo on my arm, the willow tree that I got as a surprise for my girl long ago. I snatch my arm away from the blonde and look up at Wills, my eyes wild. “Baby, it’s not what you think. I swear to you, Wills, it isn’t.” I have no clue if that’s the truth. “Save it, Stone. I heard you loud and clear last night. You’re not made for one woman. I was stupid to think that you were. Can you please just give me the key so I don’t miss my flight?” Her voice is laced with the anger and pain that she’s feeling, that we’re both feeling. “Will—” “Please!” she cries out, stomping her foot. I’ve never seen her this way. So emotional yet detached at the same time. The blonde still standing there, watching it all. I shake my head, imploring her with my eyes, since my words don’t mean anything right now, begging for her to not do this. Taking in a painful breath, I pull out my wallet and take out the room key. Handing it over to her, I try one more time. “Willow, please don’t leave. Not like this,” I plead with her. She takes the key card from me with a trembling hand, careful not to touch me when she does. “I’ll be out of the house by the time you get back into town. I’ll leave my keys over at the studio with Addy,” she says, looking right through me. She flicks a glance over at the girl who still hasn’t moved and then back to me. “You got what you wanted, Stone. You’re single and free to do whatever and whoever you want without having to worry about sneaking around. Don’t keep her waiting—she looks like a sure thing.” With that little parting remark, I watch the woman of my dreams walk away and out of my life. There isn’t enough music in the world that could make the pain of losing her go away. This isn’t where our song ends; I won’t let it. Only I’m not sure I have much of a choice. And just like that, my heart stops beating in rhythm.

Stone I RAISE MY FIST TO pound on the door again when it flies open. Judge stands with a phone to his ear and

gestures me into the suite that he’s sharing with Lawson. Squeezing by him, I toss my duffel onto the floor and drop down next to Law on the couch. He gives me a high five and puts a finger to his lips to indicate we need to stay quiet while Judge handles whatever on the phone. I nod in understanding and drop my head back and close my eyes, my head heavy from the pills I just took but my mind feeling light. Free. This fucking tour has lasted forever. The longest eight months of my fucking life and I’m ready to be done with it. Ready to be home with Wills. I’m jostled by an elbow in the ribs. “Yo. What the fuck, man?” My eyes bounce around a little, my vision dancing before focusing on Law. “You high, Stone?” he asks, concern evident in his tone. “No. Just tired.” The lie slips from my lips effortlessly. I’m so used to it now. They need to stop riding my ass. Watching me and asking every five fucking minutes if I’m using. I make every show, sing the songs, never miss a beat, so what it matters, I don’t fucking know. His eyes narrow, assessing me, trying to decide if I’m lying. Judge breaks our stare down. “What’s with the duffel?” I pull a cigarette out and light it, taking a drag before answering “I’m going home. Willow’s gonna be pissed that I haven’t been home yet. She hates being there alone.” Law opens his mouth to say something when there’s a knock at the door. Blowing smoke rings, I watch Judge go and let whoever it is in. I’m not sure who called a band meeting, but we’re all here. Arrow enters the suite with chin lifts in greeting. “You look like shit, man,” Arrow informs me, as he folds his lanky build onto the love seat across from me. “You’re a real sweet talker, you know that?” Flicking ashes into the empty beer bottle on the table next to me, I watch him eyeball me just like Law did. “Stone is going home . . . to Willow,” Judge informs them. Ro’s head swings in Judge’s direction and then back to me. “Willow is home?” The disbelief in his voice pisses me off.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t she be? She’s pissed at me, but it’s Wills. She’ll be there.” Rising from my seat, I go to the bar and fill a glass with ice, cracking open the bottle of Johnnie Walker that Judge always requests in each of our rooms. Mine was missing this trip. It didn’t go unnoticed. I’m glad his is still full. Once I’ve drained the glass I refill it, taking it back to the couch with me. The warmth of the smooth liquor mixing with the relaxing effects of the Oxy I popped before coming down here, and I feel good. Numb. Until I look up and see them all watching me, their looks a mix between disgust, pity, shock, and trepidation. “What? Why the fuck are you all staring at me?” I bellow. “Always fucking watching me. I’m sick of it.” Shaking my head, I take my seat, careful not to spill my drink as I fall back into the supple leather, my legs stretched out in front of me. Ignoring my question, Ro speaks up. “Bro, she left more than eight months ago, dropped her keys off at the studio with Addy, and none of us have talked to her since. We even hired a PI who can’t find Willow,” he says carefully. “Have you heard from her at all? Has there been new news from the guy Addy hired?” “No. I’m positive she’s there though. Where the fuck is she gonna go, Ro? This is my Wills; she wouldn’t just quit me. Her aunt’s dead; we’re her only family. She didn’t leave,” I tell him in exasperation. “She didn’t just ‘quit’ you, Stone. You pushed too fucking far and forced her out,” he spits out. He’s still mad at me for Willow leaving. He hasn’t said it, but I know he is. His soft spot for her a little more than brotherly I think, and it’s really starting to piss me the fuck off. “You don’t know shit, Arrow. Wills is at home. You’ll see.” I’m sure of it. She has to be. “Stone, bro, maybe it’s time to get some help. Judge and I will set it all up, and I’ll do all that I can to fin—” I interrupt Law and shoot to my feet, “I don’t need help with anything. Not with Wills, or anything else.” Slamming back my drink I put the glass down and scoop up my bag. “I’ll be in Austin if you need me. If not, I’ll see you in a couple weeks when we head back out.” Without another word I stalk out of the room past all of their condemning fucking looks and slam the door behind me. The walls rattling from the ferocity. Fuck them.

The car comes to a stop in front of my house at the end of Comanche Trail. Dane, my bodyguard, turns from the passenger seat. “You gonna be okay, Stone? I can stay here tonight if you want.” Reaching for the handle with a trembling hand, I shake my head no. I just want to get inside, get my hands on Willow, and get out from under the prying eyes of Dane so that I can find my stash and pop an Oxy, maybe two, and just chill with my girl. I’d love a fucking line right now, but that’ll have to wait ’til later when my contact here in town drops some off. Can’t fly with that shit and can’t make any stops on the way home because Dane would lose his fucking mind, so I made arrangements. “Nah. I’m good. Just gonna Netflix and chill with Wills, don’t need you around for that,” I tell him

with a smirk as I step from the vehicle. “Stone, Willo—” “Is here.” My voice holds more confidence than I feel, but I’m all about if you believe it, it will be. And I need it to be. I slam the door before he can say anything else and throw my hand up in a wave as I make my way up to the front door. Sliding my key into the lock, I rush into the eerie quiet of the house, the only sound the beeping of the alarm as I go to the wall to disable it. Duffel dropped at my feet, I place my guitar case down and step over it and walk into the kitchen. No Willow. From there I head into the living room, noticing that there’s a picture missing from the mantel, and no Willow. Bounding up the spiral staircase I crash into our bedroom and throw on the lights. My heart frantic, my gaze touching on everything, but seeing only the things that are missing. No book on her nightstand, no jewelry on the dresser, no picture of her parents, no music journal. Stalking to the dresser I start yanking open drawers leaving them hanging haphazardly. No panties, no shirts, no pajamas. There’s a roaring in my ears that has me unable to hear a fucking thing other than my out-of-rhythm heartbeat as I rip open the door to the bathroom. No perfume, no lotion, no brush. I move to her closet. No dresses, no pants, no shoes. No. Willow. No fucking Willow. “No. No. No. NO!” My yells echo around the bathroom, ricocheting in all of the empty spaces and bouncing back to slap me in the face. “No.” Determined to find her, I dash out of the room and barrel down the stairs into the basement studio and wrench open the heavy door. No custom-made Martin, just an empty stand. No laptop. Just a music-less room. No Willow. With my chest heaving, struggling to get my mind right, I slide onto the piano bench, placing my forehead to the cool, polished wood. Finally, I admit to myself what I’d already known. What I knew the moment I called and the phone was disconnected. What deep down I’d known from the moment I watched her walk away but denied because who the fuck was I without her? Willow was gone. She’d left me. And there was not one single person I could blame other than myself. Raising my head, my gaze lands on the framed picture that she put on the piano in every place we’d ever lived in. The picture that was left behind. The picture of us on the red carpet for the very first time. Our hands are locked and Willow beams up at me in pride, her smile so beautiful, the happiness radiating through the photo. And me, looking down into her upturned face, love and need reflected in my gaze, in the way I touched her. Her favorite picture, and she left it . . . and me. Snatching the picture up I exit the studio and head upstairs, grabbing a bottle of too-expensive whiskey from the pantry as well as the bottle of Oxy I had stashed in the medicine cabinet of the guest bathroom. I try not to look around me, pretending like there aren’t any voids in the room. That I’m not missing anything, as I snag my guitar and collapse onto the couch. The picture in my hand feels like lead. I place it on the coffee table in front of me, sitting back I stare at it, willing Willow to walk out of it and into my arms. How the fuck was she gonna leave me? After all that we’ve been through, she fucking left me? Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I try calling her again, but again I get the same detached voice telling me that the number has been disconnected. “Son of a bitch!” I roar as I

whip the phone at the exposed brick wall of the living room, watching as it shatters into a million fucking glittery pieces. With fumbling hands, I pop open the top on the pills, spilling a few of them onto the hand-scraped wood table and using the bottom of my whiskey bottle to crush them into a fine powder. From my wallet I pull out a credit card and arrange the crushed up pills into even little lines, not caring that I’m losing so much of the precious powder in the grooves and valleys of the rough wood. Tossing the card aside, I reach into the hidden pocket and wiggle out the little aluminum straw nestled there. Head bent over the table I blow through all four rails of Oxy, one after another, relishing the burn that comes just before the numbing fog. “How you gonna do me like that, Wills?” I ask the empty room. The empty house. The empty fucking life I’m suddenly living in. Whiskey in one hand, I reach for the picture I’d brought upstairs. My vision is blurred but I don’t need to see to remember what Willow looked like in it. How beautiful her dress had been, her hair, her smile. I don’t need to see to remember us winning our first award and her showing me just how proud of me she had been. I remember all of that. The way she tasted that night in the back of the limo, and every day after. I don’t need to see shit to remember how she likes to be touched. The soft smell of her skin. All of that is ingrained on my soul. I don’t need to see . . . what I can no longer see. Mind racing, trying to recall every little thing Willow, I take a long pull from the bottle in my hand. Liquid fire hits my stomach; I welcome it. I need it to forget. The part of me needing to let her memory go has me tipping back the whiskey once again, but it doesn’t make her go away quick enough. So I take another swig and then another ’til there’s only a swallow left. Limbs heavy, eyes shaky, I can still see her, hear her. With fingers that feel disconnected from the rest of me, I dig out three pills and toss them in my mouth, crunching them between my molars and shuddering from the bitter taste. Washing it away with the last drops of whiskey. I don’t know how long I sit there just strumming and humming, falling in and out of sleep, but it seems like days when the doorbell finally chimes. Staggering to my feet I make my way to answer it, knowing it’s going to be my boy with my goodies. As I walk by the clock hanging on the wall, I see that it’s already morning. I’ve been sitting here for hours. “What took you so long?” I ask, my tongue thick in my dry mouth. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t know you were back in town, and I was on a run. I know how you feel about me sending anyone else. You’re gonna be really happy to see me when you get a taste of this shit though,” he says excitedly. Probably high on whatever he’s brought already. I throw the door open wider for him to enter and head back into the living room. “Your girl’s not here, right?” His eyes dart around the room nervously looking for Willow. “No, wouldn’t have called you if she was,” I bite out Ron throws his hands up in surrender. “My bad. I got something to take that edge off. You’ll be pissing fucking rainbows and shit,” he laughs at himself. “Just lay the shit out, I’ll be right back.” My mood has gone to absolute shit, him asking about

Willow bringing my reality crashing down on me. Stalking from the room, I head down to the studio to where the safe is and pull out a stack of cash. I don’t count it, he won’t either. It’s way more than I’ll owe him, but I don’t care. I just want him to give me the drugs and get the fuck out. I give him extra so he doesn’t talk to the press or anyone else. It’s the perfect setup. He makes a few thousand off of me, I score and we’re both happy. With that thought in mind, my steps are lighter as I bound up the stairs and back to where Ron is. I just need that numb and then tomorrow I can work on finding Wills. “Holy fuck. Did you think I was throwing a party?” I laugh a little in surprise at all he has on my coffee table. Baggies filled with rainbow colored pills, pristine white powder, green buds, a brownish powder along with a few others I can’t make out in the dim light. My palms start to sweat at the sight of it all and I wipe them down the front of my jeans. Anxious to get him out of here. “I know that’s not how you operate, but I’m going out of town on another run and I wanted to be sure you had all you would need. I brought some new shit too. You usually stick with just the pills and Yao, but you have got to try this Black,” he says nudging the bag with the weed in it toward me. Plopping down next to him, I toss the banded money at him and pick up the baggie. “You know I don’t smoke this shit.” Holding it up to the light I see that it’s not only green but also brown and white mixed in. Like it’s been rolled in something. “What the fuck is it?” “Bro, it’s weed laced with opium and meth. Get you so high you’ll be feeling good for days.” His face takes on a dreamy smile, like he’s reminiscing about a fond memory and not trying to sell me on some shit. I toss it back at him. “I’m not fucking with meth. Just the blow and all the pills. You can take the rest of that with you.” I don’t need any of the other shit. “All the pills?” Glancing at the dozen or so baggies before looking back up at me with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m heading back out in a couple weeks. Not sure when I’ll be able to hit you up again.” My leg starts bouncing, the need for him to leave stronger and stronger the more we talk. I don’t want to talk to him about this shit. I want him to drop and go. I’m not a social user. You won’t find me sharing a line with anyone. I hide away from the world to be alone with whatever it is I’m dipping into. Maybe because I know I need to hide it from Willow, from the guys. And I’ve become accustomed, maybe because in a way I feel if nobody sees me doing it, then I’m not actually doing anything wrong, as fucked up as that sounds. I stand and gather up all the plastic bags, dropping them in a box on the end table, signaling for him to get the rest of his stuff. I start making my way to the door—I’m finished with him and now he needs to get the fuck out. He takes the hint and slides everything back into his backpack and hurries after me. “OK, man. Just message me when you get back into town. Always a pleasure doing business with you.” With a little salute he jogs to his Hummer, climbs in and drives away. Finally. With a steadying breath, I walk back to my couch, stopping at a painting hanging on the wall of me and Wills. It was from a shoot we did for the label. Snatching it up, I saunter over to the end table

and grab one from there as well before sitting on the couch. I place the pictures next to me—I’m now surrounded by Willow. My fingers brushing over the canvas, I gaze longingly at our tangled limbs, my hands buried in her hair, and let the pain of losing her wash over me. She was mine. I had her. Reaching for one of the little bags full of pills, I dump four tablets in my hand, not sure what they are and not caring. I toss them back, swallowing past the dryness of my parched throat. I’m ready to not feel. I don’t want to miss her; I don’t want to remember. Just want to be numb. Lighting a cigarette, I take a long drag, looking down at the picture under my hand through a haze of smoke. Slowly I trace the lines of her leg, her arm. Without thinking I begin tracing out words to our song across the canvas just like I would on her skin. The rhythmic motion of my fingers calms me. That and whatever pills I took. When I start to feel too tired to hold my head up, I grab for the bag of coke. Tapping some out on the table, I pick up the straw and blow through a few lines. I’m not ready to sleep. When I sleep, I dream about Wills, and I can’t handle that shit right now. Another smoke clamped between my teeth, I light it and go back to my tracing. After a few passes though I know something’s not right. That I’m not right. Squeezing my eyes shut I trace over and over, cigarette pinched between my fingers, trying to focus on my breathing that’s getting harder and harder. To the empty room I whisper the lyrics to the song I’m leaving behind in ashes on the canvas. Doing my best to ignore the riot I feel going on inside of me. Fuck me. I’m done. I’m a dead man. I should be more upset, but without Willow, I honestly don’t think I give a fuck. At least I’m not doing it with my dick in my hand. Plus, all the greats go out at twenty-seven, right? Close the curtains, baby. I can hear the fat lady singing.

There are muffled voices around me that I can’t make out. Each word slices through my head like an axe. One whack after another as I try to chase after them. My eyes dart around behind closed lids, the lights on the other side of them unable to penetrate the darkness. Even as it burns them and sends shooting pain to my already tortured brain. I can smell that I’m in a hospital although I can’t pry my eyes open to see. I can smell the death and sickness, the cloying antiseptic mixed with too sweet flowers. Not sure how the fuck I got here, but it can’t be good. I try to speak but can’t make my mouth move and give up, instead trying to block everything out and disappear back into the void. Just as I start to drift again I hear someone say, “Willow,” but I don’t have the strength to stay and try to listen to what they’re talking about. To find out if she’s here. But then I hear it again and I have to fight the pull, the darkness and quiet, no matter how much it hurts. Prying my eyes open, I blink rapidly, moaning at the pain. I try to raise my hands to cover my eyes, but I can’t. They’re being held by someone, or something. Blinking I try to bring the room into focus, but it’s like being in the middle of a fucking snow globe. Everything is fuzzy and sounds like we’re underwater. Law’s face swims in front of me. I can hear him calling for me as someone I don’t know pulls him away. I try to call out to him, but nothing comes out. And then everything slows, and quiets, and it all fades to black.

The pounding in my head is like a persistent tapping instead of the all out hammering it was before. My throat is scratchy and my mouth has to be full of cotton. The light sneaking in under my cracked lids doesn’t make me cry out in pain like it did before, so I open them slowly, bit by bit. Afraid to move my body since my insides literally ache, I scan the room without turning my head. Covered in flowers it looks like a God damn funeral home. Next to my bed Law sits in a chair, head thrown back, snoring softly, with his feet propped on the end of my bed. Nudging his foot with mine, I watch as he comes to. When his eyes land on mine, I do my best to give a small smile, but I can’t around the tube protruding from my mouth. “Hey, man, hey. Don’t try to talk. I’ll get the nurse,” Law says excitedly. I try to move my arms to swipe at the annoying tube, but find again that someone is holding them down. Only there’s no one else in the room. Tearing my gaze away from Lawson’s face, I look down to find my wrists strapped to the bed with thick, padded leather. What the ever loving fuck? I yank and struggle, but they don’t budge, and all I do is tire myself out. With wild eyes I search for Law who stepped into the doorway to call for someone. He comes back to the bed with a man dressed in scrubs right behind him. “You’re awake. Fucking hell. I’m so happy to see your ugly fucking ass awake.” He doesn’t look happy. I try to raise my hands again to pull the tube from my throat so I can speak, and again, there’s no give. The man in the scrubs is talking to me but I can’t hear him over the screaming in my head. He shines a light in first one eye and then the other, and still he speaks and still I can’t make out what he’s saying. I try to convince the demons inside me howling in anger to quiet, but it’s no use, and before I can bend them to my will, I feel myself slipping away again. Weeks, days, minutes, hours . . . I have no clue how much time has passed, only that I’ve slipped in and out. Awake long enough to see that Willow isn’t here. Long enough for the guys to jump excitedly, the doctors to pierce my skull with their little light in my eyes, and then I’m gone. This time, this time feels different though. My skull isn’t throbbing, just pulsing. My eyes feel full of grit, my mouth and throat too. It’s clear of the tube though, so that’s a plus. Testing to see what else they’ve freed me of I flex my wrists but no luck. I’m still strapped to this fucking bed. Blinking the room into focus, I see Law sitting in the same chair next to me, looking down at his phone, and across the room Judge has himself crammed into a recliner with a small blanket, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Or me . . . the almost dead. Opening my mouth, I try to speak but a weird croaking sound comes out, startling myself and Law. He looks up at me, grinning. Judge stops snoring and sits up confused. “You gonna stay with us for more than a minute this time?” Lawson asks as he comes closer, offering me a sip of water. Taking it I nod but stop when my brain starts to rattle a bit. When my mouth is at least wet, I speak. “Why am I tied to the bed, Law?” I ask, not recognizing my own voice it’s so weak. He looks to Judge who is now making his way over to us.

“A couple reasons, Stone,” Judge says in a sober tone. He takes a deep breath, glances away and then pins me with watchful eyes. “Did you try to kill yourself? Did you take all that shit on purpose because Willow wasn’t home?” he asks carefully. Eyes narrowed, I start to deny it and tell him to go fuck himself but don’t. I stop to think about what I was doing, and why. “I wasn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . I just wanted to forget.” My voice is low, my eyes already growing heavy. Pressing my head against the pillow, I look at each of them, one after the other. “I took all of them on purpose, but not to off myself.” Admitting that to them is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I know they’ve known every time I was high, but we’ve never spoken about it. They would ask, I would deny, and that was the end. Willow’s the only one that called me on my shit. Their eyes never leave my face, I can see them trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not. “That’s one of the reasons you’re strapped down. They weren’t sure what they were dealing with. Weren’t sure if you woke up if you’d be a danger to yourself,” Judge says grimly. I nod in acceptance. Embarrassed. “And the other?” They glance at each other, and then back at me, deciding something with a shared look between them. “You’ve had some mild seizures,” Judge informs me. Again I nod, closing my eyes. “Okay.” What else can I say? Nothing. I don’t have the strength, and I know why I was seizing. I know because I can feel the need to be high even now clawing at me. Making my insides roil and my anxiety climb. The urge to lash out at them, tell them to fuck off, is so strong I squeeze my eyes tighter still. Maybe if I pretend to sleep they’ll go away. Maybe the doctor will give me something to help with the pain. Unlikely. I’m in the hospital because of an overdose, not a motherfucking car accident. But I just need . . . something. “Willow.” Her name falls from my lips before I can stop myself. Cracking my eyes just enough to see them, I watch as Judge shifts from foot to foot and Law looks at the ground. She’s not here. But why would she be? She wasn’t at home. How would she even know I’m in the hospital? She changed her number. But I didn’t. My eyes pop open and I ignore the pain it causes. I feel like my whole body is tender, rubbed raw. “My phone?” I croak out quietly. Sipping again from the straw Law is offering me. “Busted into a million fucking pieces, dude,” he tells me, face pinched. “Judge, I need it.” “Stone. You’re in the damn hospital because you OD’d on who knows what, nearly burnt your damn house down, and you’re worried about your damn phone?” Judge asks, exasperation and anger making his tone harsh, grating on my nerves. “Get me the fucking phone!” I demand as sternly as I can in my weakened state, my breathing becoming labored the more pissed I get. “Hey, calm down. We’ll get you the phone. No worries, okay?” Law soothes. He knows me. Knows why it’s so important. “Wha-what do you mean I nearly burnt my house down?” I ask them, trying to fight my way

through the fog. “You must have been smoking. You burned through a picture and it set off the alarm and when the security company couldn’t get a hold of you, they called me since I was next on the list. They sent out the cavalry, thank fuck. We met them here.” He looks at me and I can see the worry in his eyes still. “You scared the ever loving shit out of us, man.” I don’t get the chance to reply, ask about the house, or even apologize to Law. The door opens and a doctor I think I remember from the last time I was awake comes in. “Ah, Mr. Lockhart, you’re awake. Maybe we can keep you that way,” he says in a jovial, irritating as fuck voice. “Gentlemen, if you’ll leave us alone for a few minutes.” The Doctor dismisses them with a smile. As they walk to the door, Lawson assures me they won’t be far. “Judge. Get me my phone.” With clenched fists I try to lighten my tone. “Please.” He looks like he’s about to argue and then nods and stalks out. Turning to the doctor, I watch him warily. “Can you please unstrap me? I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” He glances up from his chart, “Weren’t you though?” Head cocked he watches me. “No. I wasn’t. It was an accident.” I don’t know how much to even say to him. How much can I tell him without incriminating myself? I vaguely remember the police being in the room one of the times I came to. Can everyone just leave me the fuck be? Changing the subject I ask what I really want to fucking know. “When can I leave?” My head is swimming now. I grind my back teeth trying to fight the nausea that’s all of a sudden got me ready to hurl all over Dr. Gold. “Well, that’s up to you, Stone. We’ve been slowly weaning you off of the meds for the last two days since you’re clearly breathing fine on your own. Now we wait for you to keep conscious for longer periods of time and you’ll have to be evaluated by a psychiatrist. It’ll be up to them, and you, when you can be discharged.” His smile is too bright, his tone condescending, and I want to punch him in the fucking face. “Whatever,” I mutter. Then something he said registers with me, they’ve been giving me drugs. I’m sure not what I normally score but I’ll take whatever. “Can you give me something for the pain then?” The bitterness is there in my voice no matter how I try to bury it. “I’m sorry, no. The attending psychiatrist will be in here shortly now that you’re up and actually communicating, and they’ll be in charge of your care and your meds. We’ve been weaning you off in order to help with your detoxification. The rest is up to him.” Glaring I watch as he straightens. “You’re a very lucky young man. This could have ended worse than it did. The amount of drugs in your system should have killed you. Would have killed you had you not been brought in as quickly as you were.” When I don’t express my gratitude or acknowledge what he sees as my luck, he closes the chart in his hand and hangs it on the foot of my bed with a clang. “Do you have any questions that I can answer for you, Mr. Lockhart?” I give a curt shake of my head. “I’ll let Dr. Risa know that she can come see you now.” And then he’s gone. Shoes squeaking across the floor as he exits. Not sure why, but I test my restraints one more time. When they don’t budge, I just close my eyes

and try to quiet my racing thoughts enough to go back to sleep. Or back into a coma. At least there I was allowed some fucking drugs.

“I’ve been in here for five fucking days. I want to go the fuck home, Law,” I shout. Pacing in front of the window of the too small hospital room. “Dude. That’s not even an option right now. You have two choices: jail or rehab. That’s it. End of story,” Lawson tells me for the tenth God damn time. “Judge busted his balls working with the record label and the lawyers to get the charges against you dropped and that’s the only bargain they’re willing to make.” Arms folded across his chest, he has his feet planted wide like he thinks he’s Billy fucking bad ass. He’s not. “I don’t need to go to fucking rehab,” I spit, scratching at the back of my neck and the prickling under my skin. “We’re supposed to be back on tour in a few days,” I remind him. Trying a different tactic. “Tour ’s been canceled until you get your shit clean, Stone. It’s not a negotiation.” “Don’t treat me like I’m a kid. I’m a grown ass man. A fucking rock star! I fuck who I want, I drink what I want, and I do whatever fucking shit I want.” My voice rises louder and louder until I’m yelling, veins bulging in my neck, and still, Lawson looks unfazed. “Yeah, well, motherfucker, you’re not doing any of that now, are you? Where’s Willow, bro? You ain’t fucking her, that’s for damn sure. Can’t get any of that smooth ass whiskey you love so much in here or those fucking pills, and you damn sure can’t get any of that nose candy you’ve been trying to kill yourself with,” he bites out with a little more heat than before but still looking calm and collected as I stand here sweating and ready to throw the fuck up. “You keep living like a rock star you’re gonna die like a fucking rock star,” Lawson vows solemnly. “Now get your shit. The plane leaves in an hour. You check into rehab tonight. Judge pulled some strings, has you set up in a nice place called Paradise in Hawaii. Real fucking fancy. Has your alias and everything else taken care of already.” “Law—” “No other option, Stone. This is your only choice,” he interrupts. “Listen, if you ever want to get Willow back, you have got to be clean, man. I promise to hire someone different, someone more competent than the guy we have now, to find her while you’re working on you.” Holding out his hand to me he asks, “Deal?” Turning away from him to stare out the window, still scratching at the skin that feels too fucking tight, I mumble, “Just take me to fucking Paradise.”

Willow “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! I’M GOING to be so late,” I mutter as I weave in and out of traffic on the 401. It’s usually

a two-hour drive to the university with traffic. I have an hour forty-five tops today and everyone and their damn mother seems to be in my way. Of course. It’s the first seminar I’ve been invited to speak at, why wouldn’t I be late? I wouldn’t even be going if I hadn’t committed to it months ago. Foot heavy on the accelerator, I sigh when my phone starts ringing. Seeing that it’s Perry, I hit the button on the steering wheel. “Hey, you, I can’t talk. I am so late it’s not even funny.” The second her voice fills the interior of the Jeep I know something’s wrong. “Willow, you—you should come home, sweetie.” “Home? Why, what happened? Lyric?” I ask her nervously, trying to keep the panic at bay. She sighs deeply. “No, no. Lyric is fine. It’s him . . . Stone. He was found unresponsive at his house and is in the hospital.” Her tone is so gentle it aggravates me. I don’t know why but it grates on my suddenly raw nerves. “That can’t be right, Perry. It’s probably one of those hoaxes that everyone thinks are so God damn cute.” Even as I say it I know it isn’t true. I want it to be. God, do I want it to be. But I know. I’ve been waiting for this call for eight months. “I’m watching it on CP24 right now, Willow. They have news crews at your—his—house and everything. It’s for real.” Hands shaking now, I pull off the exit I’m just about to pass, cutting people off and ignoring their blaring horns. A little ways down the road I park in front of a Tim Horton’s. “I gotta go . . .” My voice trails off as I disconnect the call. With ice running through my veins, I place a hand on my head, doing my best to rub away my fears. Blankly staring out the windshield, not seeing anything, I try to get my thoughts together. Taking a deep breath, I pick my phone up again and dial the only number I kept from my life with Stone. Addy was not only their assistant and right hand but also my best friend. I left her behind along with them, and it cut me just as deeply. She picks up on the third ring, and I can hear the truth in her meek, “Hello?” “Addy? It’s me. It’s Willow. Is he—is he okay?” When she bursts into tears, I do too.

“Willow, oh my God. Oh my God, where are you? He’s bad. So bad,” Addy says as she sobs. I can’t tell her where I am and I can’t go to him. No matter how badly I want to. Need to. I’m not strong enough to see him yet. “How bad?” I whisper, ignoring the tears tracking down my face. I shouldn’t but I feel guilt. Immense fucking guilt. This was one of my greatest fears when I realized—no, admitted—that he was addicted to drugs. By the time I let myself accept it, it was too late and we were both too far gone. Too broken. And then that night happened and I just stopped feeling. A part of me died that night. A part of my heart, my soul. And now I’ve finally picked myself up off the floor and am working on piecing my life, me, back together, and I’m once again . . . Stoned. “Just tell me!” I demand, hoarsely. I can hear her collect herself. Blowing out a deep breath, “He’s still unconscious. They found him at your house. There was a fire. They don’t know anything right now. You should come, Willow. He needs you. They all do. They—they think he did it on purpose. He was so sure you were at home waiting.” Addy’s voice cracks. Is she blaming me? “Why? I haven’t spoken to him or anyone in months. Why would he assume I’d be at home?” Because he’s Stone, and if that night had never happened, I would have been. I’ve loved him so hard for so very long, I would have been waiting. But everything has changed. I’ve changed. He changed me. I’m just now starting to like the person I am again after . . . everything. “Are the guys up there with him? He’s not alone?” The band is the only family he’s had for a long time now aside from Judge and Lawson's mom, and a sister, Scarlet, who was adopted when they were only three and who now lives in London. They only see each other once a year at best. “They’re all up there. You should really go, Willow. What if—what if he doesn’t make it?” She breaks down again, deep hiccupping sobs and I can’t. I can’t deal with it right now. I don’t know what to do as I sit in front of the coffee shop, tears still coming at an alarming rate, listening to my friend wail in fear and agony, and I don’t know what to do. I’m not numb, though I wish I could be. I feel the heaviness in my heart and chest like an elephant is there. An iron fist squeezing. I can’t go there. I’m needed here even more than he needs me. “I can’t, Addy. For so many reasons, I can’t,” I cry. “I wish I could explain so that you could understand but I . . . just can’t.” Swallowing past the emotion in my throat I plead, “Please, please don’t tell them I called. It will only make things worse.” “You’re right. I don’t understand, Willow. I know you though, and you wouldn’t stay away if you didn’t have reasons,” Addy sighs, “I’m going to have you added to the list at the hospital so that you can call and get his progress. You don’t have to go through anyone else, and nobody will know that you’ve been checking on him. I love you and miss you so very much, but I can’t lie to them when they’re all so worried about you, so this is best,” she says quietly, sniffling daintily. “Thank you. I’m sorry, Addy. I shouldn’t put you in the middle. I miss you. I think about you always,” I ramble brokenly. Not ready to disconnect the call but not wanting to give her the opportunity to talk me into coming home. Home . . . is it? Stone was my home for so long. But not anymore. “I love you, Addy.” My voice cracks and a painful sob breaks through when she responds.

“I love you too. And miss you. We all do, Willow.” Disconnecting the call, I cover my face with my hands and cry. I cry for me. I cry for Stone and the life we were supposed to have. I cry for the guys and Addy who all love him so much. I cry for the man I loved once and the man he became. I just . . . cry.

“How’s she doing?” I whisper as I walk into the nursery at the hospital. Perry is in the chair rocking, a smile on her face. There was no way I would have ever made the seminar after talking to Addy, so I just headed to where I really wanted to be anyway. “She’s doing great. Doctor said that as soon as you got here we could go.” Standing she slides the baby into my arms. “There you go, little girl. Your mama’s here,” she coos. Once I’m holding Lyric, my heart feels lighter. All of the chaos of earlier dims in her presence. “Hey, hey, little bird,” I croon in my singsong voice she seems to love so much. “Missed you, Lyric. My heart doesn’t beat in rhythm when you’re not around,” I whisper in a choked voice remembering all of the times Stone has said that very thing to me and I to him. A tear slips down my cheek, landing on the downy chocolate brown hair of my daughter. I place a kiss on the top of her head, pulling in her sweet scent. “How’s he doing, Willow?” Perry asks softly. Without a word, I just shake my head no. It’s as much an answer as I can give her without saying the words. He's not okay and I don't want to talk about it. Not here. Not when I’m so raw from it all and not when I’m holding my world in my arms. “Later, please.” I smile to soften my words. “Let’s get this pretty little bird home.” I can feel her eyes on me. I’m glad when she doesn’t push. “Okay. Cora is waiting at your place for us. She said she wanted to make sure everything was perfect,” Perry laughs softly. “She’s so damn excited, Willow. You should’ve heard her on the phone. I think she might move in.” With a bemused grin I look over at her. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. I wonder what she made for dinner. You know she cooked.” “Without a doubt she did.” When my stomach growls at the thought we both bust out laughing, startling poor Lyric. “Shhh, shhh. I have you.” Rocking her and humming “Love Me Tender” which is one of her favorites, she quiets right down. “We’re ready, Auntie Perry.” After a month of living in this hospital, “ready” is an understatement. It’s time for Lyric and I to start our new life. Just the two of us. Pulling up in front of my house, I’m reminded of everything this homecoming is, and all that it isn’t. As I put the Jeep in park, I glance back at Perry who is sitting in the backseat with Lyric. “You girls ready to do this?” I grin, popping the door open and jumping down. Just as I’m pulling Lyric’s car seat from the back, Cora comes bounding down the porch, beaming at us. “Took you long enough, eh? I was starting to get worried.” She pulls me into a hug, careful not to

jostle the baby carrier, “You okay, Willow? Perry told me. I’ve been worried sick about you all day.” She pulls back and brushes a hand over my head, assessing me. “Been watching the TV for any information. There’s been no update so far.” I nod meekly, anything more is too much. “Well then, let’s get this beautiful baby inside. I made Tourtiere.” Perry glances back at me and gives me a knowing smile. Cora usually only makes the delicious meat pie for the holidays. “I feel you two with those googly eyes. It’s a special damn occasion. Lyric’s home with her mama, and her Auntie Cora wants to celebrate it. Now get your asses in the house and eat!” We giggle at her hostile tone like a bunch of scolded little girls. “Yes, ma’am,” Perry and I say in unison. It’s been so long since I’ve been mothered I don’t mind being bossed around in the least. Once inside, I unbuckle Lyric from her strappings and hand her to an anxiously waiting Cora. The two of these women have been by my side for the last month around the clock. My strength. Anchors. I don’t know if I would’ve survived all that I’ve been through watching my little girl fight for her life in the NICU. We were close before, but now . . . now they’re my family, and that’s something I haven’t had since I walked away from Stone. Hell, even before that. He stopped being who I needed long before I left. Shaking the thought away I watch Cora with Lyric, smiling wistfully as she makes silly sounds at her. She looks up at me, happiness painting her face. “Go on and put her stuff away, I have her little bassinet thing in the dining room already.” I nod and gather up all the stuff we accumulated while at the hospital and head to the mudroom to sort through everything. I don’t want to bring any of it to the nursery until we get the stink of hospital off of it. “Holy hell does that smell good,” I call out as I walk into the dining room where Perry is setting the finishing touches on the table, Cora sitting with Lyric snug against her chest. As soon as I’m seated, she lays the now sleeping infant in her bassinet and starts serving steaming plates of deliciousness. I’m a good cook, but I’m no Cora. “Thank you so much for doing this. It’s nice to be home with her finally, and to have you all here makes it perfect,” I tell them, taking a bite of the pie. With an appreciative moan I listen to the ladies chat about the bar, Perry’s job, hockey. Because Canada. Eight months ago I never would have thought that my life would bring me here. Bring me them. Cora interrupts my thoughts. “Oh, Willow! I meant to tell you. Carleen called from the bar a while ago and said there was a message on the answering machine from someone at Fall Out. She said they heard one of your demos and wanted to talk to you.” The excitement in her voice can’t be missed. “I didn’t send out any demos,” I answer, confused and anxious at the mention of the label. Stone’s label. Calling for me. “Hmmm, he must’ve heard it at the studio then. They booked some studio time last month because of some kind of remodeling at theirs. I didn’t ask any questions. I was just so honored they asked us at all,” Cora answers, preening a bit. “But she said he asked for you by name.” She shrugs. “Won’t hurt to see what they want.” I’ve not written music for anyone other than Stone in a while. I can’t even think about what song they may have heard, but she’s right, hearing them out wouldn’t hurt and I could always use the

royalty money. Now that Lyric’s home, I won’t be able to take as many shifts at The Dirty Bird. “I’ll call them next week. I just want to get settled with Lyric first. You’re sure it wasn’t anyone working with Stone?” Cora nods in understanding. “His name wasn’t brought up, and the woman who booked the studio time was from Montreal. I remember because I had Bear speak to her,” she reassures me. “Oooh, Fall Out has some really hot new names, Willow. I did a shoot for them not too long ago. One of their new boy bands,” Perry says, practically bouncing in her seat in excitement. She works as a freelance photographer but does a lot of work for big magazines and heavy hitters in the music industry. It’s how I met her years ago. We’d bonded over our home country and thankfully kept in touch. When I called her and said I needed to get away and that she couldn’t tell a single soul where I was, she opened her home to me and helped me find a place of my own. She saved me and she has no idea. She’s never asked and I’ve never told. Only Cora and her husband know why I ran away from everything and everyone. “They do, eh?” I ask. Knowing full well that they do. Perry starts to nod enthusiastically when she catches on I’m messing with her. “Oh shut up, you bitch.” She tosses a roll at me. “Perry! Watch your language in front of the baby,” Cora scolds. “Pfft. That baby is screwed with potty mouth over there,” she accuses with a finger pointed in my direction. “Hey, now. I’ve been trying. Cora put a swear jar and everything in the living room. I figured either I’ll quit swearing or I’ll have one hell of a college fund for Lyric.” We all laugh at that and in this moment I’m happy. It won’t be until they’re all gone and I’m tucking in my baby girl that I’ll allow myself to worry over Stone and the fact that I am now a single parent.

Stone THE LIGHTS ARE OFF BECAUSE it hurts so fucking bad to have them on. I've had them off since I got here,

what seems like a year ago. I hear someone come in, thankfully not turning on the light. They tiptoe to the bed where I'm curled up in the fetal position, rocking in an attempt to make the pain stop. They won’t give me any more of the meds they promised would help. I need them. My skin is tight and I feel like I'm covered in a million fucking bugs. My insides ache. The constant need to throw up is exhausting. I just want it to end. If this is what being clean is like, I don't fucking want it. Numb. I only want to be numb. That's where my happy lives. I don't need a single fucking thing else. A gentle hand wipes away the sweat pouring down my face with a warm cloth, and even that against my skin is too much. Moaning, I move away from it. “I'll just put it right here on your table,” the voice soothes. A low grunt is my answer. This is only day three. Day fucking three. I’d rather be dead. Day fourteen is no fucking better than day three was. The only difference is I don’t feel like throwing up all day and all night. Only for most of it. The restless leg syndrome is enough to make me want to kill somebody though. Today, they’re making me leave my room. I have to at least take a walk around the grounds if not sit in on one of the classes I’ll be expected to attend soon. For the first time since I’ve been here I have the windows of my room open, the scents and sounds of the Pacific almost soothing. Almost. There’s a small balcony that I can go out on, but there are decorative bars that keep me from swan diving off of it. I stand there barefoot, letting the heat of the cement soak into my skin. They brought me a pack of cigarettes yesterday, but my hands haven’t stopped trembling long enough for me to be able to get the matches lit yet. Apparently I can’t have a lighter. People huff the butane. The thought never even occurred to me. Wish it had. Sitting on the patio chair they have shoved in the corner next to a small table with an ashtray, I again do my best to get a match lit. The only thing I hate more than the shaking hands and the stomach cramps is that they won’t let me have my phone or my guitar. No items from the outside other than the smokes for a couple more weeks yet. It’s not enough that I’m here, in a hell they call Paradise, without any fucking drugs and with a worthless ass pack of cigarettes. Nah, they gotta make sure I really

suffer. I go through a whole book of fucking matches before I use the intercom in my room and ask someone to bring me more. This time I’ll ask whoever brings them to fucking strike one for me. It’s the least the bastards can do. Day thirty-one has me sullenly sitting in a group therapy session as they go over things we want to say to the loved ones we’ve hurt. Letters of apology. There’s not enough paper in the world for my letter to Wills. Everyone is reading theirs out loud as we sit in a circle like we’re about to break into fucking Kumbaya. We’ve been given the choice to call whomever the letter is to or invite them to a session next month when we’re allowed visitors so that we can read them what we’ve written. There’s not a chance in hell I’m reading shit to anyone. I write letters every day, and every day they ask me to share them, and every one of those days I decline. Today won’t be any different. My letters to Willow aren’t for anyone else but her. I send them to the house in Austin. Although I know she’s not there, it makes me feel better. Helps me to pretend that my being an addict didn’t run her off. Guess being clean hasn’t kept me from being delusional. Inhaling deeply on my smoke, I flip to an empty page in my notebook and begin writing. Wills, They want me to share my words with them. They must not realize that my words are for you. They always have been. I’m so sick of sharing all my feelings, my pent up shit, emotions I can’t name and don’t want to fucking feel. I only want to share all of my fucked up with you. I need you, Birdie. Man, do I fucking need you so damn bad. Don’t you know I need you, to be me? Love always, Stone I toss my pen aside and snub out my cigarette at the pain those words cause. They leave a huge gaping hole in my chest just remembering them and all the times I’ve whispered them to her. Fuck this place and being clean and being high. Just fuck it all. Day forty-seven can suck my dick. Right along with everyone else. I sit on the lanai, rain misting over me and everything else on the small space, and smoke my damp cigarette as I write yet another letter to Willow, though I have no fucking clue why. Because I’m mad as hell? Because I miss her? Because they told me I had to? Wills, I’m angry as fuck today. Probably shouldn’t even be writing, but I can’t not. I get mad, I want to write you. Sad, I want to write you. Happy, tired, discouraged, hungry, I just want to write you. Who the fuck else would I tell all this shit to? You’re it. The one who loved me no matter how I was feeling, and I shit all over that. I’m as angry about that as I am that I’m here. Nah, I’m more angry about fucking us up. This would all be so much easier if you were here. But you’re not, so fuck us both.

Stone Day fifty-nine and I’ll finally be allowed my guitar, my cell phone, and a visitor in a few days. That knowledge has improved my mood somewhat. I feel like it’s finally progress. I sat with my counselor today, the one who makes me talk whether I want to or not, and finally feel like a little less of a prisoner. Give me a few minutes though. I’m so fucking manic I’ll be hating everyone and everything by then. Leaning back against the headboard in the too quiet room, I pull my notebook out from the nightstand drawer. I need to try to write Willow more often when I’m in a good mood. I feel like every note I write is full of anger. Makes sense since that’s what I feel a lot of the time. Wills, I have time in here to be by myself so I write songs and I write you. I have enough new material for a whole album. I’m calling it Willow. Every damn song is about you. They always were though, huh? I miss you. I miss the way you smell. Your laugh. The way you get so lost in your music that you forget anyone else is in the room. I miss the way your eyes fire when you’re pissed or when you’re turned on. God, I miss the way you taste. Your lips, your soft skin, your pussy. All of you so sweet. Reading those words, your eyes would have lit with that burn for me. I miss that. I miss us. I’m lost without you, Birdie. I’m not right. My heart doesn’t beat in rhythm when you’re not around. Come be my rhythm. I love you always. Love, Stone As carefully as I can, I tear the page out and put it in an envelope, address it, and put it in the tray that they’ll come and collect from later. Every day without fail I write her, and every day they pick it up and do whatever the fuck they do and send them out. If they don’t pick them up before five, I’m buzzing them on the intercom. They probably think I’m insane, but ask me if I care. And not for the first time I wonder what the fuck Addy is doing with them all when she picks up my mail at the house every week. Does she know where Willow is? She swears that she doesn’t, and even though Wills is her best friend, she couldn’t keep that big of a secret from me when she knows how much I need her. At least that’s what she’s telling Lawson and Judge, and I don’t think she’d bullshit them. But what the fuck do I know? There’s a knock at the door and a head pops in. “Mr. Lockhart, it’s time for your group session. There’s a guest speaker you won’t want to miss,” the young guy says enthusiastically. I just grunt and lift my chin in acknowledgement. A guest speaker. Fanfuckingtastic. Welcome to hell, it’s fucking Paradise.

Willow THE DIRTY BIRD IS A little live lounge type bar in downtown Toronto that I instantly fell in love with. I

was drawn to the name first, if I’m honest. When I first came back to T.O., I had been lost. No direction. My compass was spinning wildly, searching. Searching for home, searching for Stone, for something I couldn’t name. Just . . . searching. It finally led me here. At first glance it looks like every other bar on the strip, but once you push through those doors, the music seeps into your soul. I missed this side of music. I never wanted to be famous like Stone. I was perfectly content to be part of the music behind the man. I preferred smaller crowds like this to test out my songs on, to sit on a stool, me and my Martin or with fingers dancing over ivory keys and just be. The people here are now my family. Mine and Lyric’s. They held me up when I wasn’t strong enough. Loved me at my lowest, and praised me when I was at my best. Stood by my side when the universe delivered a wicked blow and then again when my sweet baby was born prematurely and fought for her life. I owe them so much and yet they ask for nothing. Blowing a kiss to Bear behind the bar, I weave my way through the tables filled with people drinking and laughing, waving to a few as I head to the stage at the back of the room. Once I get there, I set my case down on the table reserved for The Dirty Bird’s musicians. As I take a seat, I smile at the trio on stage, giving them a thumbs-up. They’re regulars and have an eclectic sound that makes them a favorite here. Tapping along with the song, I put everything else, everyone else, out of my mind and concentrate on my set. With the emotions running through me, it’s going to get feely up in here. I just called the hospital for what seems like the millionth time this week to learn that Stone has been discharged and the charge nurse also told me that he was entering an extensive, months-long rehab program. But she couldn’t disclose the specifics. So now I’m hellbent on putting Stone out of my mind and just hoping he can get better and find some happiness. Not able to help myself, I chuckle under my breath at that partial truth. I want him to be well; it’s the happiness that twists me up inside. We were supposed to be each other ’s happiness. “What are you over here laughing about, eh?” I glance up at the sound of Cora’s pixie-like voice. So different from the way she appears. Cora Lake is the owner of The Dirty Bird, all six gorgeous feet of her. She is also my friend and guardian angel, and Lyric’s “Auntie Cora.” No telling where I’d

be if it weren’t for her. Bear, her much younger husband, as well. The two of them took me under their wing and helped me get on my feet when I came back home, lost as all hell. They found me and helped put back together a little of the me I’d lost along the way. “Irony.” I shrug. She watches me with knowing eyes, leaning in close to be heard. “How’s he doing today?” Cora asks me every day. Genuinely concerned because she knows that even after everything he still means a lot to me. “Discharged and headed to rehab.” My head tilts in thought. “I wonder if that was his idea or the label’s? If it wasn’t his, they’ll have their work cut out for them. Stubborn, moody bastard.” “Honey, that’s all men,” she smiles gently. “I’m glad that he’s there regardless of how it came about. You be happy too. You deserve it.” With a pat to my hand she leans back. The band just finished with their encore, causing the bar to quiet some and we can speak normally. “That’s enough about that. Thank you for covering tonight. You wanted to be home with Lyric for a couple more weeks and I’m sorry. I promise not to drag you in here again before then,” she vows. “What are you singing for us this fine evening?” she asks, not letting me answer before she’s speaking again. “I’m going to stay for a bit before heading to your place to tuck Lyric into bed.” I can’t help the smile at the mention of Lyric. It’s true I wanted to be home with her, but this was a favor for Bear and Cora since musicians are flakey and forget about gigs often. “Not sure yet,” I laugh. “I’ve not sung anything other than lullabies lately. I’m not sure if I remember anything else.” Cora shrugs, “Sounds good to me.” Her head swivels when Bear calls for her from the bar. Holding up a finger to tell him she’s coming, she turns back to me. “I’ll see you at home when you’re done. No rush, stay as long as you like. We’ll be fine.” I nod and she gives me a bright smile. “Sing pretty.” Swallowing thickly, I do my best to keep my smile in place at her parting words just like I do every other time she says them. Sing pretty. How many times has Stone said that to me or I to him? He said it and then followed it up with something wicked, because that was Stone. But every time he did, I obeyed because . . . Stone. “Sing pretty for me, Birdie. So pretty it makes me hard. Then I’ll fuck you pretty.” With a sigh I push myself up from the table, away from the memory, and head for the stage. I’ll sing pretty. But it’ll be for me. I don’t sing pretty for anyone else anymore. Finished with my set I thank the applauding crowd and pack up my Martin. A man approaches the side of the stage, dressed in a flashy suit. Definitely not Dirty Bird attire. He waits until I descend before holding out his hand and speaking to me in French before shaking his head and apologizing. “I’m sorry. I forget that not everyone speaks the language. I’m Phillipe Theroux.” His voice is heavily accented, but it’s nothing I’m not used to having grown up here and spending a lot of time in Montreal among the French Canadians.

“It’s all right. Willow Avery. What can I do for you?” I question warily, looking to the bar and Bear. I relax when I see him there watching, nodding his head at me in reassurance. “I’m from Fall Out. My secretary called last week requesting a meeting with you, but we haven’t heard back so I decided to come see you in person. Is there somewhere we can talk? I’ll only take a moment of your time,” he assures kindly. I tense at the mention of the label. In all of the excitement of having Lyric home and the constant worry over Stone, I had forgotten all about the message that Carleen had taken. Glancing back to the bar, I motion for Bear, hoping he’s not too busy to come with me. I’m interested to hear what Mr. Theroux has to say, but I won’t be speaking to him alone. Bear doesn’t hesitate and starts our way. I fiddle with my case, stalling a bit so that it’s not obvious that I’m waiting for Bear. When he suddenly appears at my side, I smile appreciatively up at him. “Bear, this is Phillipe Theroux with Fall Out. He’d like to speak to me. Can we use your office?” I question, giving him a look that I’m hoping he picks up on. He knows that Fall Out is also Stone’s label. Bear will make sure that this conversation doesn’t get back to any of Stone’s camp. The two men shake hands and exchange introductions. “Of course,” is all he says as he turns to lead the way to the studio attached to The Dirty Bird. He lets us into his spacious office and gestures for us to sit as he takes a spot in the corner of the room, just out of the way enough to give us space but to assure that I’m comfortable. “What can I do for you, Mr. Theroux?” I question, taking my seat. He glances over at Bear and then back to me. “It’s fine to speak freely in front of Bear. He’s my manager, of sorts,” I say, though it’s not exactly true. I don’t have any need or any reason to be managed. “Ahh, very well then. As I said, when you didn’t call back I decided to come down here personally. We are very interested in a song of yours,” he says, straightforward and to the point. “I’m confused as to what song you could be talking about. I haven’t sent out demos in a very long time and I’ve never sent any to your offices.” My brows drawn in question, I glance at Bear, who just shrugs. We record here all the time, but I’ve not submitted anything and clearly Bear hasn’t either. Not that he would without first speaking to me. “I apologize. Apparently a couple months back my client was here, renting out the studio and heard something you were working on. He wants it. My client would also like to meet you. If you can work it into your schedule, he will be in the area next month.” Mr. Theroux pauses, letting that sink in. “And just who is your client?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. These music types are always the same. Drawing shit out, waiting to drop names in order to seal the deal. I’m not a fangirl. I lived with and loved one of the biggest rock stars on the planet. Toured with him and met some of the greats as well as some amazing up and coming talent. His name dropping won’t sway me. “Usually I would not divulge that information, but we’re aware that you are very familiar with the workings of the music industry. Joaquin Danjou is my client, and he is extremely interested in your song but won’t negotiate until he can sit down with you himself.” “So he’s a diva,” I state. I know who he is. Not personally though. He’s had some dealings with

Stone and the band on a couple occasions for various reasons. I’ve never met him. He’s a big deal. A huge deal, really. Phillipe chuckles. “Your attitude is refreshing.” Clasping his hands, he leans forward. “No. Not a ‘diva’ as you say. Joaquin is very passionate about his music and even more so about songs he doesn’t write himself. He always likes to sit with the songwriter to discuss their vision and what they would feel if he were to alter that in any way.” I admire that. Songwriting is very personal to most artists. It is to me. “Did he say what song?” For the life of me I can’t think of what he may have heard me working on. “He did not, unfortunately.” Nodding in understanding I stand. “Would you mind if I spoke to Bear privately for a moment?” I ask. When he goes to stand I raise a hand, “No, please stay. We’ll just step out.” He gestures to the door in agreement. “Of course. Please.” Bear follows me out into the hall and into one of the sound booths. They’re soundproof and I feel more comfortable speaking to him there. “Well, what do you think, Bear? Is he full of shit?” Scratching at his beard he shakes his head. “No. Not at all. He’s the real deal. I Googled him while you guys talked.” He smiles wryly. “As your manager and all, I thought it was important since I’d heard of the label of course, but not him.” Slapping his arm, “You're the closest thing to a manager I’ll ever have,” I tell him truthfully. Back when I wrote songs and sent demos out, Judge handled the business side of it all. He was the band’s manager as well as our friend, so it was the obvious choice. Now though, I was on my own. Just like with everything else in my life. “Well then, as your manager, I say to set up a meeting with Joaquin and see what he has to say. He’s big time, Willow. No harm can come from him picking up one of your songs.” Lips pursed in thought, I agree. “Do I want that kind of attention though? I mean, I’ve gone to great lengths to stay off the radar and this would put me back into that world. Songwriters aren’t usually in the spotlight, but to have my name attached to him might make people curious.” My nerves at what that could mean have me pacing. “That’s true. You’ve done a good job at staying off the grid, but I think you should have this meeting before you borrow trouble. Hear him out and make a decision. When the time comes, we can figure out the rest,” he soothes. “Okay.” “Okay,” Bear mocks, pulling me into a reassuring hug before leading the way back to his office. I don’t bother with pleasantries or anything. “Have your secretary set up the meeting with Mr. Danjou. I’ll meet with him before I make a decision.” I’m sure to let him know that I will be the one making the decisions, not them. If I learned anything from Stone, it was never to let anyone see you as weak. Because if you do, you’re screwed. With a curt wave I walk out of the office, leaving the men

alone so I can stress about what this could mean without the watchful eyes of Bear on me.

Willow I CHECK THE TIME ON my phone as I bypass the front door of The Dirty Bird and go to the side entrance

that will bring me right into the studio. I’m running late and if I go through the bar, I’m bound to get stopped by someone wanting to chat. Pulling my key out, I unlock the heavy metal door and slip inside. Bear called me this morning and said that Joaquin would be in booth B. He apparently is making good use of his time here and rented some studio space. Just outside of the glass door I stop, not wanting to interrupt the man inside. He sits on a high stool, headphones on with a guitar balanced on his lap. His eyes are closed and though I can’t hear what he’s singing without going in, I can feel the passion, the meaning that the song holds, just by watching him. Not wanting to seem like a creeper, I open the door and slip into the control booth with the two men, one of whom is Mr. Theroux. At my entrance, he turns and smiles, rising to give me his seat. I nod in thanks and sit. None of us speaks, we just listen. When he’s finished he slowly opens his eyes and they immediately land on me. A small crooked smile graces his face. It’s warm and genuine and it immediately puts me at ease. Joaquin motions for me to come in and says something in French to the two men. They nod, and Mr. Theroux turns to me. “He’s asked us to wait outside so that you two may speak privately.” I’m just about to argue that they don’t have to when Bear pokes his head in. “Hey, Willow girl, I’ll be right out here if you need me. I have some business to discuss with these guys. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on things,” he reassures me. Tossing a wink my way at my relieved smile. With his guitar in hand, Joaquin stands at the connecting door, waiting for me to enter. “Willow, right?” he asks in a smooth, accented voice. It’s not as prominent as Theroux’s, but it’s there and it makes me slightly breathless. Huh. Only one other voice has ever had that effect on me. Tucking that away for later, I walk through.“Yep. That’s me. And you are obviously Joaquin.” There’s a small seating area in the live booth which I walk over to, choosing the armchair over the love seat. Chuckling softly, he agrees, “Oui. I am.” He sits across from me, leaning his guitar against the arm of the chair. “I’m sorry, Phillipe told me you didn’t speak French. After spending so much time

with those two,” he jerks his chin in the general direction the men had left, “I don’t even realize that I’m doing it.” He grins a bit sheepishly. It’s refreshing. Here is a man, confident, calm and just . . . smooth. Everything about him. The way he talks, the way he sings, even the way he moves. And not that icky smooth but that suave smooth. “No worries. I understand some and definitely know what ‘oui’ means, so you’re fine.” I cross my legs, the material of my skirt pulling tight and catching his attention, but only briefly. His smile brightens. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to offend you before I got you to open up.” Snagging a water bottle from the mini fridge right next to him, he offers me one before leaning back and twisting the cap on his own. “I’m not easily offended, Mr. Danjou. What is it that you wanted to talk about?” I say, unnerved by his watchful, yet not ogling, eyes. It’s like he’s trying to read me, see into my soul instead of down my shirt. It makes me both comfortable and nervous. I can’t explain it. “Of course, sorry. I’m sure you’re an incredibly busy woman.” He takes a sip of his water, again watching me. “I watched you sing.” I shift uncomfortably at that. It seems so intrusive, yet didn’t I do the same thing to him just now? “I was here a couple months ago, walking by, minding my business when I saw you. I couldn’t see your face very well—you had on a hoodie and the lights in the booth were off.” Joaquin chuckles softly. “I thought it was so strange, I’d never seen someone sing in the dark like that in a studio. So I slipped into the control booth and asked the kid there if I could listen for a moment. He must’ve recognized me because he stared at me with an open mouth and just nodded.” Placing his ankle across his knee, he drapes his wrist over, his long fingers dangling, catching my attention. His hands are . . . sexy. I have a thing for hands and the magic they can bring to an instrument, to a body, and his hands look damn magical. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m ogling his hands now. Snapping my eyes back to his face I concentrate on what he’s saying, trying to place the day he’s talking about, and then I remember. I had just returned from the doctor, an ultrasound. And while it made me so happy to see my little girl on the screen, it also made me sad. This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life, but it wasn’t at all what I had planned. I was feeling incredibly melancholy. Came into the studio and asked Aidan, the intern, to just work the board. Nothing crazy, just record for me. In my solitude, I needed to feel alone. More so than I already did. I needed to let my music soothe me. Be the cure that it always had been. I remember singing until I was hoarse, tears running down my face, sorrow blanketing me, exhausting me. Physically, emotionally. Exhausted. I wonder now how much of that he had been witness to. Suddenly I’m all too aware of what he saw. The me he got to see. Nobody but Stone had ever seen that version of me, and that Joaquin may have, makes me feel guilty, which is ridiculous. I’m brought back to the present by his voice. “I asked the kid who you were, and he would only say that your name was Willow and that you worked at the bar sometimes. I’ll admit that I was a little pissed that he wasn’t more forthcoming with the information, but glad that even though he knew who I was, he wasn’t just going to tell me your business. So I made some calls and here you are.” He tilts his head a bit, assessing. “I had to meet the

woman who sang so beautifully. The person responsible for writing such an incredibly sad song. And hopefully convince her to let me sing it too.” His smile is hopeful, but again genuine. He’s not playing an angle. He’s just being truthful. “How do you know I wrote it? I could’ve been singing someone else’s song,” I counter. Buying a little time to get myself together. This man has thrown me. I haven’t been thrown in a long time. “The thought never occurred to me. The way you sang it, I knew it was yours. It came from here.” He lays a hand over his chest, his heart. “You can’t fake that, chèrie.” I smile at his wicked French endearment. Like I said, smooth. “Well, you’re right, I did write it. It’s not available though.” I don’t know when I decided that, only that I had. I wrote that song while in a deep depression. I was lost, alone, heartbroken and missed Stone so much it was painful. Not the Stone he had become but the Stone that he had been. But then, I had been missing him for a long time. Long before I ever left. The words are carved into my heart and I don’t know how to part with them. That and I’ve never written a song that meaningful and given it to someone else. “I won’t change it, Willow. It’s perfect the way it is,” Joaquin promises. “It speaks to me on a level I can’t even explain. Hell, I’m not sure I understand. But I’ve not been able to get it out of my mind.” He reaches for his guitar and to my amazement, starts playing my song. I’ve watched talented, talented people play an instrument. No, “play” isn't the right word. Watched someone make love, make the sweetest music, with an instrument. Like it’s an extension of them. Coaxing a melody, bending it until it’s more than what it’s meant to be. That's what I'm witnessing here with Joaquin. It's so blatant and beautiful and life changing. I feel the wetness on my face that watching and listening to him has caused. Music has always had that effect on me. Cry because I’m happy, because I’m sad. Because the song touches parts of me that are hidden to everyone. I cry now as every emotion is wrenched from me with every strum of his fingers over the strings. He sits, his eyes closed, a look that is such a mix of feelings I can't pin just one down. It's contentment and longing, pain and joy, awe and despair . . . it's beautiful, riveting. And everything I felt while writing it. When he opens his mouth to sing the words I wrote, it's almost more than I can take. I've never written a song that I didn't love, that didn't speak to me or hold a special meaning. They all come from a place deep within my heart. But hearing the words fall from Joaquin's lips as he croons, the song takes on a life of its own. It's a healing balm to my soul even though the lyrics are filled with heartache. I want to beg him to never stop singing as well as cover his mouth with my hand to silence him. He makes the decision for me as he sings the final chord, and opens his eyes. I dash away the tears on my cheeks and he nods in understanding. “Powerful stuff, right? I need it on my new album.” I’m incapable of answering just yet. He gets it. He sits quietly as I watch him, take in his neatly trimmed beard, the dark, tousled hair like he’s been running his hands through it all day. His V-neck shirt which allows the tiniest bit of chest hair to be seen, the gray slacks, and his suede John Lobb’s. Very posh. He’s too masculine to be called metrosexual, but he has a sophisticated vibe I can’t deny I’m

digging. After a moment of silence, he speaks. “Have dinner with me,” Joaquin demands quietly in that accented voice. The timbre of it reverberates against my skin, causing goosebumps to tickle over the flesh. “I don't date rock stars,” I tell him, trying to hide the reaction his voice has on me. “Good thing I'm not a rock star then.” He smirks. He's right, he’s the farthest thing from being a rock star. He's much too controlled for that. “I don't date musicians either.” Though that too is the wrong word for him. “Prejudice against your own kind?” he mocks, rubbing a hand over his beard, a grin threatening. I shake my head, “I'm no musician—” “Oh, chèrie, that's a lie. I've seen you, heard the magic that’s trapped inside that pretty little soul. You can't lie to me. I see who you are,” Joaquin says, his molten chocolate gaze holding me captive. “Yeah, well, I have a daughter,” I blurt. Knowing that one will end this once and for all. To say that I'm shocked by his response is putting it mildly. “Awesome. I love kids. Bring her with.” His voice is calm, nonchalant even. Never batting one of his ridiculously luscious eyelashes. Who is this man? “She’s just little, only a couple months old. Not a very interesting age yet. Well, not to people who aren’t me. I think everything about her is interesting.” I’m rambling. “Ahhhh, so you have a man. I don’t know why I thought that was over. You’ve been linked to Stone Lockhart for years, but I assumed when Bear made it clear that no one in or out of the industry was to know where you were that it was over.” “I don’t have a man,” I say a little too curtly. Silently thanking Bear for thinking about my needs. “Sorry, again, I just assumed with such a petit bébé you would have—what kind of asshole leaves his woman—I’m sorry.” He abruptly stops his rant before it gains serious steam. I stand, done with this whole conversation. “Anyway. It was wonderful meeting you. You are stupid, crazy talented and I’m honored that you are interested in the song, but I’m just not interested in releasing it.” Turning to leave, he stops me with a hand to my elbow. “I really am sorry. I don’t think before I speak sometimes.” When I glance down at the hand still holding me he drops it. “I’m French Canadian; the Frenchman in me can’t help but be rude while the Canadian in me wills him to shut the hell up,” Joaquin confesses cheekily. Much to my dismay I find myself laughing. “Your Frenchman is rude as hell.” “Agreed. Now that we’ve established that, will you please have dinner with me?” I’m shaking my head no, though there’s a pesky little voice inside me screaming “yes.” “Really, I can’t. Lyric is still very young and I don’t date.” “Now who’s assuming, chèrie? Nobody said anything about a date.” The cheeky bastard winks at me. “I’ll even come to your place so that you don’t have to bring the bébé out.” Still I shake my head no. “I don’t know you well enough to let you in my home, Mr. Danjou,” I admonish. “Take care and good luck with the new album.”

This time when I turn to leave he doesn’t stop me, I’m a little disappointed. He may have said it wasn’t a date, but I get the feeling that he was just trying to put me at ease. I’m not an expert on men, far from it but I saw the interest there. Felt it. In both of us. And if I’m honest, it scared the hell out of me.

Stone DAY SIXTY-NINE, REHAB FUCKING BLOWS. It’s absolute shit and I hate it. I am so sick of the highs and the

lows. The manic mood swings and the deafening depression. I’m so tired of the pep talks and the meetings and the ache for more of any kind of high. The back and forth between wanting to beat the shit out of the assholes who put me here—Law, Judge, the label. Condemning me to this hellhole for their own gain. Can’t get rich off me when I’m not out making records though. To the shame of letting myself get to this point. Being grateful that they cared enough to help me help myself. I’m mostly sick of cursing Willow for leaving me and then understanding why she did. Either way, missing her so fucking much I’m not sure which need is worse. The one clawing at my insides for one more hit or the one that has my heart shredded because I miss her to the point of pain. Most days I waver. Wanting to throw in the fucking towel. Take my music career and just give me the drugs because I can’t possibly do this shit for another day. Then minutes later wanting to be clean because I don’t like the me I’ve become. Today is a better day than yesterday. After two months I’m finally allowed a visitor. They started letting me use the phone after the first thirty days, and every single one of those days I’ve called Willow’s phone hoping to not get the recording, and then immediately calling Law the moment I do to ask if he’s found her yet. I’m sitting on the lanai, the fancy word they use here in Hawaii to say patio, smoking one cigarette after another as I wait for Law. He and Judge have been staying on the island while I’ve been here. They may not be blood, but we’re brothers. Arrow is back in Austin taking a break and lying low since everyone is doing their best to keep the fact that I’m in rehab out of the rag mags. Not that it’s really working. I see what they’re reporting. The pictures of me on stage looking like a hot fucking mess when all along I thought I was hiding it so damn well. Those aren’t the pictures that hurt the most though. Nah, the ones that rip my fucking guts out are the ones of me and Willow. They throw in pictures of us back when we first started touring and she was beaming at me in every damn photo. And then they show more recent shots and you can see that smile has dimmed. Didn’t notice that either. I reach into my pocket and pull out one I tore from a magazine. It was an early picture. Wills and I posing for photographers at some charity thing. Just like in the picture, I can’t take my eyes off of her. She has her head against my chest, looking at the camera, a

look of absolute contentment and happiness on her gorgeous face. And me, I’m looking down at her, my arm snaked around her waist, holding her to me. We were so fucking happy. “Stone, your visitor is here.” The voice has me quickly folding up the well-worn page and stuffing it back in my pocket as I stand. Lawson steps forward and pulls me into a hug, slapping my back hard enough to make me wince. “I’ve missed your ornery ass, fucker,” he says, plopping into the chair across from mine. Snubbing out the lit cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Missed you too asshole,” I retort, lighting up another one. “I thought you would have kicked that habit being in here.” “It’s the only vice they don’t try to break you of. I think they figure if you’re gonna be a fuck-up, this is the best they can hope for.” I shrug. “Baby steps,” I tell him grinning through the haze of smoke. “It’s good to see you smile, Stone. It’s been a while.” Lawson doesn’t pull punches; he never has. “Has it?” “Yeah, it has.” Looking past him at the beautiful scenery I think about that. The drugs make me happy on the inside, but apparently I’m the only one who gets that part of the high. Selfish prick. “Anything new on Willow?” I grill him about this shit every day, and every day I get the same answer. “Not yet, Stone.” Drives me crazy. “Actually my guy called me when I was on my way over.” My eyes snap to him. “He has a couple new leads. He didn’t go into any detail just said that he had a bite and was looking into a few things, and he should know if they’re dead ends within a month.” “That’s all he said? He didn’t give you a location or maybe a phone number?” I ask eagerly. Lawson kicks back in his chair, drumming on his knee. “Nope. No specifics, bro. It’s progress at least though, right?” I nod, my leg bouncing out a rhythm the rest of me can’t match. Chewing on the pad of my thumb, the blue smoke of the cigarette I have clamped between my fingers swirls around me. I can’t stop thinking about Willow. Feel so fucking helpless in here. If I hadn’t spent the last few months obliterated out of my fucking mind I would have been able to go after her as soon as she left. Funny thing about addicts that I’ve learned from being in here—they don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves. “I want to get out of here, Law,” I bite out. “You want to get out or you want to get high? Because those are two different things, bro. You want to get out, you do what they tell you to. Get clean and do your shit. You want to get high . . . that I can’t help you with.” Again, not a punch puller. “Of course I want to get high. But I want to get out more. I need to find Wills.” The exasperation is evident in my words. And I do want to get high but the need is a little less every day for the most part. The need to get out is my new constant. He’s right though. It should be a need to get clean not just out.

“I know you do, man, and I’m doing everything I can to help you. I want to find her too. But even if we do find her, she’s not gonna take you back if you’re still fucking around with all that poison, bro.” Lawson leans forward, elbows on the table. “Willow is smart and she’s put up with your shit for a long time now. Longer than you realize. You put her through hell, Stone. I won’t help you do that again.” He raps a fist on the glass topped table. “I helped you fuck up for too long. Turning a blind eye and just letting you do your thing because I was afraid of the fallout. I’m all done with that shit, my brother. It’s not just the drugs either. It’s the cheating too. Don’t think she didn’t know about that shit. She blamed that on the drugs, and I know it had to be because a sober Stone would never dick around on his girl.” He snorts out a sardonic laugh. “Man, you’ve loved that girl for so damn long, I never thought you would run around on her. I shoulda stepped in then. For her.” My head hangs in shame as I listen to my friend, my brother, list my fuck-ups and let each one of them rip into me a little more. I don’t deserve his friendship. I for sure don’t deserve Willow. Even clean I don’t deserve her. But I need her. Want her. And I’ve already proven what a selfish fuck I am, so I’m going to have her. I can’t not have her. I don’t know how to be me without her. I’m not even sure that it’s possible. “You think she’ll ever forgive me, Law?” I ask despondently. Wallowing in the self-loathing I’ve become so accustomed to. “Not sure, man. She’s tough. Always has been, but she also loves you. Even when she hated what you were doing, sometimes even hated you, she loved you. I think that’s what hurt the most. I also think that’s why we can’t find her now.” Brows drawn, I wait for him to continue, confused. She dipped out because she loves me? What the fuck sense does that make? “She knew damn well if she didn’t make it hard to find her that you would and that she wouldn’t stand a chance. You and Wills have always had this crazy connection. Deep on so many levels. I didn’t think that anything could ever touch it.” His voice trails off because something did in fact touch it. “Go big or go home, right?” I mumble. “Fuck, I guess, Stone. You always were a fucking show boat.” “Nah, just a rock star.” My smile feels brittle, but it’s a smile. “I only have a few more minutes here so tell me something. Anything.” I shrug, reaching for my cigarettes but stopping when he pretends to start coughing. Shooting him the evil eye, I grab a sucker from the bag I tossed on the table instead. I started the habit back in high school to keep from smoking so much and to keep my mouth busy during class. Next thing I knew, I was buying them in bulk and keeping them stashed every-damn-where. Law smiles triumphantly and I shoot him the bird. Man, I’ve missed him. We’re all close, but Law and Judge are like brothers to me. Their mom took me in when I was a fifteen-year-old little punk ass. Right after I beat the hell out of my foster dad for hitting me for the last fucking time. Bastard was shocked as hell that I fought back. Kicked me out and I never saw him or his poor wife again. I did anonymously report the domestic abuse I had been in the middle of every God damn night though. “What do you want to know? Not like there’s a whole lot going on here. I get up, I go to meetings.

A lot of fucking meetings. Meditation, work out, group therapy, work out, one on one therapy, life skills, work out.” I shrug, “All kinds of fun shit.” “That’s good. Keeps you fucking busy. And you’re fucking ripped, dude! I was going to ask how often you were hitting the gym. You look like an inked up Hulk.” Law laughs. “Are you working on your music, getting any songs down?” He’s genuinely interested. If the question had come from anyone else, I would think that they were asking because of the money we’re losing with me being in here. We had to cancel part of the tour for this little stint of mine. But not Law. He’s asking because he knows that music has always been my escape. Before the drugs were, anyway. “Every day. They make us keep a journal, write letters, that kind of shit. Supposed to be therapeutic. So I used the journal to write songs and the letters . . .” I trail off, embarrassed to even be admitting this, even if it is Law. “The letters are to Willow,” he finishes. Rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, I say around the sucker, “And the letters are to Wills.” “I really dig this lumbersexual look you’re rocking,” he jokes, changing the subject. “Fuck off, bro. This beard is so itchy. We’re not allowed razors though, so it’s either rock the beard or let them shave me, and I’m not letting anyone that close to my throat with a blade. You know me. I’m sure I’ve pissed everyone here off enough to make them want to slit my shit.” Law laughs, and I join in. “That’s the fucking truth!” We spend a few minutes talking about the band, the new album we’re supposed to be recording right this very minute, and how the fans are reacting to our hiatus. Law thinks the speculation about where I am is just fueling the love they have for us. Thank fuck. My music is mine but I share it with them. Without them we’d be nothing. Even I haven’t lost sight of that. A little chime dings over the PA system letting us know that visitation is over. “Hey, I’ll check with them at the front desk and see if I can bring you in some of that beard oil to help with the itching, or if you want, I can see if they’d let me shave you next week during the visit. Up to you, bro,” Law says, standing to leave. “I’m not sure I trust you with a blade to my throat either, sir,” I kid. “Either, way. I’m not sure what they’ll allow. Speaking of which, did you bring my strings and my phone and shit?” “Of course, bro. I had to leave it all at the front so they can do what they do. Check it for stash or a file or whatever,” he kids. Pulling me in for a tight hug, we break apart and he smacks me on the back. “Keep writing, keep your shit straight and you’ll be out of here before you know it, my man.” I nod in agreement. Easier said than done, but it helps that he’s in my corner. “I’ll do my best.” “That’s all you can do. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” “Tomorrow,” I agree. I wait 'til he’s back through the sliding glass doors before lighting up another smoke. I’m smoking more now than I ever have, but I’m only so strong. Can only give up so much. I’ve given up drink, drugs, Birdie, my music temporarily, all driving me out of my fucking mind. The loss of each

affecting me in some God damn way. I think I’ve earned a fucking cigarette.

Willow WITH LYRIC IN A SLING across my body I stand at the front of the small classroom. Going back to school

for a degree in Music Therapy and landing the job at the school where I had interned, has been so incredible. They let me bring Lyric, encourage it even, and my little songbird loves her music. It’s the reason I chose this environment over a hospital or nursing home. Today’s class is for kids. Some with autism, some are paralyzed or don’t speak for various reasons, and some are just a little socially challenged. Music therapy helps them all in different ways. My Wednesday night is adults who have been through something traumatic in their lives, same with Saturdays, but for kids of all ages. People don’t realize the healing qualities of music. Some days I just play for them as they lounge in the bean bag chairs and recliners, splayed out on the floor, or seated at the tables, and just listen. Allowing the music to wash over them, be a balm to their spirit. Other days I teach them how to express themselves through music. Whether it be singing, writing, or playing an instrument, even if simply banging the hell out of a drum. It all sounds very New Age and ridiculous to some, but until you’ve seen the power of music at work you just can’t understand it. I know what music has done for me. What it continues to do for me, and I only want others to experience the same. Setting up for my next session, softly singing to Lyric as I do, I’m startled by a knock on the door and even more so by who it is. “Joaquin. What are you doing here?” I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a month. To say I’m surprised to see him here is putting it mildly. “I have class in,” I glance up at the wall clock, “ten minutes.” “I know, I know. I apologize for just dropping in like this uninvited. I called and spoke to Bear this morning and he said you were here. So me being a rude Frenchman, I bribed the principal with a large donation for the music therapy program to allow me to sit in on your class today.” He smiles that boyish smile that made my stomach do flips the last time I saw him. It’s equal parts charming boy and confident rogue. It’s disarming as all hell. “Why?” Without the time needed to analyze this bold move, I cut straight to the chase, no bullshitting.

“Well, you said that you wouldn’t have me to your home for dinner because you didn’t know me well enough, so I thought you should get to know me.” Again with that damn smile. “Is that the bébé?” His voice is pitched low so he doesn’t wake her as he moves closer to get a better look. Instinctively I place a hand to her back protectively, even though I’m sure without really knowing him that he wouldn’t hurt either of us. “It is.” I smile down at her, nearly invisible in her little cocoon, cradled against me. Joaquin pulls the edge of the sling down ever so gently so that he can see her better. “Ahhh, she’s beautiful, chèrie. Just like her mother,” he says sincerely, stepping back and out of my space. I’m a little dazed at his nearness. The spicy scent of his cologne, the rolled up sleeves of his button down, his gentle way with Lyric, all making me forget why going out to dinner with him is a bad idea. But it is. Who the hell has time for that? And the last thing I want is to be linked to someone so wildly famous. I don’t want all the questions that would surely follow. The speculation and accusation. The whispers and assumptions. I want nothing to do with it, and that alone is enough to remind me why I can’t, won’t, date a man like Joaquin. “Thank you,” I murmur as I turn back to what I was doing to prepare for my class. “And thank you for the donation. It was very kind of you. The music therapy program can always use the help. Honestly, staying won’t help you get me to agree to go on a date with you though, so please don’t feel obligated to stay.” Trying to be as kind as possible without flat out telling him to get the hell out of here is nearly more than I can handle. I’m not used to biting my tongue, but he did donate so it’s the least I can do. He laughs. “There you go thinking I want to date you again, Miss Avery. You sure are full of yourself. Are you certain that you’re not a little French?” Joaquin teases causing me to laugh despite trying my hardest not to. “I only want a home-cooked meal and perhaps to talk you out of your . . .” He pauses and I raise my eyebrows in amusement, daring him to finish that sentence. “Song. I really, really want your song. I thought that helping out where I can might put me in your good graces.” When he finishes and winks at me, I roll my eyes. I go to the music stand and fuss with the sheet music there although I won’t need it. It’s just to keep my hands busy and give me a minute to figure out what the hell to do with this guy. “You’re impossible. And how in the world did you talk Principal Cermak into letting you sit in? Jen is very protective of her students. Must have been one hell of a donation.” “Believe me, it was,” he scoffs good-naturedly. “I feel like I’ve been hustled. You’re turning into a very expensive acquaintance, Willow Avery.” Before I can respond to that, parents start filing in with their children and all of my attention is on them. Twenty minutes into our session and I can still feel Joaquin’s eyes on me. He’s been watching me since I closed the door to begin the class and pointed for him to sit in a chair out of the way.

I’m sitting cross-legged in the middle of the rainbow-colored carpet, seven little people surrounding me, oohing and ahhing over Lyric who is now awake and in my lap cooing and smiling for her audience. Doing my best to ignore his heavy gaze, I reach behind me for the tiny little headphones I have for Lyric to protect her ears from the noise that I and these kids can make. They get a huge kick out of the way they dwarf her tiny head. Especially the children who also wear them because of their sensitivity to noise. “Okay, who wants to sing another song?” They all agree enthusiastically, making me smile. I always begin the class with the national anthem and let them give it hell. The way they belt out “O Canada” is epic and it helps to break the ice with them. “What should we sing first?” I wait for them to think about it for a moment and am just about to make a suggestion when the accented voice of Joaquin breaks in. “Do you know anything in French?” The bastard. Two of the kids turn and gawk at him, apparently not realizing he’s been there the whole time. And then my star pupil and self-appointed assistant, Grady, informs him, as if he himself is speaking to a child, “She doesn’t speak French. She told us so. But Miss Willow knows that ‘Michelle my Belle’ song and that has French talkin’ in it.” He turns his huge eyes on me and nods in encouragement. “Dontcha know it, Miss Willow? You know, the one by the Bugs.” Smiling at his little hope-filled face, I nod. “The Beatles, and I sure do,” I correct gently. I just want to squeeze him. His belief in me is adorable. I’ll even forgive him calling Lennon and the boys the “Bugs.” “Will you guys help me with it?” I’m met with a chorus of yeses and a round of head nods from the children who aren’t so vocal. Together we sing an awful rendition of the Beatles song, Joaquin joining in for the parts in French. Most likely because we were butchering the hell out of them. After working our way through a few more of our favorites it’s time to wrap it up. “Okay, one more before we go. How about an easy one?” I ask, reaching for my guitar and setting it on the floor at my feet so that I can strum it without upsetting Lyric’s position too much. Grady counts us down in true rock star fashion, “One, two, one, two, three, four . . .” He nods for me to start and it takes all I have not to burst out laughing at his seriousness. With much fanfare I start singing “A Bushel and a Peck” using the guitar to both strum and drum on. The children all join in either singing along or playing their own mini guitars, triangles, and even a couple maracas in the mix. When we finish, there is much applause and bowing, some blushing and hidden faces, but all in all everyone is pleased with themselves and that’s what matters most. Somehow in the melee, Lyric managed to fall asleep, making it awkward to get to my feet. Joaquin obviously seeing my dilemma appears at my side. “Let me take her for you,” he says, reaching for my sleeping little songbird. I hesitate for a moment. The only man who has ever held her is Bear, and I’m not sure how I feel about my current situation. Seems silly, but it’s the first thing that runs through my mind. He must see it but misinterprets its meaning. “Chèrie, I promise not to drop her.” I need to see the students out, so I nod,

handing my daughter over to him. Watching a little dazed as his big hand cradles her tiny head and he tucks her against his chest before offering me his other hand to help me up. Do women still swoon? Because I think I may have at the sight the two of them make. “Thank you,” I mumble, awkwardly, unfolding myself. “No problem. Go wrap things up. I have her.” Jerking his head, he indicates the milling students. With a wary and slightly lusty look at the bearded, drop dead sexy man and my little pink bundle, I nod and say my goodbyes to the children and their parents, giving words of praise and encouragement to those who look like they need it. Once the last person has left, I turn back and see that Joaquin has removed Lyric’s bulky Pepto Bismol-colored head phones and is swaying back and forth watching me. “What?” I ask, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “You’re wonderful with them. Very patient. I can see that this means a lot to you. That they do.” He says it softly. Probably so he doesn’t wake Lyric. My shoulders relax and I smile. “Thank you. It is. They do. I love to see how music can transform their sullen little faces into smiles and wonderment.” “I didn’t even know music therapy was a thing,” Joaquin concedes. “Makes sense though. Music makes everything better.” Looking first at Lyric, and then back at him, “It absolutely does,” I murmur softly.

Stone DAY SEVENTY-SIX IN PARADISE AND I’ve finally found a little bit of peace and a whole lot of clarity. I

think it’s having my guitar that has helped so much. It’s always been an extension of me. I can’t remember a time that I’ve gone without it, let alone for months. Sitting on my lanai, cigarette stuck in between my lips, I lean over to jot down the last line “Don’t you know I need you, to be me.” The song I’ve been working on—Willow’s Song. There’ll be a knock at the door any minute reminding me to get my ass to group therapy. I’m hoping they forget because today is when everyone’s friends and family are going to be here to listen to them read the letters. I could have invited Law or Judge. Any of the guys really. God knows I owe them all an apology, but the only person I would have sit in that chair is Willow. And she’s not here. Taking another pull on my cigarette, I snub it out just as the knock comes. I’ve been dreading this meeting all week. For me it should be just like every other meeting, but hearing them pour their hearts out and beg forgiveness makes me feel . . . ashamed. For them. For me. Sad as fucking hell for all of us. I’ve sat through eight of the ten people here today and although not one of them is Willow, every one of them is Willow. I see her pain and disappointment in every one of their faces. The desperation and tears they are fighting. All Willow. Doesn’t matter that they aren’t looking at me or that it isn’t me apologizing, I feel their anger and despair as if it’s directed at me. Trying to block out the sounds of the crying and the words that can never be enough, I pull out my notebook. Birdie, Every single day that I’m in here, I gain more clarity. I see exactly what I did to you, to us, to me. I sit in these groups and we talk about our addiction and what it did to those around us. It hurts the fuck out of me. Today families and friends came in. They’re sitting face to face with their addict and they have to listen to them and their weak ass apologies and then talk about how loving an addict affects them. How as much as we love to be high they hate it. And they’re all you. I see your face, hear your pain. And I hate myself. And then I get mad at you. I get so fucking mad at you for letting me do that to

you. Not to myself because nobody is to blame for me being a fuck-up. But for loving me so much you let me hurt you over and over. I get mad at you for loving me. How fucking crazy is that? I’m pissed because you loved me more than anyone in my life ever could or did. I’m all fucked up, Birdie. But I’m clean, and clean is good. Clean means I can work on me being a better man, your man. That’s all I want to be, Wills. Your man, because you’ll always be my Birdie. I love you. Love, Stone Day eighty-four of rehab and I almost can’t remember what the hell it’s like to not be here. I only have six more days to go and I’m out. The thought leaves me excited as hell but also so fucking nervous. What if I fuck up? I can’t do this shit again. I won’t. Rehab is no fucking joke. They talk about taking shit one day at a time because statistics show that fifty to ninety percent of people relapse and have to come back to rehab. That’s a huge fucking number. I refuse to be a statistic. Jogging down the little stretch of private beach, my workout partner slash sobriety coach, Koa, right along with me, I let the sound of the surf and the bright sun wash over me and warm my shoulders. I spend a lot of time alone here as do many of the others. It’s a rehab facility for the rich and famous—nobody is making any lasting friendships in here. Just walking around with their big damn sunglasses, hats, and wigs trying to get clean. I’m kinda hard to disguise, so I don’t bother. Just keep to myself. Koa is the only person I’m friendly with, and that’s because we’ve hired him to come with me when I leave. It was either a sobriety coach or a clean living facility, and I’m done with being a prisoner. He can live with me for the rest of my life if need be. If that’s what it fucking takes. Big Hawaiian fucker. He doesn’t care who I am. Thinks my music is shit. Just wants me to stay clean. He’s perfect. “Yo, haole, slow down. You’re too fast for me, brah.” I slow because he really isn’t made for speed. He’s all muscle. That shit’s gotta be heavy to carry around. “Sorry, man, I was in my head. Let’s go back. I want to get Willow’s letter out with today’s mail.” He nods and we turn back the way we came. Koa is the only person I talk to about Wills for the most part. Him and my counselor, because with them it’s full disclosure. As soon as we’re in front of the sprawling facility, he dives into the water to cool down. “Hey, shark bait! I’m going to take a shower in my room.” He waves, acknowledging that he heard me, and I hit the outside showers and rinse off before going inside. From the outside, anyone who saw us would think that we were on vacation. Soaking up the rays, catching some waves. Couldn’t be further from the truth. Fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on my hips, I go out to the lanai to write Willow’s letter. It’s the only place I smoke, so I practically live out here. Collapsing onto the chair, I light a cigarette and hunch over my notebook.

Birdie, It feels like forever since I’ve called you that. I never used to call you by anything else, so I’m not sure when it stopped, just that it did. You always were my little birdie though. Singing so pretty just for me. I’m ready to be out of here so I can hear you sing to me again. Climb me like a tree and whisper songs in my ear like you used to. Speaking of songs, I told you I’ve been writing a lot in here. I’ve been working on one called Willow’s Song. I think it’s going to be the first single to drop. I can’t wait to work on this album. I miss being in the studio so fucking bad. Add it to the list of things I miss, right? None of them compares to how much I miss you though, Birdie. I know I tell you all the time, but I need you to know that it’s true. Come home so I can show you how much. I love you. Yours, Stone Day motherfucking ninety. This is it. I’m getting the fuck out of Paradise and I’m never coming back. It doesn’t take me long to pack. You’re not allowed a whole lot. Tucking my notebooks into my duffel, I sling it over my shoulder, pop a lolli in my mouth, then grab my guitar case and go downstairs. I have one final meeting with my counselor, Dan, and Koa, and I’m sprung. My feet hit the marble floors of the foyer where people are milling around doing their thing, and I have to laugh. If this were a movie there would be some kind of farewell party happening for me. Hugs and well wishes and shit but not here. Thank fuck. The door to Dan’s office is open, the two of them sitting on his lanai. I’m telling you, that’s where life happens in this place. I drop my duffel and join them. “Aloha, Stone,” Dan greets cheerfully. “Sit down, let’s have a talk before you bust ass out of here.” Dan doesn’t talk to me like some uptight asshole. He’s real and that’s why I don’t hate him anymore. When I first got here I would’ve gladly beat the hell out of him at every meeting just because, but now that I’m clean and not nearly as angry, I like him. “Howzit, bruddah?” Koa asks with his pidgin bullshit that’s like another fucking language. “I’m good,” I tell them after I’ve removed the sucker and tossed the stick. I take the chair next to Koa. Dan’s lanai is a shit ton bigger than mine. “You’re all packed and ready to go then?” Dan asks. “Yup.” “Koa said you guys are going to stay on the island for a week or two before you head back to Austin. That right?” “Yeah. I think the label is worried I’m gonna get out of here and go balls to the wall the minute I get some freedom so they want to keep me close. No faith but they gotta protect their investment, ya know?” I say sardonically. “Do you feel like that’s what you’re going to do?” he asks patiently. Him and Koa both watching me.

“No. I honestly don’t. I think if I did I wouldn’t leave. I mean, I would love to be high right now. But the fallout isn’t worth it.” I shrug. “Is an addict ever really not an addict? I’ll probably always crave the shit, but I want to be strong enough to say no to it.” I look over at Koa and then back at Dan “I feel that I am. And I have insurance. This big fucker won’t let me fail.” We all laugh at that. “Well then, you’re free to get the hell out of here.” He stands and offers his hand. I stand and take it. “I hope to never see you again but know that you can always call me.” We shake and the moment is a little more emotional than I thought it would be. He’s proud of me, and there haven’t been many people in my life who have been. I’ve not given them a reason to be. Before it gets awkward, I drop his hand. “Let’s go, big kahuna, before he wants me to hug it out or some shit.” They fist bump and we’re out of there. At the door, I place the last letter I’ll ever write to Willow from this place in the box.

Willow “HEY WILLOW, YOU MIGHT WANT to come and see this,” Perry calls from the family room, the TV

blaring in the background. She’s here for the next week while they remodel her kitchen. She’s watching Lyric for me so I don’t have to wake her. “What is it?” I ask, shuffling into the room, trying to get my long hair tamed as I do. “I’m running late.” I come to an abrupt halt when I see him. The gray eyes staring back at me, reaching into my soul and snatching my breath with only a look. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. He looks good. Healthy. Not like the last time I saw him. It pains me a little to think that my leaving was good for him, when being there and supporting him, dealing with his constant shit wasn’t. It’s selfish, but I can’t help it. Not after all I went through. “OH. MY. GOD. Willow. Did you hear that?” my friend asks, rewinding it without waiting for me to answer and then turning the volume up so there’s no chance I can miss it. “Stone, there was some talk about a stint in rehab,” the interviewer says. “Sex addiction?” He chuckles at his own attempt at humor. I snort indelicately, not far from the truth. You name it and Stone had been addicted. Drugs, women, alcohol. If he could get high off it, he would. “Nope, drugs and alcohol. Took my girl walking out on me to clean up my act. I’ve been clean for a few months now though and I’ve never felt better.” Stone smiles, not embarrassed by the line of questioning. It always did take a lot to fluster him. “So you’re off the hard stuff, the band is gearing up for another tour, a new album, and you’re single? Does life get any better?” He’s asked in admiration and envy. “My life? None of it matters at the moment.” Stone shrugs and gives a sheepish smile, the first I’ve ever seen. “It’s all a little . . . unimportant without someone to share it with.” The reporter smirks, “So are you taking applications to fill the ‘someone to share with’ position?” “Not even close. I’m on a mission to find the one who got away.” Confidence, determination lacing every word. Every syllable of every word, actually, making me nervous. Rubbing my temples, I startle when Perry says, “Holy fuck, Wills. What are you gonna do?” “Don’t call me that,” I murmur distracted, still swirling my hand over my suddenly aching head,

pulling some calm from the motion. A calm I am far from feeling. Closing my eyes, I can see him, standing there where I left him. Even through the haze of everything that has happened since that day, the picture is vivid in my mind. The sunken eyes, the dark hair plastered to his face, that stormy gray gaze. He looked like a stranger, yet not. The man I had loved so much, so blindly, had slowly slipped away, replaced with this shell of him. A shadow of the guy who stole my heart with a song, more concerned now with his next high than he was about me. “Did you hear what he’s calling the next album?” Her face is scrunched up in worry, though I can see that she’s dying to tell me. Perry may be my best friend, but she isn’t aware of the whole story. As far as she’s concerned, as far as anyone other than Cora and Bear is concerned, I had enough and just left and didn’t want to be found. Partly true. “Willow. The new album is called Willow,” she says in quiet reverence. “The hottest rock star walking the planet right now names his album after you, and here you stand, with his baby, hiding from him.” Eyes wide and incredulous she shakes her head. “What the fuckity fuck is the world coming to?” I just shake my head at her and turn back to the TV, almost as if in a trance. Stone sits with his legs spread wide, tee shirt stretched across his chest, his hair falling into his face and covering his eye, teasing the corner of his mouth. He has on the leather cuff I gave him for our one-year anniversary. The band is worn now, but if you look, you'll still see our names etched there. I watch as his hands run up and down the denim covering his legs, at his lips wrapped around a lollipop stick. Always the damn lollies. “Stone, there's a lot of talk about your personal life and the battles you've been fighting lately. You’ve lost some fans over it, probably gained some too. Can we talk about that some more?” the interviewer asks hopefully. “Sure. I've got nothing to hide anymore. No image I'm trying to uphold.” He chuckles a bit. “The thing about people is they want to hear these tragic songs. These sad fu—damn songs,” he corrects. “But they don’t want the man singing them to have faced any of the hell he’s singing about. They don’t want the cheating and drugs to be a real thing. They just want us to show them a little bit of that wild side. Let them touch it without it ever touching them.” Stone pauses, twisting the stick of the sucker around and around between his thumb and index finger, watching the little pink ball turn this way and that. “Truth is though, if we don’t live some of these things we’re singing about, they wouldn’t love the song so damn much. I pour my heart into every one of those songs because it’s a release for me, an escape, an apology, a love letter. I can’t change that. Because then I change my music.” My hand resting against my throat, I try to look away . . . but I can’t. This is the Stone I always loved. The Stone who made music with me, not only with his mouth but with his entire being. We lived and breathed music for so long and then even that changed. Pretty soon it was just me writing the songs and giving them to Lawson to sort through and bring to the rest of the band to decide on. The day Stone stopped making music with me was the day I died a little inside. I knew it was over then, but still I hung on. Tearing my eyes away from the TV, I scoop up my keys and jacket.

“I’m gonna be late for class. I’ll see you later, Perry,” I call as I walk to the front door, pushing through it before she can reply. She can’t understand my need to stay hidden from him and I can’t bring myself to admit the truth. He’s not the only thing I’m hiding from.

It’s been a month since Joaquin showed up at school. He left a message at the studio for me that he has a mini European tour, fifteen shows in twenty days. I don’t miss that craziness. Why he felt the need to inform me of his whereabouts is beyond me. Persistent bastard. So I’m more than surprised when he walks into the Dirty Bird that night as I’m packing up my guitar after my set. He has on a beanie and glasses. I almost don’t recognize him, which I’m sure is the point. He sees me and waves, pointing at the bar. I nod and gather my stuff. The butterflies in my stomach at just the sight of him throwing me off balance. When I make it to the bar a couple minutes later after stopping to chat with a few people, I see that he’s saved me a seat. “Great set, Willow,” Bear says, taking my case over the bar to stash it while I sit. “I didn’t realize you played here regularly. I would have come to see you.” Joaquin leans in and kisses both of my cheeks, leaving me a little breathless at his proximity. In so many ways, Bear has been the only man I’ve let close to me. That Joaquin does things to put himself in my personal space so naturally has those damn butterflies taking flight again. “Hi, chèrie. Did you miss me?” His teeth are a perfect flash of white against his dark beard. “Oh, were you gone?” I feign surprise, trying to hide my smile. Joaquin laughs at my attempt. “You’re a shit liar, Willow.” “I always have been,” I confess. “What are you doing back in town?” “I was going to have a pint, but now I’m taking you for coffee. It’s too loud in here tonight to talk,” he informs me nonchalantly. “I can’t. I have to go and get Lyric from Cora’s place,” I tell him, a hint of disappointment in my words. “We can take her with. It’s still a respectable time to have a bébé out, isn’t it?” Pushing his sweater back, he looks at his wrist, wincing. “Okay, maybe not.” It’s then that Bear speaks up. “Cora called while you were on. Perry’s at your house with Lyric. She can’t stay at her place, something about a dishwasher leaking and dumb ass contractors not knowing shit.” He shrugs. “She popped by the house to get the keys from Cora and took Lyric home.” I cock my head to the side trying to figure out if he’s full of shit or not. It’s not unheard of. It just seems too convenient. “You’re sure?” I ask even as I’m taking out my phone to call. I don’t have to though—there are three texts from Perry and one from Cora, all saying the same thing Bear just did, only a little more colorfully. “Yup. I’m sure,” Bear says as he moves down the bar to the guy waving his glass. “Perfect. Come have coffee with me. It’s not dinner, just some coffee, and you can tell me how

your classes went this week, and I can tell you how awesome Amsterdam was.” Smiling hopefully, he knows he has me when Bear yells from down the bar. “Go, Willow. Have a cup of coffee with the man, for fuck’s sake.” Flipping him the bird, I turn to Joaquin. “Okay, but not for long. I haven’t seen Lyric all day because of a problem at the school.” Standing and holding out my jacket for me to slip on, he agrees. “I have a hot date later anyway, so I can’t be out long.” I whip my head over my shoulder to look at him, mouth agape. “I’m kidding, chèrie. You were jealous though, weren’t you?” I roll my eyes. “Hardly, Frenchie,” I lie. I have no right to be, but I can’t ignore the little ping I felt. Jealousy is a feeling I know all too well after years with Stone and not something I like about myself. “Let’s go.” “Lead the way.” With a sweeping gesture he motions for me toward the door. “There’s a little place called Spun a couple blocks from here. It’s coffee and pastries, books and yarn. Cute, little place, open 24/7. Do you mind walking?” “No, not at all. Did you say yarn?” he asks as he strolls along beside me. “Yes. That’s the reason for the name too. Spun sugar for the pastry and sweets. Spun tales for the books. And spun yarn for obvious reasons.” I shrug. “They have a room off the back of the shop that is nothing but wall to wall yarn and big comfy chairs. They have classes and everything.” “Have you taken one?” “I have. I was terrible at it. I signed up for this beginner ’s class, I was pregnant with Lyric, and I thought how awesome it would be to be able to knit stuff for her. You know, baby blankets and little scarves and hats.” I smile over at him. “I sucked. I couldn’t make a single thing and then I swore that because of that I was going to be a terrible mother. It was awful.” I’m laughing now at the memory. “They felt so bad for me that everyone in the class made me something for Lyric, which only made me feel worse since they could all do it. Although it’s true that some of them didn’t do it well, they still did it.” Joaquin is chuckling softly as he listens to me, and it’s . . . nice. I indicate that we have to cross and suck in a little breath when he places his hand at the small of my back to guide me across the street. “So you’re a terrible knitter. Can you cook?” he asks, opening the door for me. “I can as a matter of fact,” I inform him. Nodding in approval he follows me to the counter. I’m here quite often and they know me by name now. Also knowing that I drink tea, their special house blend, and that I like to prepare it myself. “Hey, Willow. Haven’t seen you in a few days. How’s that beautiful baby of yours?” Kim, one of the owners, asks. “She’s good thanks, getting so big.” We chat for a moment and then I place my order, looking over at Joaquin who, no surprise, orders a café au lait and a chocolate croissant. He hands Kim the cash and looks over at me and I roll my eyes. “What? Did you want to pay for your own?”

“No. You can pay. I was rolling my eyes at how French you are.” “How French I am?” His brows are drawn in confusion. “Café au lait and a croissant?” “Oh, come on! Who doesn’t like a chocolate croissant?” “He has a point there. Plus, mine are killer,” Kim says as she prepares our order. I watch as she puts the silver kettle and everything I’ll need to make my tea on a tray with the biscotti before turning back to Joaquin. “They are really good, but you’re still really French,” I tell him. “Oui, I am.” Flashing me that charming smile of his, he takes our tray and walks over to a table in the corner, right in front of the window so that you can see all of King Street. “Aren’t you worried about someone recognizing you by the window?” I whisper. “No. Are you?” I am. Not that they would recognize me if I weren’t sitting with him and truth be told, Canada is so much more laidback when it comes to celebrities. The paparazzi aren’t like rabid dogs here. He must notice my hesitation, however slight, because he redirects us to a booth in the back that is almost completely hidden from the rest of the customers. And the windows. “Thank you, Joaquin.” “You’re welcome, chèrie.” We don’t discuss it further. He just sets our tray down and helps me with my coat before removing his own and sitting. “So how was the tour?” I ask, as I make my cup of tea. It’s odd to ask someone that question after so long of living on tour myself. I never thought I would find myself in a position to discuss such things with anyone again. Especially after completely removing myself from that part of my life. “It was fantastic. Exhausting of course. There’s so much travel time involved, as you know.” He takes a sip of his coffee and goes on. “We have a new tour manager and breaking her in has been some work, but she really has a ton of potential and some fantastic ideas on how to keep the show fresh.” You can hear the passion in his voice when he talks about what he does, and it makes me smile. “I’m a one-man show. I don’t have a band, so I have to find ways to be entertaining when it’s just me and my guitar up there.” “Oh yes. Because you singing is not entertainment,” I joke. Laughing at my teasing, “No, no. It is but you know what I mean. Even I get bored with just standing there. Corinne has some ideas for the next tour that I’m eager to try out. That’s all.” “It always helps to get a fresh set of eyes. Someone innovative who thinks outside the box. Especially in this industry,” I correct myself, “Your industry. Music.” With a fork he cuts off a piece of the gooey croissant and pops it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a second. “Do you miss it?” he asks when he’s finished chewing. “I remember you toured with them for a long time. I’ve met him.” I notice that he doesn’t say Stone’s name. “But never had the pleasure of meeting you. Nice guy. Moody. Brilliant at what he does though.” His description of Stone is spot on. He is all of those things. And more. “So. Do you miss it?” I can hear the underlying question. Do you miss him? is what he’s really asking. So I answer honestly.

“Some days I miss it very much. Other days you couldn’t pay me enough to go live that life again. The constant traveling. The strange cities, cramped tour bus with five guys.” Even though the tour bus turned into a plane before too long. I shake my head. “I miss the music. After a while I lost that and that’s when it stopped being fun for me.” “Is that why you left? Because it wasn’t fun anymore?” His tone is gentle, inquisitive but not prying. “I left because things changed. People changed and I got hurt. Badly.” I take a sip from my mug. “And the bébé, Lyric?” he asks, again not in an intrusive way. And again, I answer honestly. “Lyric is mine,” I say in a soft, firm voice which leaves no room for argument. “Fair enough.” Tilting his cup in my direction he takes a drink. “How long are you in town for? Do you have to get back to Quebec soon?” Dipping my biscotti in my tea, I glance up at him as I take a bite. “No. Not yet. I’m staying here for a while. I have an apartment over in The Beaches.” “I live in The Beaches,” I interrupt excitedly, though I’m not sure why. He smiles and goes on. “And there’s this woman I’m trying to get to know who lives in the area so I thought I’d stick around.” Winking at me he forks off another bite of croissant. He’s flirting with me and I don’t hate it. In fact, I like it and find myself flirting back without hesitation. “Is that right? Anyone I know? Maybe I can put in a good word for you.” “Maybe you do. She’s about your height, gorgeous, like you are. Sings like a damn angel and has the most beautiful daughter. Stubborn as hell though.” Grinning he adds, “It will be fun getting her to come around. I’m up for the challenge.” “Is that right? Is that all she is to you, a challenge? So once you get her to come around, then what?” I question. Almost afraid of his answer. “Then I treat her like a woman should be treated. Show her that she doesn’t have to hide from the world because she’s more than her past and anyone in it.” Softly spoken words, accented and full of promise. “Is that right?” Barely a whisper, gone is my bravado and sass. How is it that this man, this stranger, already knows me so well? “Oui.” One word said with total confidence and conviction. And just like that I realize how much trouble I’m in. Fighting him, this smooth, French-speaking and determined man, is going to be harder than I ever imagined.

Willow WITH LYRIC’S HEAVY CAR SEAT in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, I use my elbow to ring

the doorbell a couple times. It doesn’t take but a minute before it’s swinging open and Cora is reaching for the baby. “Why didn’t you call from the driveway? We would’ve come out to help,” she scolds. “It’s not a big deal, she’s just getting heavier.” Placing the sack on the kitchen counter, I peel off my coat and wait for Cora to get Lyric’s off before going to hang them in the front hall closet. “Where’s Bear?” I call as I make my way back. “He had to go to the Bird for a minute. There was a problem at the studio. He’ll be back soon.” She coos at Lyric, talking crazy to her, making the baby laugh with glee. “Why don’t you tell me about Joaquin? Bear said you left to have coffee with him last week and that he’s been by the bar a few times since then.” Cora peers around Lyric at me. “’Fess up, pretty girl. You’ve been here for more than a year and you’ve never even looked sideways at another man and now you’ve been out with one and he’s hanging around. I’m going to need the details.” I snort, “I was pregnant, in case you’ve forgotten. Not a ton of men looking to date a pregnant chick.” Going over to the bag I brought in, I start putting things on the counter for our dinner. I come over here at least once a week and eat dinner with them. I bring the groceries, and Bear usually cooks while Cora and I gossip and catch up on all the craziness that goes on at the bar. Since Bear isn’t here, I decide to go ahead and start dinner. “Bullshit. There were plenty of men around, hoping to date you. You never gave any of them the time of day. Not that I blame you. You had a lot on your mind,” she says, never taking her eyes off Lyric as she kicks and gurgles. “He wants one of my songs,” I tell her. “I don’t want to give it to him, so I think he’s trying to sweet talk it out of me.” “Is it working?” Cora asks. I can hear the smile in her voice. “No. Yes. I don’t know, Cora.” With my back turned to her I start chopping potatoes. “He’s so smooth and not in a gross way. He’s gentle and attentive. Joaquin is just different.” “Different from who?”

Not able to stop the sigh that slips out, “Different from Stone,” I confess. “They couldn’t be more different if they tried and it’s refreshing. You know?” Putting the knife down I turn to face her. “I like him, I’m just scared.” “Nothing to be scared of. You set the pace, Willow. Take your time and get to know him. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her motherly tone is soothing. “It almost feels wrong though, Cora. I know that’s stupid. That I don’t owe Stone anything, but I’ve been with him for so long I feel like I’m cheating.” Spinning around and tackling the potatoes again, I groan, “What is wrong with me? We haven’t been together for ages and yet I don’t know how to be anyone but Stone Lockhart’s girlfriend. How pathetic is that, eh?” “You’re the furthest thing from pathetic I’ve ever seen and I don’t want to hear that again,” she demands. “It’s natural to feel a little guilty. Hell, when I first started dating Bear, my husband had been dead for three years and I still felt like I was being unfaithful every time Bear took me out. Took me a long time to shake that way of thinking.” The chair scrapes back and she comes to stand at my hip, Lyric leaning her head against Cora’s shoulder sleepily. “When you belong to a man for as long as you did and loved him as hard as you have, you can’t just turn that off. You have to teach yourself to live for you again, and that’s what you’ve been doing. Little by little and day by day you’ve become your own woman. There’s no rush with this guy, Willow. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand that.” I glance at Lyric and then at Cora. “And if he doesn’t?” I ask softly. “Then fuck him. He’s a waste of time,” she says, shrugging. “Simple as that, huh?” “Simple as that, pretty girl.” Cora beams, walking into the living room with a sleeping Lyric. “Simple as that,” I murmur.

My phone is ringing, dancing across the top of the piano as I try to jot down the last chorus. I reach over and silence it only for it to start skipping on the shiny surface and again I silence it. I get exactly three words written when there’s a knock at the door and Aidan pops his head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your friend Perry just called the studio and said for me to tell you to answer your damn phone.” His face is bright red as he repeats what my friend said. “She’s such a pain in my ass,” I grumble. “Thanks, Aidan.” He nods and quickly backs out of the room. No sooner does the door close than my phone is ringing again. “Oh my God, woman, what in the hell do you want?” I huff. “You answer the phone when I call, bitch face,” Perry retorts. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all damn day.” “Sorry, Cora asked if she could take Lyric to see her mom at the nursing home, and I’ve been locked away in the studio all day. What’s up, buttercup? What’s so damn important that has you blowing my shit up?” I chuckle.

“Remember that last-minute assignment I got sent out on?” she asks in a hurried whisper. “Yeah, LA, right?” “Right. You’ll never guess who the hell I’m shooting, Willow.” Her voice is muffled a bit like she has her hand cupped over her mouth so nobody else can hear. “I can barely hear you. Why are you being so damn weird, Perry?” “I’m in a corner hiding from the rest of the crew because I’m freaking the fuck out a little,” she hisses. “What? Why? What’s wr—” And then it dawns on me. “Oh fuck. You’re shooting Stone.” My voice trails off and right away Perry fills the silence in a panic-stricken voice. “What do I do? I feel like he’s going to look at me and know that I know where you are and that you have his baby and aren’t telling him and he’s gonna know, Willow. He’s gonna look right at me and know!” Her words are flying a mile a minute and getting louder and louder the more harried she gets. “Perry!” I yell. “Shut up! Stop saying my name.” “Shit. I’m sorry. See? I told you. He’s going to know.” “He is not going to know as long as you don’t tell him. And Lyric is mine. Now knock it off before you give yourself a damn panic attack.” Standing now I start pacing. She cannot screw this up. He can’t find me now. Not when everything is going so well. I’m not ready to face him. I may never be ready. “Perry, listen to me. He has no clue that we stayed in touch, so he has no reason to think you would have any idea where I am.” Trying to keep my voice as calm as I can, “It’s all going to be fine. Just do what you need to do and don’t tweak. I need you to not tweak out. Please.” Her breathing has slowed some, “Okay. Okay. He doesn’t realize we stayed in touch so how could he possibly know. Okay. I can do this. Okay.” If she says “okay” one more time I might start to tweak. “Just stay calm, do your job, and get out of there. Easy.” I sound more confident than I am but just barely manage to hold off my own panic attack when I hear them call for her. “They’re calling your name. Break a leg or whatever you tell photographers and just keep your mouth shut. Don’t even mention my name and everything will be fine.” “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I’m all done here.” Perry disconnects and I exhale a shaky breath. Please don’t let her fuck this up.

Stone AS THE FIRST SUIT LEAVES the room I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one. Inhaling deeply,

I can literally feel the tension leave my body. Fuck, one day it won’t be this bad I remind myself. We’d been stuck in a meeting with the producers and the studio all morning, hammering out details for the new album, Willow. If I could, I would name every damn track on the thing after her. Maybe she would see. Maybe it would matter. And maybe hell would freeze over and pigs would fucking fly. But music is all I have. It’s my only weapon in my very limited arsenal to reach her. Lawson jabs me in the ribs. When I turn to look at him, he lifts his chin indicating the end of the table. The rest of the guys stand and Arrow just kind of gives me his disapproving look. The one he saves just for me lately. I let him; we both know what I threw away. He’s not shy about reminding me. I think at one time he would have gladly taken Willow from me if he thought he’d get away with it. Judge is close behind him, a tilt of his head with a glint of warning in his eyes. I can’t fuck up anymore or the label will be all over our asses. “Hey, Stone,” the woman standing in the boardroom, fake tits pushed out in pride, says coyly, familiarly. “Did you want to hang out for a bit before you guys hit the road?” I spare her a quick glance and shake my head no. “Nah, I’m good.” “Oh, come on,” she whines. When I shake my head no again, she says, “You used to be a lot more fun,” with a pout any porn star would be proud of. “Oh yeah? When was that? Back when I would already have my cock out and down your throat because I was too high to give a fuck about anything but my own pleasure? Certainly not about the fact that my girlfriend was waiting for me. Maybe even in the hall. Back when, even with your mouth full of my come, I still wouldn’t remember your name, or care? Is that the ‘used to be’ you mean . . . Melissa?” “It’s Megan,” she hisses, dumfounded and more than a little pissed. “Guess I still don’t care about that then.” The smoke swirls in between us as I peer through the haze at her and take another lazy drag. “I can see why you’d miss that guy. You still want to fuck me?” I deadpan on an exhale.

“No wonder she left you.” Not-Melissa sneers, shaking her head. Now that one hurt. I didn’t have to wonder. I knew. One of the reasons was standing right in front of me, disdain dripping from her every word, which is ironic. Didn’t matter that half the time I was so God damn high I would have bet money that it was Willow I was fucking only to come down from that nirvana and realize it wasn’t. No, I didn’t wonder shit. I was well aware of all my shortcomings. I wake up to an empty bed every morning to remind me. Tugging in agitation at the gauge in my ear, I take another drag from my cigarette, making little circles of smoke as I think of a response. I’m beyond over this fucking conversation. “You wanna keep on this trip down memory lane or are we done here?” Flicking ashes into the ashtray I look up at her, eyebrows raised in question. “So done.” Flicking her bleached hair over her shoulder she pivots and storms out. My eyes close for a beat—that was almost exhausting. Bending at the waist, I rest my forearms on my legs and stare at the carpet beneath my feet. What I wouldn’t give for a bump right now. Hell, a beer even. Maybe I should’ve taken her up on the offer of pussy. I haven’t had any since Wills left me. Haven’t wanted to look at another woman, let alone fuck one. The irony isn’t lost on me. I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants when I had a good woman in my bed, now that she’s gone, she’s all I want. It’s every fucking sad song ever written. On a deep sigh, I snub out my smoke and contemplate lighting another when Law sticks his head in and flashes me a smug smile. “Well, that was quicker than I expected.” He chuckles when I flip him off and opens the door all the way. “You want to hit up a meeting, bro? You’re looking wicked on edge today. We can grab Koa from the hotel and head out.” I shake my head no, then raise my shoulders in a shrug, “Maybe.” These guys, Lawson, Arrow, and Judge, are the only reason I’ve been sober this long. They aren’t just my band mates, my manager . . . they’re my friends, my family. We’ve been playing together since high school when we were just young and reckless punks, rocking out in their garage for the love of music and pussy because they go hand in hand. Judge is the most unmusical fucker on the planet so he became management before we even hit college. With Willow being our biggest supporter and so much a part of the music. They had all seen what I was slowly becoming. Like me they tried to just ignore it, pretend it wasn’t as bad as it was. Well, except for Arrow who threatened to kick my ass on a daily basis for what my actions were doing to Willow. He still threatened me, but never turned his back on me. He never would. Ro was the king of tough fucking love. “We can find one on our way out of town, Stone. We have to be in LA by morning, but there’s time,” Law says, reminding me of his solid presence. “We have to be at the studio for the shoot and then the next day the P.I. flies in.” I perk up at that. I’ve been out of rehab for almost three months. Clean as fuck and still no Wills. I guess I thought it would be easier to find her. Like because I was clean, she would magically fucking appear. Not the case. Clearly. “What did he say when he called?” I ask even though we’ve talked it to fucking death since he told me about it two days ago.

Law knowing what all this shit was doing to me rehashes it like he hasn’t told me already. “I didn’t talk to him since we were in the studio, but Addy did and he said he’s almost certain that he found her in Canada. Said if it was her, it would explain why he had such a hard time finding her because of their laws. Addy answered a couple of his questions about her aunt and her parents, and he said we should meet, and she set up a flight for him to meet us in Lala land. That’s it, bro.” He taps out a beat on the desk, “So we hitting a meeting or what? I need to get the hell out of this building. I can feel their disdain seeping through the walls and shit.” I laugh at that. “They fucking hate us.” “Fucking A right they do. But they love that money, so they can suck a dick.” Scooping up my pack of smokes and lighter, I stand. “And that’s the fucking truth.”

After ten hours of shooting one album cover I’m exhausted. I fought them on what the label wanted most of the day. Well, Judge fought them; I just straight up refused. There was no way in fuck I was putting some skank on the cover of Willow’s album. “But sex sells,” they’d argued. So I offered to pull out my cock. They didn’t think that was funny, and I was past giving a shit. The only one who seemed to agree with me was the photographer, Perry. I remember that Willow really liked her the few times they’d met, so I had hoped she wouldn’t ask me where Willow was. I’m not ready to answer those questions right now. Not unless it’s an interview the label is forcing me to do. Now it’s almost midnight and I’m too tired to sleep. I can hear Koa in the second bedroom of the suite getting ready for bed, which is what I should be doing, but I can’t shut my mind down. By tomorrow morning I’ll know where Wills is. Hopefully. The thought has my feelings all over the place. I’m anxious, nervous, excited . . . scared. All I can think about is Willow and what seeing her again will be like. It’s been over a year. Fourteen fucking months. I can’t even wrap my head around that. How in the ever loving fuck did I let her disappear from my life for this long? Being a cocksucker of a boyfriend, that’s how. Sighing, I go over to the window and look out at all the bright lights. In the reflection of the glass I see Koa’s door open and then the big Hawaiian comes into view. Along with the guys, this motherfucker has been my rock. If I’m honest, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have ended up right back in rehab if it weren’t for him. He’s been my shadow for months. Even before leaving Paradise. Just quietly supporting me whenever I needed him to and even when I didn’t. He’s going back to the Island in a few weeks to see his family, take care of some things back home. I’m certain that if I need him he will be on the next flight out, but as much as I like having him around I want to see if I can do this without him for a while. “Yo, bruddah, you okay? Need to talk?” he asks. “I’m good. Just can’t sleep. I’m too wired.” “Excited about that sneaky sneaky dude you hired to find yo’ lady?” Koa asks, crossing his arms across his massive chest. I can’t help but laugh at him and his “sneaky sneaky” shit. “Yeah. I guess. I’m gonna jump in the

shower and then try to catch some sleep.” Just listening to him and his crazy talk has calmed me a bit. “Good idea. Rub one out while you’re at it. That put yo’ ass right to sleep, brah,” he says chuckling. “Thanks for the advice. Do I have to pay extra for that?” I joke, moving past him to my own room. “Nah, that you can have for free, haole. Sweet dreams,” he calls and retreats into his room. Fuck me running, dude is fucking nuts. He’s right. But still fucking nuts.

Willow “CORA, PLEASE TELL HER THAT she looks hot as hell and that she’s not changing,” Perry says the moment

Cora walks into my bedroom. One look at the clothes strewn all over and she starts to laugh. “It’s not the Grammy’s, eh? I mean, it is just dinner with some people from his label,” Cora says as she scoops a wide awake Lyric from her bouncy chair in the middle of the room. “I think the dress you have on is perfect. You look amazing.” “I think I hate it,” I grumble, turning this way and that in the full length mirror. “My ass looks huge.” My whining makes them giggle. “It does!” I’ve always been curvy, but after Lyric, my curves have curves. I still have a flat stomach thanks to Perry and her ridiculous need to join every class the gym has to offer, but my girls are out of control and my strapless bra is fighting to keep them under wraps, and my butt is giving new meaning to “dual citizenship.” “Does it look too tight?” I ask, tugging at the lace embellished hemline of the little black dress. It’s classy without being boring with its pencil skirt, capped lace sleeves and hem, cinched belt, and hidden pockets. The pockets are what sold me. That and the fact it was one of the only dresses that fits me in my closet right now. “Your ass is to die for, and it doesn’t look too tight. You look hot,” Perry reiterates. “Now turn around so I can look at you properly,” Cora commands. Sighing, I pivot on my fire engine red stilettos that Perry insisted on. “Perry did an amazing job on your hair, Willow. You look gorgeous. You might not make it wherever he’s taking you,” she jokes, a big smile brightening her face. “How do you know Perry did my hair?” I ask indignantly. “You have a flower made out of your hair in the back of your head. You’re not that good, baby girl.” We all can’t help but laugh at that. “Do you have your fuck-him panties on?” Perry asks. Cora’s head swivels in her direction. “What in the hell are fuck-him panties?” “Ooooh, Willow has the prettiest panties. I have a shoe fetish, she has a panty fetish. She has some that are absolutely brilliant. I call them fuck-him panties because there’s no way anyone would wear them without planning on getting fucked.” Looking at me with raised eyebrows she waggles her fingers at me, “So, do you?” I shrug, an impish grin on my face.

“I think I need to see what fuck-him panties look like,” Cora announces. “Come on, Willow. Show Cora your pretty panties,” Perry singsongs behind me. I huff out a breath. There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of this room without showing these two what I have on under this dress. No use fighting. They’d probably tackle me to the ground and wrestle my skirt up. Smiling at the vision, I shimmy the skirt up and over my hips and flash them my bare ass, the lace strings at the top of my thong lost under the garter belt holding my stockings in place. Doing a slow turn I pop out my hip in a jaunty pose. Perry lets out a wolf whistle that makes Lyric kick and coo. Carefully I smooth my skirt back into place, rolling my eyes at how ridiculous they are. I couldn’t love them more. “Christ on a cracker. That get up should be called kill-him panties, not fuck-him panties. You’ll give his ass a heart attack if you go flashing that around,” Cora says pointing at my bottom half now hidden under the silky material of my dress. “And where the hell is the hair on your vaggie patch. You’re gonna catch a cold, girl!” Perry and I look at each other and burst out laughing. “Vaggie patch? Did you just say vaggie patch?” I sputter, clutching at my stomach. Perry is rolling around the bed, a hand between her legs, “Imma pee. Imma pee my damn pants,” she gasps in between her laughter. “Oh, shut up, you two. What do you want me to call it? A vagina? You know I’m not going to say the P word.” Her tone is indignant and just has us rolling all the more, tears starting to leak out of the corner of my eyes. Grabbing a tissue, I try to dab at them so they don’t ruin my carefully applied makeup. The doorbell chimes and I look up wild-eyed and a little panicked. “He’s here.” Perry pops up from the bed, hiccupping from her fit. “I’ll go get the door. You freshen up, maybe put some perfume on your vaggie patch or something.” She can’t even say it with a straight face, stumbling from the room as Cora shoos her out. Plucking Lyric from Cora, I nestle her into my neck and breathe in her soft baby scent. It instantly helps to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Joaquin and I have seen each other a few times since I took him to Spun but this is different. This is an actual date. He’s introducing me to some of his friends, his bosses. I’m nervous. Almost to the point of being sick. The giggle fest we just had helped to ease the tension, but now that he’s here, it’s back. I haven’t dated anyone since high school and dates in high school aren’t even dates. “What’s the matter, baby girl?” Cora is always so in tune to my moods and feelings. “I’m just nervous. We talked about this already, I feel like a broken record. It just all goes back to Stone,” I say softly, swaying a bit as I kiss the side of Lyric’s head, leaving behind a trace of the red lipstick I’m wearing. Wiping it away, I avoid Cora’s gaze. She won’t judge, but I feel almost ashamed to feel this way. Embarrassed that even when I hate him, I can’t forget him. Cora is one of the very few people who knows the entire story of Stone and I and our demise. Raising my head, I look at my friend. “What does that make me? Knowing what you know, Cor. What does it make me?” “Human,” she answers simply. “Now get down there. Who knows what the hell Perry is saying to

him?” My eyes go wide at that. “Oh shit.” Cora nods, “Yeah, oh shit.” With a now sleeping Lyric cradled against me, I carefully pick my way down the steps, Cora right behind me. When I hit the landing I look up to see Joaquin there, flowers in one hand and a little doll in his other. He has on a rich black suit, Armani I think, with a red tie as if he knew I would be wearing the same colors. His beard is trimmed, his hair neatly styled, begging for me to run my fingers through the thick strands. He looks absolutely delicious. “Chèrie, you look stunning.” He says something else in French that I don’t understand but I don’t need to. His eyes raking over me speak for him. Joaquin steps forward and kisses me gently on first one cheek, then the other. Before he retreats, he runs a hand down Lyric’s back, settling over my own placed there. “Beautiful, just like her mère,” he says softly. The butterflies in my stomach take off, whooshing and diving, making my breath catch. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I manage to get out. Turning, I hand Lyric over to a smiling Cora. Perry standing next to her wearing a matching smile takes the flowers and stuffed toy. “I’ll just put these in water.” Why she’s still here I have no idea. She was just supposed to come and help me with my hair, but I’m glad she is because I totally spaced on the flowers once I got an eyeful of my date. “Thank you, Perry.” Turning to him, “They’re beautiful and the doll is so sweet. Thank you.” “My father taught me to never come empty-handed.” He winks, “Ready?” “You two have a nice time and don’t worry about the baby. We’ll be fine,” Cora reassures, as Joaquin helps me into my coat. “You’ll call if you need me?” I ask worriedly. I’ve never really left Lyric to go out like this. Is she too small? Should I stay home? Cora must see the panic creeping onto my face. “Willow you know if anything were to happen I would call you immediately. We’ll be okay, she’s probably asleep for the night anyway,” she says soothingly. And she’s right. “Okay. Thank you.” I step forward and give my daughter a kiss on her soft head and peck a kiss on Cora first and then Perry before I let Joaquin lead me out. “If you don’t want to leave her here, chèrie, we can take her,” he says as he holds the car door open for me. I glance up at him startled, “It’s a black tie dinner party.” “So? A lot of them have children and she’s little. They would understand you not wanting to leave her at home.” He waits with the door of the Mercedes open, ready to pack up an infant and take her to one of the poshest restaurants in Toronto if I give him the word. I’m pretty sure it’s that moment that my carefully erected walls are obliterated. “You would do that for me?” I ask a little breathlessly.

“Oui.” He shoots his cuff back on his suit and glances at his watch. “We have plenty of time to get her ready.” Looking back at me, he raises his brows in question. “No. No, she’ll be fine with Cora,” I tell him, settling on the seat so he can shut the door. He nods and closes it gently, rounding the front and sliding into the driver ’s side. “Thank you.” Glancing over at him I smile. “Most men wouldn’t want to be bothered with a baby, so your offer to take her means a lot to me.” “Those men are boys, chèrie,” Joaquin replies in that smooth way of his. He’s all man and I’m starting to see just how wonderful of one he really is.

After some time spent mingling with some of the big wigs of his label, a couple newer artists that they’ve recently signed, and his agent, we sit down to dinner. I thought it would be a little awkward, but Joaquin has a way of putting me at ease and steering the conversation if he notices I’m uncomfortable. It’s a little scary how good he is at reading me. “Joaquin, have you found the last song for your album yet?” One of the guys asks. I think he was introduced as Kevin, one of the producers. “No, I’m still looking. I’ve found a few I like but nothing that’s screaming at me,” he answers. I stiffen when I think about why he doesn’t have that song. Joaquin places his arm along the back of my chair, his thumb stroking softly over the bare skin of my shoulder giving me goose bumps. “Are you cold, chèrie?” he leans in and whispers. Shaking my head no, I give him a small smile and will myself to calm down. “What happened with that one song? I thought you found it months ago?” someone else pipes in. Without missing a beat and without any resentment in his tone he answers, “I had but she wouldn’t budge on it.” Gently he nudges my leg with his. When I feel his eyes on me, I glance over to find him smiling. “She’s a ball buster and wasn’t impressed with my status.” Phillipe chuckles softly into his napkin. “A first time for everything, no?” he says to Joaquin. Before either of us can reply, Kevin sympathizes. “That sucks. I know how much you loved that one. Talked about it nonstop for weeks. Is it someone the label can contact and try to convince?” “Nope. The label has even less of a chance than he does,” I answer a now startled looking Kevin. “It’s your song?” “It is. Well, it was,” I murmur. My mind made up. Again I can feel Joaquin’s gaze on me. The others at the table watching us curiously. “Was? Did you decide to give it to someone?” Joaquin asks a bit crestfallen. “I did,” I say, taking a sip of my water. Letting him hang for a moment. Torture, I know, but he looks so adorably hot with that sad look on his face. “I’m sure they’ll take good care of it and make it a chart topper,” he says, placing a kiss to my temple. He’s very affectionate. I can’t help but love the attention he gives me without even thinking

about it. “Oh, I have no doubt that he will. I would never have decided to let him have it if I didn’t think he would.” I’ve drawn this out long enough. I turn to Phillipe and say nonchalantly, “You can send all the paperwork over to Bear whenever you get the chance, Mr. Theroux. I’ll have him look over them and get it all back to you as soon as possible so that you guys can get into the studio and get the album all wrapped up.” His wide smile lets me know he understands what I’ve just said and who the song is for. “Chèrie?” Joaquin questions, hopeful and a smidge confused. Meeting his gaze, molten chocolate with swirls of caramel, I smile, “It’s yours.” I feel it’s the least I can do for this man who is awakening so many feelings I’d forgotten about. Joaquin catches me off guard when he takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly. Just the corner of my mouth, a whisper, as his beard tickles over my lips. “Merci. I promise you won’t be sorry,” he murmurs. All I can do is nod. Part of me wanting to chase after his kiss, the other needing to run from the onslaught of emotions that simple non-kiss, this smooth, considerate Frenchman, evokes in me. He’s quiet on the ride home but it’s not uncomfortable. Sometime soon after we got in the car, he took my hand in his and laid it on my thigh. His thumb brushing over my knuckles rhythmically. By this point my nerve endings are dancing, need zinging through me with every pass across my overly sensitized skin. When we pull up to the house, dark but for the porch light blazing, I’m not sure whether I’m disappointed or relieved. I know I’m tired of these yoyo-ing emotions though. Soundlessly he releases my hand and slides from the car. Just as I’m reaching for the door handle, he opens it from the outside, offering me his hand to help me from the low slung seat. Without releasing me, he closes the door and we start up the pathway to my front porch. “Thank you for tonight. For coming with me and for the song. I honestly wasn’t expecting it. Had given up on it, truth be told.” He chuckles but then pulls me to a halt. Serious now, he turns me to face him. “You know that none of this, the time we’ve been spending together, had anything to do with your song, chèrie. That was all because of you. Because you make me feel things I’ve not allowed myself to take the time to feel in a long, long time.” Joaquin brushes the hair from my shoulder, giving us both a moment to absorb his words. I silently thank him for that because I’m incapable of speaking right now. “I care for you, Willow. A lot. I look at you and your daughter, and I feel . . . warmth. I know that sounds so strange, but it’s the only way to describe it.” Shaking his head a little as if he doesn’t understand it any more than I do. “I find myself just wanting to be with you. It’s not something I’m used to. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t care less who I am or that you don’t want anything to do with the business, you’re not trying to move up the ladder. Whatever it is, I like it. Like the way it makes me feel to know there’s no hidden agenda.” Joaquin cups my face, tilting it up to see him better. “Let me take your time and give you mine, chèrie. You and Lyric.” His accent is melodic, his words even more so. I’m enthralled and entranced. Giddy and nervous and deathly afraid of all of it, I just nod my head yes. Without thought, without

regret. “Okay.” His crooked smile is a beautiful sight. White teeth flashing through his satiny beard. When he lowers his head, gaze steady on mine, watching for any sign of hesitation, I show none. Just stand, waiting for his kiss. The kiss I’ve been thinking about all night. “I’m going to kiss you, Willow,” Joaquin whispers, his breath warming my lips. And again, all I can say is, “Okay.” My eyes flutter closed just as his mouth covers mine. Soft, firm, patient, and needy. His beard tickling. My heart races as fast as my mind when he slides his hands in my hair, tilting my head and slowly brushing his tongue along my bottom lip, asking for entrance. A shiver races up my spine when I open to him and let him in. He moans softly, or maybe it’s me. Pulling me tighter against him, I can feel him hardening where our bodies are flush. It excites me and scares me all at once. My feelings are contradicting each other with every new sensation that washes over me. I want nothing more than to just be in this moment, but as much as I love his lips on me, his gentle domination, I can’t quiet the riotous thoughts knocking around in my head. Making their presence known. Joaquin breaks the kiss even though I can see it’s a struggle for him. Gliding his hands out of my hair, he gently brushes his thumb along my lips, taking away the, moisture of our kiss along with the taste of him. “Goodnight, chèrie.” “Night, Joaquin,” I say in a soft voice and then turn on trembling legs to let myself in the house. As I shut the door, I give him a small wave that he returns. The moment it’s closed, I pop up on tiptoes to look out the peephole. He’s still standing there, rubbing two fingers over his bottom lip, a small, satisfied smile gracing that wicked talented mouth that just worked its magic on me. When he turns and heads back to his car in the drive, I slip out of my shoes and quietly head up the stairs to Lyric’s nursery. I need the serenity I always find there to calm the chaos Joaquin and his kiss caused. The first kiss from a man other than Stone in years and I liked it. A lot. I liked it so much I want to do it again. Just as soon as I stop feeling so damn guilty.

Willow I’VE NEVER SEEN A TRACK get added to an album so fast in my life. But it did. It was the last song to be

added before the album was released and they wasted no time. The day after I relinquished rights to him, it was done. JD, as I had taken to calling him, much to his dismay, had called and asked if I wanted to sing backup on it, and I said no. There was something too intimate about singing with him. Especially this song. A song I had written when I was at my lowest. That was two months ago, and now it’s number one on every damn billboard chart. They wanted to get the album released in time to still have a chance to be nominated. And with the awards being held over the next few months, it looked like Joaquin had a solid shot. Walking into my class, I stop short at the huge bouquet of flowers on the desk. I don’t have to read the card to know who they’re from. Joaquin and I have been inseparable since that night two months ago when he kissed me. If he’s not in the studio, we’re together, and even sometimes when he is in the studio. Plucking the card from the arrangement, I place Lyric, asleep in her car seat, on the chair and open it. Chèrie, I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you always. I’ll be back in a few days. I can’t wait to kiss you. Tu me manques, Joaquin The man can’t help being so damn French. I give him hell about it, but I love every moment of it. Grabbing my phone, I do a search to see what “Tu me manques” means. “You are missing from me,” I say out loud to a sleeping Lyric and an otherwise empty room. “Swoony bastard.” My smile is reflected in my voice. Switching to my messages, I shoot one off before the class fills with kids. Me: My flowers are beautiful. Thank you. Joaquin: I’m glad you like them. I have a gift for you and the bébé. I’ll come as soon as I land.

Me: Stop buying us things!!!! Me: What is it? Joaquin: Ha! Not telling. Me: Fine. Gotta go, class is starting. Joaquin: See you soon Me: Soon! And you’re missing from me too. Joaquin: For once your French is perfect. Me: xoxoxoxo Joaquin: Bisous Tucking the phone away I check on Lyric one last time, placing her little headphones on her head and then prepare the room for the class. I want her to sleep as long as she will. Cora is taking the baby to see her mother again—they just love her at the nursing home—and I’m playing at The Dirty Bird tonight, so Bear is going to come and pick Lyric up here, making my life a little easier. They’re such a huge help, I’m not sure how I would do it without them and Perry. I’m brought from my musings when the door opens and Grady comes running in all smiles and ready to get his music on. I shouldn’t have favorites, but I do and it’s him. It can’t be helped. The kid is too damn cute. We’re nearly through the class when Bear ambles in. He’s a big man. Huge. Over six and a half feet, dwarfing my own five foot four frame and making the kids look like ants. They’re not afraid of him though. He’s like the gentle giant and when he walks in they get excited, begging him to sing along with them. It warms my heart how far some of these children have come. How trusting and eager. Vocal, when few wouldn’t or couldn’t speak at all just a few weeks ago. I look over at Bear and shrug. “What’ll it be, Bear?” I ask him, grinning. Tapping a finger to his bearded chin, “Hmmmmm. I don’t think I know any songs. Maybe you guys should sing one to me,” he tells them in his booming voice. This delights them to no end and they decide to serenade him with the song we’ve been working on for the last couple weeks. Grady brings me my guitar and we sing loud and proud until the very last note. Beaming, I stand at the rug that they’re all sitting around or near. “Take a bow everyone. That was the best one yet!” I praise. Bear congratulates them on a job well done and stands at the door giving high fives and knuckles as they file out of the room. Just the sight of their little happy faces humbles me. I’m really not sure how my life could get any better right now. I’m on cloud nine. New man, job I love, friends who go above and beyond, and the most precious baby a mom could ask for. Nothing can bring me down right now. I hold on to that thought tight because it’s been a long time since I’ve been this happy, and after the year and a half I’ve had, I’m holding on with both hands.

“You ready, Willow?” Bear asks, lifting Lyric’s car seat from its perch, careful not to jostle her. “Yep, sure am.” Gathering my things I flip the lights as he takes my guitar case from me and leads me from the room. The smell of the wildflowers on my desk following after me, making me think again of Joaquin.

Stone IT TOOK THEM SIX MONTHS to get my house back in order after the fire I’d started. Addy called in a

decorator who wanted to do some remodeling, but I refused. Wills decorated our home. No way in hell was I changing it. Walking through the rooms now I don’t look at them. They’re just rooms. Not a home without Willow. With a towel slung over my shoulder, I walk into the home gym that’s seen more action in the last few months than it has in all the years I’ve lived here. My phone chimes just as I’m about to put on the radio. Judge: Law and I will be there in two Me: You’re late. Just come to the gym Judge: Fuck off, I’ve got shit going on Me: Just get here, pussy Tossing my phone aside I start setting up the weights. Koa is meeting with his contact from Paradise to make sure I’m doing my thing and he’s doing his. None of them like to leave me alone for long, which I appreciate most days. Not that I don’t trust myself. I do. Most days. I’m just not used to being alone here, and I fucking hate it. I find myself listening for Willow to come into the house. Walk into a room. And when she doesn’t, I want to break shit. Start a fire that will burn this motherfucker down for real this time. I thought by now we would have found her. A couple of months ago, we met with the guy that Lawson hired in LA. He was following up on a lead but not fast enough for me. He thinks she left the country and that’s why he’s had such a hard time finding her. I told him that she grew up in Canada and he said that’s where one of his leads was, so he’s going to dig deeper into that one, but there’s a lot of red tape because it’s Canada. Every single day I’m so tempted to hop a plane and go there myself, but I have no fucking clue where to even start. All of Willow’s family is gone. She’s never mentioned friends in Canada. We’ve never gone to visit anyone the times we’ve been there for the Much Music Awards, or if we were there on tour. I have no idea where to begin, so I fucking wait. And I hate waiting.

With my thoughts all over the place, I sit on the bench, trying to get out of my own head. Linkin Park is wailing around me, eyes closed, my head bobbing along with the beat. Just then the door opens and in walk the brothers. “‘In the End,’” huh? It’s gonna be one of those days. Noted,” Law says as he strolls in. “You and Judge are gonna be fun to fuck with today.” “Get fucked, Law,” Judge grumbles, tossing his keys, wallet and phone on the counter. “See? Fun,” Lawson tells me laughing. Getting up, I turn the stereo down a bit. “Why are you in such a shit mood?” I’m glad to have something besides me to focus on for a change. Judge groans, “I don’t even want to fucking talk about it.” “Oh, I want to talk about it. Let’s talk about it,” Law says gleefully. “You remember that chick, Brianna, he was tagging for a while there?” “The model from the video, right?” I’m not sure that’s right but it sounds familiar. “Yup. That’s the one. Well, seems like his model fuck buddy is preggers.” He pauses to let that sink in. “With his baby.” I turn to look at Judge. Of all the people I know, he’s the last one I expected to ever find himself in this position. Law has to be bullshitting me. “There’s no fucking way. Is there, Judge?” I ask incredulously. He shrugs his shoulders and runs a hand down his face. “Fuck. Maybe? There was one time the condom broke,” he mumbles, his hand covering his mouth. “Did you seriously just say that? Does that shit really happen?” I bounce between Law and Judge. “Apparently, because it did,” Judge bites out. “Holy fuck.” “Yeah. And this asshat over here thinks it’s the funniest shit ever,” he says, jerking his thumb in his brother ’s direction. “That’s because it is. The responsible one in the bunch with his suits and ties and college degree. Looks like your dick didn’t get the memo that you aren’t the rock star, you just manage them,” Law ribs him. “Fuck off, Lawson,” Judge mumbles. “Don’t poke the bear, man,” I warn still trying to process the news. A baby. In-fucking-sane. With a bounce in his step—he really is too stoked about this shit—Lawson fires up the treadmill and starts to beat feet. “Addy said Scarlet might be flying in?” he asks as he adjusts his speed. “Yeah. I’ve been avoiding her. I think she’s sick of it.” “Why the fuck are you avoiding her?” Judge calls out, turning the radio down. “Because she doesn’t know about me and Wills. I don’t want her asking a fuck ton of questions. We went and saw her right before—all that shit. She’s already stressed about the whole rehab thing; I don’t need her tweaking over Willow being gone too,” I tell them, settling on the bench, waiting for Judge to come spot me.

“You know she’s probably read all about it if she didn’t see that interview you did, right?” Judge asks from above me. I just grunt. I have more than enough to worry about. My little sister wanting answers is so far down on the fucking list I can’t even be bothered. As we’re wrapping up, Law’s phone starts ringing, “What’s up?” he answers, making Judge shake his head in disgust. “I swear to fuck, he’s got no fucking manners.” “No, but he does know how to wrap his dick,” I throw at him as I bound up the steps, a pissed off Judge hot on my heels. I stop when I hear Lawson say, “Wait, wait, Addy, slow down. He found her?” My head whips in his direction so fast it makes me dizzy. Eyes glued to his I stalk toward him, reaching for the phone. Batting my hand away, “Text me the addresses.” “Fuck the addresses, Law. Get me a fucking flight,” I bite out at him, my mind racing. “Did you hear that? Yeah, me and Judge too. Arrow not ‘til later, he’s visiting his mom.” Law looks over at Judge for confirmation. Nodding he reaches for his own phone, to make arrangements I’m sure. I’m the only one standing there with nothing to do. Nobody to call because my somebody needs to be found. When Law hangs up, he just looks at me. Quietly assessing. “You ready for this, Stone?” I get what he’s asking. He promised me he’d help me find her and he has. But he also said we wouldn’t follow up any leads until I was certain I was ready. That I felt secure in my sobriety. I feel as secure as I think I’ll ever feel. “I’ve been ready.” I answer honestly. He nods and that’s the end of the discussion. With nothing left to say I turn and head for my room. It’s time to find my rhythm.

Stone I’VE BEEN SITTING IN FRONT of the school for about three hours now. Driving myself insane, my leg

bouncing constantly as I chain smoke. Nothing to do but think about all of the ways I’ve fucked up. It’s been about a year and a half since I’ve seen Willow. Sixteen long ass months the first of which I spent wallowing in coke, pills, and alcohol until finally checking myself into rehab. I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I craved the high all the time, but not the other bullshit that came with it. She was right to leave me. Fuck, I threw her away. My muse, my heart. Threw her away without a care. So if I had to sit here for another three hours just to catch a glimpse of her I would. Tapping out a beat on the steering wheel, I glance at the clock again. It had taken me months to even fucking find her. My Wills hadn’t wanted to be found. She came back home to Canada. I never even thought to look for her here. She left this place when she was seventeen and had never mentioned coming back for more than a visit here and there. Always claimed there was nothing here for her after her parents had died and she had been shipped off to live with her aunt, Law and Judge’s next-door neighbor. Sighing loudly, tired of my own damn company, I stretch over the center console and pop the glove box, grabbing one of the lollipops I threw in there. I’m as addicted to these things as I am everything else in my life. Unwrapping the raspberry flavored lolli, I pop it into my mouth just as the front door of the school opens. Slowly, I straighten in my seat, my hand reaching for the door handle as I watch a lumberjack looking motherfucker hold the door open and let a woman through. She smiles up at him in thanks, patting his chest with her hand, and my pulse stutters. Willow. Even from here I’m sure it’s her. My veins feel singed and my heart . . . my heart starts beating in rhythm for the first time in five hundred and forty-seven days. And just as quickly as it finds its rhythm—it stops. In a stunned haze, I unfold my tall frame from the rented SUV and quietly close the door, my eyes never leaving her as I round the hood, stopping and watching her walk toward me. She looks amazing. Her hair looks longer and a little lighter. A black shirt clings to every one of her curves. Curves that I’ve run my hands over, kissed, and worshipped more times than I can count. There’s a metal studded belt sitting low on her hips, legs covered in painted on denim, and she has on her favorite Chucks, making me smile. God, I’ve missed her. There’s a strange man’s hand on her back as he carries her case over his shoulder and something

much more precious in his left hand. It’s that sight that scares the fuck out of me. Not paying attention to my surroundings I lift a shaky hand to my mouth, removing the now too sweet sucker and step into the road. I’m brought back to the present when a horn blares and tires squeal. Shocking me out of my stupor, I raise my hand in apology to the young kid swearing at me and shaking his head in disgust. When I look back toward the cause of my dazed condition, she’s watching me with wide, startled eyes. My name falling from her lips but lost on the breeze. I had missed the sound so much, but I never realized just how much until it was lost to me, even as I stood so close. Again I stand frozen, just feet from her, my eyes darting over her and blanching when the Paul Bunyan lookalike leans down and says something in her ear making her blink quickly, breaking her from her own daze, and nod at him as she places something in the car seat. The car seat, holding a beautiful little baby wrapped in pink. When he moves in and places a kiss to her cheek, I step forward, taking the strap of her guitar case he was slipping on her shoulder. “I got it. You can go,” I bite out, the shock having worn off replaced by possessiveness and red hot jealousy. Situating himself in front of Willow, he widens his stance, not releasing his hold on the case, same as me. “Who the hell are you to tell me I can go?” His voice is so deep it’s almost unnatural. Before I can respond, Willow steps around him, putting a hand to his arm. “It’s okay, Bear. I’ll see you tonight,” she says reassuringly, her voice a balm to every tattered fucking scar inside me. Every gaping hole that her leaving me had left behind. Briefly I allow my eyes to close and just savor the sound. “Take Lyric home. Tell Cora I’ll call her in just a bit.” “You sure? I can stay,” he states, glaring at me with narrowed eyes I can feel on me but I don’t care. I’m watching the pink bundle, unable to see a face, and then Willow. Aching for her whiskeycolored eyes to land on me again. Finally Bear backs down, turning to her and saying quietly but loud enough for me to hear, “You call me if you need anything, and make sure you call me the minute you get on the road, eh? I don’t trust this guy.” He jerks a thumb at me. I yank the strap, removing it from his grasp. Staring him down unflinchingly. It’s true he has a few inches on me and I don’t feel quite as invincible as I used to now that I don’t have liquid or synthetic courage coursing through my veins, but I’m still a hot head and can still throw with the best of them. That will never change. I stare at him because I can’t bring myself to look at the baby he’s got in his other hand again. Asleep in her carrier, blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding her. Is that Willow’s daughter? Is she his? Is she mine? My heart breaks at both of those options. Everything in me is screaming to ask her but I’m terrified of the answer. So I don’t . . . yet. “I’m sure. Go on. I’ll call you,” Willow soothes. He nods and stalks off, reluctance evident as he glances back at us. Once he and the baby are in his obnoxiously large truck and pulling away, she turns to me. I swear to fuck the moment she does my world is right. This girl has always been my home. The music in my soul and the lyrics of my fucking heart. My rhythm. I used to tell her that. All the time. I stopped and there was nothing to remind her anymore. My actions spoke just as loud as the loss of my words.

“Wills,” I say, clearing the gruffness from my voice. She still hasn’t met my gaze, instead staring at my throat, the ink there, some of it new, most of it not. Willow takes a deep breath, for confidence? For strength? Both? As she lets it out, I take a step nearer, wanting to feel that exhale on my skin. I don’t even care how insane that seems, I need it. “What are you doing here? How did you find me, Stone?” Her voice. That beautiful fucking voice. Melodic in its simplest form. I close my eyes briefly. “It wasn’t easy,” I admit, feeling shaky. Standing there, like the addict that I am, staring at the high I am most desperate for, twitching with need. I just want to reach out and touch her. To trace my love on her skin like I used to. To sing her every fucking song I’d written for her in the sixteen months we’ve been apart. Never in my life have I needed something this badly. And I’ve needed. I’ve needed and longed for shit I had no business wanting. But her pull right now, just by standing here, is debilitating in its intensity. Reminding me that as dependent on the drugs, the alcohol, the other fucking women, the music—she was my true addiction. One no amount of time in rehab would cure me of. “And yet, here you are.” She’s clearly not as moved as I am at our reunion. “You’re using your aunt’s last name. You hiding from me, Willow?” I ask her, my gravelly voice pitched low with hurt although I’m not sure why. I had come to terms with her running from me. Or at least I thought I had. “I wasn’t hiding from you, but it wasn’t meant to be easy either. I was tired of dodging the paparazzi back in Austin.” Her tone is resigned. “You changed your number, and your email address I’m assuming, since I wrote you but never heard back.” I rock back on my heels, watching her as she still avoids meeting my eyes. “Since my emails went unanswered, I went old school and started writing you letters. I still have them. All two hundred and eighteen of them.” Hers eyes shoot to mine. Finally. I shudder at the emotions I see there. I’m able to name them all— they’re that intense, my mind that clear, my knowledge of her still so acute. Disbelief, distrust, detachment, but that doesn’t hurt as much as what isn’t. Not a speck of the heat that has always been there. Whiskey on the rocks when her eyes used to look at me with all the warmth of a fifty-year-old bottle of Glen Grant. “Two hundred and eighteen?” she asks, taken aback. I nod, reaching out and fingering a long chocolate strand of her hair, wrapping it around my tattooed fingers, unable to help myself any longer. When she doesn’t pull back right away, I continue wrapping and stroking, the sun catching the red hues. Ignoring her question, “My number is still the same.” Not able to keep the disappointment, the pain, from my voice. “I must have missed your calls,” I say, knowing damn well that never would’ve happened. Even when I was detoxing, not allowed a phone, or visitors, Law had my phone with strict instructions to stop whatever he was doing if Willow called. It’s what kept me going—the thought that maybe, just maybe, she was waiting for me on the outside. Back at home with the guys, counting down the days when we would be together again, same

as I was. Only that wasn’t the fucking case at all. Dropping the strand of hair, I let my hand slowly go to her cheek, but before it lands, she moves just out of reach. I think about the baby, and still can’t ask, so I just assume. Praying that I’m right. “Were you gonna tell me, Wills?” My hands shake with all the need flowing through me right now. Need to touch her, to hold her, need for a fucking drink, a cigarette, need for answers, for truths, need to be buried inside of her, to be whole again, to be me again. I get none of that. I don’t deserve any of it. But I want it. “What’s her name?” “Lyric. My daughter ’s name is Lyric,” she says, irritated. “And what would’ve been the point, Stone? You never used to answer any of my calls anyway. Just saved myself the headache and didn’t bother. I’ve learned not to depend on you. It was the hardest lesson of my life, but it finally stuck, so . . .” Her voice trails off and I see one more wall go up. “You always were smart.” Smiling sadly, I lift my chin to indicate the school, not done with this line of questioning but knowing better than to push her. A more stubborn woman than Willow does not exist. It’s what kept her from giving up on me a long time ago like she should have. As much as I want to drill her about the baby—my baby?—I don’t yet. I can’t afford for her to throw another wall up. “You giving lessons again? Is this your Martin?” I had a custom Martin designed for her birthday. It has a Willow tree just like the tattoo on my arm, our initials carved into the bark, and little black birds taking flight, the same as our matching ink. Willow nods her head yes, then shakes her head no. “I’m not doing this. I have to go, Stone.” She reaches for the strap I’m still holding on to so she can leave and I feel a clawing panic grip me. “Not yet, Wills. Please not yet. Just talk to me. Let’s go get some coffee.” I amend, “Some tea, you still love tea, right? We can talk about the baby.” I’m rambling nervously. “There’s nothing to talk about, Stone. I’m a parent, you’re not. My daughter has nothing to do with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some place to be.” “Where? Where do you have to fucking be that’s more important than this, Willow?” I demand heatedly. Waving a hand back and forth between us. “And are you really going to say the baby has nothing to do with me?” I accuse. This flare of temper has more to do with panic than anger. I’m terrified if I let her leave now it’ll be another sixteen months before I find her again. “And there he is. I was wondering when this Stone would show up. The one who always comes first and never takes anybody else into consideration. You almost had me fooled there for a minute with glimpses of the old Stone. This is the Stone I’ve come to know so well.” Sarcasm. Sarcasm dripping from every word. I forgot about this Willow. The one who gives as good as she gets. I thought I had snuffed out this fire completely with all of my fuck-ups. I’m glad to see I didn’t, even if it is biting me in the ass. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just—I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. The guys are in town with me, they miss you too. Insisted on coming with me. Come have dinner with all of us. We won’t mention anything you don’t want to, I promise,” I plead. I’m playing dirty using the guys against her, I know I am, but I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to to keep her with me just a little longer. “As much as I would love to see them, I can’t. And quite honestly, I’m not sure that I want to spend

the evening with you, even if it includes them.” Her words cut me deep. Wounds on top of my already raw and wounded heart. “Wills—” I begin but she cuts me off. “You can’t do this, Stone. You can’t just come here after a year and a half and expect everything to be fine. We’re not fine, and I’m not doing this again with you.” I open my mouth to say more, but her phone starts ringing. I recognize it immediately having put the song on a million times just to feel closer to her. I watch her search in her purse for the phone, taking her in from head to toe. My Willow. So fucking beautiful. There’s that panic clawing at my insides again, an anxiousness I can’t tamp down. What if she doesn’t take me back? What if she won’t allow me to be a father to my kid? All the what if’s are enough to make me crazy. I hear her ending the call saying to whoever was on the other line, “Just have them do a sound check for me, I’ll be ready. I’ll see you in a bit.” “You performing?” I ask, smiling. She hates being in the spotlight but Willow is an amazing musician, better than me even, and her voice is beyond incredible. I used to love for her to sing to me. She was my muse, my heart. She’s always been my music. There’s not a song I’ve written that doesn’t have her stamp on it. Her leaving didn’t change that. Tucking the phone back into her bag she looks at me warily. “Just a couple times a week at a small place downtown. Helps pay the bills and the owner lets me use their studio for my demos and whatever since I don’t have one at the house anymore.” I blanched, it isn’t a dig, but it hits me like a punch to the dick anyway. And what the fuck did she mean “helps pay the bills”? “What? Wills, you don’t need to work to pay the fucking bills.” Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Why would you need to work at all, let alone here and at this other place?” “I’m not the rock star, Stone, you are, remember? Royalties only go so far, especially living in Toronto.” Shoulders squared and chin lifted proudly, defiantly, she holds my gaze as her words sink in. She knows what the hell I’m asking. “Are you telling me that you are working two fucking jobs, with a baby at home, when you have access to millions of dollars?” I can feel my temper rising again. I never should have waited this long to come after her. Should have worked harder to find her. But if I’d have come before I was clean I’d never have a chance. Law wouldn’t have told me where she was until he was sure I wasn’t gonna fuck it all up the minute I walked out of rehab anyway. “That’s not my money. That’s your money, and if you talked to your finance guys like you’re supposed to, you would know that I requested to be taken off of all the accounts a long time ago,” she informs me. “You spent the last few months that we were together reminding me that it was you doing all the work. Your name they were screaming in sold-out arenas, and that I was just along for the ride. Another groupie,” she spits. Where in the fuck? “That’s not true. You know that’s not true,” I say horrified. “What the fuck would make you think that, Wills? That’s our money. I would neve—” I break off when I see her squinty eyed glare and almost bemused expression.

“You honestly don’t know? Can’t recall the hurtful words you used to sling at me?” Shaking her head, she looks at me with a solemn, defeated look. Then focuses on a spot just over my shoulder. “You were always able to wreck me with your words, Stone. Whether you were singing or just talking to me. Always. You opened your mouth and I was a goner. Hypnotized, mesmerized.” There’s a small, wistfully sad smile on her face. “Then for months I prayed for silence. I wished and hoped that you would pass out when you finally stumbled in so that I wouldn’t have to listen to that beautiful voice, the one I used to love so much, the one that spoke to my heart . . . break me.” Slowly she brings her eyes back to mine, the melancholy flowing through the golden pools as she fights the tears shimmering there. “Your words went from being my cure to being my curse.” Palms raised in surrender, “I’m not into your brand of voodoo anymore. Take care of yourself, Stone.” I can say nothing, just stare at her in disbelief. What had I done to her? What had I done to us? The finality of her words like a dagger as she strides away, guitar case slung over her shoulder. For the second time in my life, I watch Willow walk away from me, only this time she takes more than just the heart I gave her so long ago. She takes my baby. And for the second time I recognize that it’s not how it should be, but that I may not be able to change our destiny because I spent too much time fucking it up. I watch as she pulls away, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands and inhaling deeply. Not moving from my spot on the sidewalk until I can no longer see the red Jeep taking my life farther and farther away from me. Fuck me.

Willow I REFUSE TO LOOK IN my review mirror. I know he’s still standing there; I can feel him even as I speed

away. As soon as I get a couple blocks away I turn down a residential street and park. Flushed from my scalp to my toes I feel like I’m suffocating. Rolling down the window to allow in some air, I can’t control the tears that fall down my face. Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I focus on my breathing. In, one . . . two . . . three, out one . . . two . . . three. Just like in my Lamaze class. Over and over until I’m almost lightheaded with the task. Why him? Why now? I knew he would find me eventually. He’s right—I hadn’t made it easy. I bought some time but it isn’t enough. Seeing Stone again is too much. Too much of everything. I feel scraped raw and left bleeding. Every barely healed fracture I spent the last sixteen months repairing, split wide open. Chasms of hurt and pain, sadness and longing. Ripped and torn, shredded. In only the way that Stone can leave me. Funny I always believed he’s also the only one who could fully heal me. God, just seeing him standing outside of the school like that brought back so many memories. A different time and place. A different girl. When I walk out of the building where my last class is held, I’m listening intently to what Ann is saying to me. Her and her on again/off again boyfriend are on again and apparently making up for lost time. I can’t help but laugh at her antics as she throws her head back and starts flailing around like one of those dancing blow up things you see outside of dealerships. So lost am I in Ann’s story, I don’t notice him right away, but just as she’s about to burst into song, I come to an abrupt halt, my skin prickling, the butterflies in my stomach taking flight. Attention diverted, I scan the quad, searching for the source of my distraction. I know who I’m looking for and can’t help the smile that takes over my whole face—hell, my whole being—when my gaze falls on him. Stone. Stone Lockhart, rock star extraordinaire and love of my life. He stands there, bold as you please, leaning against the 1949 Chevy I watched him restore, tattooed arms crossed over a tight white t-shirt, winking at me in the bright Texas sunshine. Lollipop in his mouth and his brown hair catching the wind. He’s hotter than the Texas sun. Without a backward glance, I say goodbye to Ann and take off running for Stone. It’s been three months since I’ve seen him and that’s exactly three months too long. Launching myself at him, he

catches me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hands instantly filling themselves with my ass. “You miss me, Birdie?” he teases in that barely there drawl I love so much. Removing the lolli from his mouth just in time for me to shut him up with my lips over his. Stone groans into my mouth, his fingers coasting over my back to tangle in my hair. He spins so that I’m up against the truck. I tilt my head and open wider, take him deeper, allowing his tongue to glide over mine. I missed him so much. The taste of him, the feel of him. It’s all too much and not enough. “What are you doing here?” I ask, not giving him a chance to answer before my lips are back on his, my teeth nipping at his plump bottom lip. “You’re not supposed to be back until tomorrow, I thought.” Hands cradling my head now, he tugs my hair gently to reveal my throat and scrapes his teeth down the exposed skin before pulling back to answer. “Couldn’t wait another day to get my hands all over you, Wills. I hate being away from you like this,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. I nod in agreement. “I hate it too. One more semester though and I’ll be finished with school. Then maybe I can go on tour with you guys, at least in the summer, if I’m able to get a teaching job,” I appease. It would be so easy for me to just drop my classes and follow him, but I can’t do that. I promised my aunt before she died that I would finish my degree and not give up on my dream to teach music in order to support Stone in his. She loved Stone like a son, but she saw him for what he was—a moody, broody, rock star destined for greatness—and while she couldn’t be any more proud of him, she also didn’t want me to lose myself in Stone’s shadow. “It’s not enough. I need you with me all the time, Birdie. You’re my music.” “I know, Stone. But I have to finish. For auntie. For me.” He brushes his nose against mine and looks at me with those gray eyes I love so much. They’re like a storm. Always brewing, constantly on the brink of rain. Not just gray but blue and slate and beautiful. With his lips pressed to mine he sighs into my mouth, “You’re right. I would never ask you to quit, but any time you want to, you can. Shit, Birdie, with what we’re making, you’ll never have to work again,” he says excitedly. I can’t help but smile at how happy that makes him. He was an orphan who never had anything. Stone wants to be able to provide for me, for us, for a family and not have me kill myself working if I don’t want to. Stone gets the innate need to support me because he came from nothing. It’s an admirable trait, but I want to be able to support myself doing something that I love as well. “That’s your money, Stone. And I want to do this. It’ll be good practice for me for when we have kids,” I tell him, smiling. There’s no doubt that he’s my guy. Stone has been my only everything, and he always will be. He’s my heart’s song. The day I met him I knew there was no turning back. It took him a little longer to figure it out, and I watched him go through girls left and right and tried not to let it kill me. I survived, reminding myself boys are slower than we are. Then one day it’s like a switch flipped, he looked at me in a new light a little confused. He asks me now what he asked me then, what he asks me every time

we’re apart, whether it’s for an hour, a day, a month. “Where the hell you been, Birdie? My heart doesn’t beat in rhythm when you’re not around. You gotta know I need you, to be me.” “Right here, Stone. I’ve been right here waiting for you.” “Damn right you have.” With one final deep breath, I swipe the tears from my face, pushing the memory aside. I’ve cried too many tears over Stone Lockhart. I won’t allow him to do any more damage than I already have. It’s not just me I have to protect now. Stone may have been the greatest love of my life, but he wouldn’t be the last. Resolve firmly in place, I throw the Jeep into drive and turn the radio up, drowning out my thoughts with some Sia, because when it comes to Stone there’s no telling what my heart will talk my mind into.

I tried calling Perry on my way over but she never picked up, so I left her a voice mail with the Cliff notes version of what went on. She must’ve just heard it because she’s sending text after text demanding the details. Shaking my head, I shoot off a quick message, Me: You should’ve picked up. I’m freaking out, Per! Perry: Had I not been fluffing for some lame ass rock star with a tiny dick I would have. Me: You were the fluffer? Leave it to Perry to be able to put a smile on my face when my whole world was being kicked right off its axis. Perry: No. Not really. It’s a long story but I’m gonna need yours first. Perry: You OK? Perry: Of course you’re not. I’ll be waiting at your place. I love you!!!!!! Me: Thanks. Love you too. I’m glad she didn’t give me a chance to respond to her questions. “Hey, baby girl. What’re you doing hiding in the corner here? I almost missed ya!” I glance up just as Cora makes it to my table. “Nothing, just thinking about how depressed I’m about to make everyone tonight.” I smile, even if it does hold some sadness. “Bear told me he showed up in town. You okay?” Wise eyes stare back at me. There is no use lying to her—she’d see right through me. So I don’t. “Not even close to okay.” She tilts her head at me, her glossy platinum hair following the movement. Cora nods. “I’m glad you didn’t try to bullshit me. Woulda seen it coming from a mile away, baby girl.” She covers my

hand with hers, stilling my nervous tapping. “Tomorrow, coffee and a chat when I don’t have to scream to be heard, eh? I’m on my way home now to take Lyric to see mama. Tomorrow,” she repeats. “I’ll bring the donuts,” I answer, glad for the little break that I will get tonight. It’s all too fresh to talk about right now and I for sure don’t want to do it here. “Good. You want your hot tea now or do you want to wait for Bear?” she asks, standing beside my chair. “With a little honey in it?” I implore, sweetly. “Because you’ve had a miserable damn day, I will. But don’t get used to it.” Her fake glare would be more menacing if she could keep the twinkle out of her bright blue eyes. I raise my hand to vow I won’t and she harrumphs and goes off to make my drink. It’s a little ritual of mine that she picked up on right away. It’s things like that that make her so damn special.

Stone “YOU SURE ABOUT THIS, STONE?” Judge asks, his hand on the door of a little bar called The Dirty Bird.

Fitting for my Birdie. It took Judge and Law a couple days to find out where she’s been playing, but the minute they did and confirmed her schedule, I started making plans for us to come see her. Taking one last drag of my cigarette, I drop it in the ashtray at the entrance right next to the big God damn sign that says “NO SMOKING EVEN IF IT IS A FUCKING BAR.” They clearly think it’s bullshit too. “I’m fine. It’ll be okay.” He’s worried about the fact that it’s a bar and as part of my rehab, I’ve also given up drinking. This will be the first time I’ve stepped foot into a bar or been around alcohol really. The guys support me by not drinking. I pat my pocket and pull out a sucker, popping it in my mouth, smiling around the stick. “Promise if shit gets bad we’re outta here. I just want to see her. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her sing, seen her play like this.” Pulling the sucker out of my mouth I reassure them all one more time, “Not gonna fuck this up. Can’t. Not if I have any chance in hell of ever getting her back.” Arrow, who arrived a couple hours ago, brushes Judge out of the way, “Let’s go. He’ll be fine. He’s gotta learn to survive this shit sometime; he’s got a great motivator in there. And I’ll personally whoop his ass if he even looks like he wants to get stupid.” “In your fucking dreams, Ro,” I laugh, glad for the tension breaker. He opens the door, bowing deeply, the sounds of an acoustic guitar floating out at us along with the mingled scents of alcohol, sawdust, and a touch of sweat. I suck in a deep breath but it’s not the smells that sucker punch me, it’s the music. Seems like a lifetime since I’ve heard her play. It’s a little overwhelming. As stupid as that fucking seems. A hand on my shoulder pushes me forward. “God, that voice. Let’s go see our girl do the damn thing,” Law says eagerly. They’ve missed her too. I know they have, but they knew Willow being gone was best for her. So they let her stay that way until I got my shit together. Tugging the ball cap I’m wearing down lower over my eyes, I enter the dark bar. Lollipop firmly in place as I concentrate on not concentrating on the people all around me drinking. Arrow taps my arm and points to an empty table away from the lights of the small stage. A place where we could remain unseen from the room and hopefully not draw a ton of attention. It’s not often that we go out in public together, especially without some kind of

security like this, because we’re bound to be recognized, but we do our best to blend. It’s a chance I’m willing to take tonight. We take our seats quietly as Wills is setting up for another song. The moment we sit, a waitress appears at Judge’s side. He gives her an order I can’t hear, nor do I care, my gaze transfixed to the stage. Willow sits on a stool, feet propped on the bottom rung, her Martin sitting in her lap as she talks to someone at a table right up front. My leg is bouncing out a beat as I watch her fingers start strumming, thoughtfully, like she’s debating on what she’ll play next. I see it as soon as she makes up her mind. Her fingers move with purpose, sure of the song now. Willow isn't a performer. She’s too honest and pure for that. She plays and sings with her heart. If she’s mad, she sings angry shit. Happy, she smiles throughout the whole damn song making you smile too. But I know the moment I hear the chords of “Over,” this set she’s working on is all me. She can’t see me in the corner here, but she sings for me nonetheless, and I feel every fucking word. Every last note as she pours her heart out. This is a Willow that was always reserved for me. She never wanted to be in the spotlight. We begged her to be in the band and not just help write the music, but she said no, over and over. But when it was just her and I, this was the Birdie I got. We would play for each other for hours, late into the night, sometimes it would lead to us fucking, and other times it was because we had just finished, our bodies sated, but our souls still full of passion and adrenaline. A naked Wills wearing nothing but a guitar is the most beautiful fucking sight in the world and just thinking about it now makes me hard. “Stone? Babe? Wake up, I can’t sleep.” I can hear her but can’t make my eyes open to see her. The bed shifts and then dips. Willow straddling my lap has my eyes opening slowly, blinking the sleep away. I suck in a breath when I can finally focus. My beautiful Birdie is sitting astride me, completely naked except for her brand new custom Martin. Her fingers lovingly stroking over the fret board. “I wrote you a new song,” she whispers excitedly. Peering up at her, I can see the excitement on her face, the love in her whiskey-colored eyes. As she starts playing I shift. My bottom lip clamped between my teeth I gently tug the sheet lower down my legs inconspicuously. She begins singing and I feel a lightness wash over me. Her words like a balm on my now overly heated skin. Every time she opens her mouth, beauty pours from it, and I have the urge to fill her. Fill her any way that I can so that I can touch that music. Be her music the way she’s mine. Entranced, I watch as Willow falls into her zone, eyes closed, face intense in its peacefulness. As she hits the bridge, her voice raising an octave, I slip inside her. Pussy wet, always so wet when she gets like this, I thrust. Her eyes don’t open, but she softens, all of her relaxing into me. When I begin rocking back and forth, slowly, rhythmically in sync with the chords she plays, she falters for a beat. Gradually her eyes open, landing on mine just long enough for me to see all the love from moments ago turned to lust and a deep, needy want. She’s close. Thank fuck. Careful to not bump the guitar, I slide my thumb to her clit and play her, same as she plays her Martin. Silently we make music together as her song envelopes us, breathier than before. I join in on

the chorus, my raspy voice melding with hers as I fuck her, pushing us both over the edge. Blissed out and with hands on her thighs, I smile wickedly, “Sing it for me again, Wills.” I’m brought from my thoughts when Law elbows me. “Where’d you go, bro? You okay?” he whispers just as the song finishes and she takes a moment to sip from her mug. I’d bet money it was tea. She always drank tea to soothe her throat when she was serious about a session or we had a lot to work out in the studio. “Yeah, man. Just thinking about Wills.” Shrugging sheepishly, I glance over at him before letting my gaze settle back on Willow. “I haven’t had to share her like this in forever, not even with you guys really. Not like this.” My voice is pitched low so that it doesn’t travel. “It’s fucking with my head a little. There’s never been a time that she wasn’t mine and that music wasn’t ours. Ya know?” Law just nods, because Willow starts speaking into the mic. “Bear? Where you at? I need some help on this next one, eh?” I hadn’t heard her drop an “eh” in so long it instantly brings a smile to my face. We teased her ass all the fucking time when she first came to Austin to live with her aunt ‘til eventually she just stopped using it. “You crazy woman, I’m not coming up there to look bad,” a big voice booms from the bar. Glancing behind me, I see the huge burly fucker that was with her at the school. Chewing on the inside of my lip I watch the exchange and without thinking I stand up. “I’ll let you make me look bad,” I announce, smiling at her calmly even though my heart is beating out a staccato I’m not sure I will survive. She probably still can’t see me because of the way the stage lights are positioned, but she knows my voice. Better than anyone. I see the shock, and then the resignation flash across her face. “Holy fucking fuck,” Judge grumbles. There’s no way we won’t be recognized now. Ask me if I give a fuck though. “I’m sure you don’t know it; it’s not one of yours,” she says haughtily, dismissing me. She’s scared. Willow knows damn well that there’s not a song on the planet that I don’t fucking know. Unless it’s one that she’s written in the last few months. If that’s the case though, it’ll take me thirty seconds to learn it and she knows that shit first hand. Nah, Wills is scared, and scared is good for me. “Oh, I’m sure I can wing it.” Sauntering up to the stage I hop up and pull another stool from the corner and pick up the guitar in the stand next to it, “Bear” etched into the wood. I glance up and raise the guitar in his direction, asking permission to use it. He nods, not happy but not wanting to cause a scene since we have every motherfucking person’s attention on us, the din in the bar growing as the patrons try to place me. Willow covers the mic and leans toward me, “What do you think you’re doing?” she hisses as I test the sound of the Fender. Smiling to find it tuned perfectly. “Singing a song with my favorite duet partner,” I say to her like this is the norm for us. Like she wants me here as much as I want to be here with her. I can see how very untrue that is. Then right before me, her stance loosens and she smiles the sweetest, most evil smile at me, and it’s clear I’m going to hate what comes next. It’s either gonna be some fuck awful song or it’s going to be a direct

message to me, and knowing my Birdie, it’s a message. “Well, it must be your lucky night, you guys,” she says to the crowd eyes on me. “My friend and I are going to sing another Johnnyswim song. I’m in a mood clearly.” Wills sets the song up for me and I groan inwardly. She’s going to wreck me, right here in front of everyone, and I volunteered for this shit. My chin hits my chest as I take a deep breath and let my fingers take over. Willow begins singing, not looking at me until I join in with my verse. There are so many emotions playing across her face, in her eyes, as she sings to me now. I chase after each one, holding on to the ones I need to make me whole again. Everyone in the crowded bar is forgotten as she sings, “Get out of my heart. Get out of my mind . . .” and even as I repeat the verse back to her, pinning her with my icy grays, I plead with her to let me back in. Plead with her to see that this isn’t our song. Our voices mingle and then fade as we strum the last chords. The moment we finish, the crowd explodes in applause. Willow and I still staring at the other. It’s been so long since we’ve sung together my emotions are like a big fucking mosh pit right now. My breathing is ragged as I watch her watching me. Her eyes glassy with tears I can see that she’s fighting. Singing with her was always a powerful aphrodisiac—she exudes passion, and so much damn heart, it’s impossible to not want her. Everything inside of me right now is screaming for her. Just the smallest taste. Ever so slowly I lean closer, almost close enough to get my lips on her when the house lights come up, temporarily blinding me. By the time I can see again Wills is up and stalking off the stage to a waiting Bear, arms crossed over his barrel chest. I’m pretty sure the man eats small children for breakfast. He’s massive and unsmiling and wicked fucking protective over Wills, which I don’t like. Only so many reasons a man gets like that about a woman. Rising, I carry the stool and the guitar back to their places and take my time descending the stage. A few people have put two and two together and realize who I am and ask for my autograph, but most hang back and admire from a distance, which I am extremely thankful for. I glance up from signing a napkin to see Willow and Bear speaking, heads bent low together. Excusing myself, I make my way through the throng of people milling about to where the two stand. I’m met by Law, Ro, and Judge just as I come upon her. “Get your pretty little ass over here,” Law booms, grabbing Willow up in a crushing hug, spinning her around in a circle, raining kisses on her the whole time. Her head tossed back, she laughs at his antics, begging to be put down. The moment he does she’s scooped up by Ro. Judge finally getting his turn, swallows her in a hug and says something to her that has her smiling sadly before she pecks him on the cheek. A pang of guilt hits me. I took them away from her, and her them. We were all she had with her aunt having passed away years ago. We had become her only family and I took that from her. “You guys, I want you to meet my good friend, Bear,” Willow says, putting her hand on his arm and smiling up at him adoringly, making my jaw clench and the boys all shift uneasily. Probably because they’re unsure of how I’m going to react, how it will affect me. “Bear, this is my family,

Lawson, Arrow, and Judge.” The word “family” rolling off of her tongue with love and not a moment’s hesitation. They take turns shaking the man’s hand while I stand there and wait. It doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone that she excluded me from the introduction. It wasn’t easy for her to do; I can tell by the way she watches me out of the corner of her eye, how she chews on the inside of her cheek. Finally, she breaks and turns to me, “And this is Stone, though you two have kind of already met.” Trying to be the bigger man, I raise my arm to shake his hand. When he doesn’t offer his, I let mine fall to my side. Clearly she’s told him about me. Bear and I are embroiled in an intense stare down when Ro breaks in. “Willow, how in the hell did you find this place? I totally fucking dig it. Reminds me of that little place back home.” Still holding the big man’s hateful glare I listen to Wills talk excitedly about the bar. “It was completely by accident, but the moment I stepped through the doors I just knew. Then by some miracle Bear and his wife had mercy on me, let me pick up some shifts here and there, then one night I somehow ended up on stage during an open mic and started playing a couple days a week.” Slowly her words sink in and I turn to her. “Bear ’s wife?” She glances over at me. “Yeah, Cora. She’s not here right now, but they own this place.” My eyes dart to Bear who’s smirking at me knowingly. The fucker. “Ro, she reminds me so much of your ma, except not as—” She searches for the word and Arrow cuts in, “Hippy? Free spirited? Crazy?” he says jokingly. Arrow Sandoval has an awesome mom who is one with the Earth and into all kinds of New Age type shit. His name is Arrow for fuck’s sake, and it was the tamest of all his siblings. Willow laughs, as do the rest of the guys. “No, they’re just both so nurturing I guess.” She shrugs. “Good people. But your mom is soft where Cora is kinda take no shit.” Willow smiles fondly as she speaks of the woman. It makes me feel a little better knowing that she has them. Especially now that I know Bear isn’t into Wills. I’m about to ask her what made her try the open mic night since it wasn’t her thing when the lights dim again, signaling another band hitting the stage. Judge puts his hand to Willow’s back and guides her to our table. “Judge, I really should go; I have a class to teach in the morning,” she tries. “No way, Willow. It took us months to find you and then we searched for this place all week. You’re sitting with us for a few minutes before you try running away again,” Law informs her, only half kidding as she reluctantly allows Judge to help her into a chair. I slide into the one beside her, doing my best not to touch her although I want to so bad. We all sit except for Bear who is speaking to a young kid, maybe a bar back. Our waitress comes over, removing our empties and asking if we’d like another round. Arrow says we would and she turns her attention to Willow. “Another tea, sweets?” Willow glances over at Bear, my gaze following. He nods his head in agreement of whatever silent question she’s just asked, making her mouth “thank you” before turning back to the girl waiting on her answer. “Thanks, Carleen. Bear has it.” The server nods and turns to get our drinks from the bar. I’m confused as fuck about what just went down but let it go for now.

“You still drinking hot tea when you sing, huh, Wills?” Not able to help myself, I nudge her leg with mine, making us both freeze at the electrical current that small touch brought on. “Some habits are hard to break,” Willow says resolutely as if she doesn’t want to acknowledge me or she hates that I remember. I refuse to make it easy for her to forget my presence or to shut me out. My lips pressed to her ear so that I can be heard over the band now playing I ask, “You still putting Fireball in it when it’s cold out?” Shaking her head, no, “I don’t drink anymore,” she tells me dismissively. Her eyes dart away from my surprised gaze but come right back when I say, “Me either.” The puzzled look on her face makes me chuckle softly. “I told you I went to rehab. Gave it all up except for the smokes and the lollipops. I have too many fond memories of those.” I wink and she flushes, remembering just what we’ve done with those sweet treats. “You’re in a bar, and you’re not drinking?” she asks dubiously, just as our server comes over and places a bottle in front of me, causing Willow to raise her eyebrows and roll her eyes at me in disgust. “I almost believed you for a second. You keep tricking me with these glimpses of the old Stone before the asshole Stone shows up again.” Her tone is biting and I want nothing more than to kiss the doubt and disappointment off her beautiful face. “Hey, Carleen, was it? Can I have a frosted mug for my root beer please?” I ask, my eyes on Willow, a smug smile tipping the corner of my mouth up. My Birdie found the backbone she was missing those last few months of me beating her down with my words and stupid fucking actions. It makes my heart swell with pride that she didn’t let me win. Sad that I have to think like that, but I’m aware that I was a bastard. I never wanted to be that guy again. Because of her. If it weren’t for Willow, I’d be that guy in a second. I loved being high. Wouldn’t bother me at all that people didn’t like me, as long as I was coked out of my mind. Willow was the difference. My salvation. I want to be her guy again because she will always be my girl. That thought is what’s going to keep me sober. I’ll never stop trying to be the “old Stone” for her.

Stone BY SOME MIRACLE, WE CONVINCE Wills to sit with us for just a little longer. Long enough for the band to

finish their set and the noise in the bar to be bearable. Even if she won’t look at me or speak to me unless I ask her a direct question. None of that shit matters when I can breathe in her scent. Listen to her laugh at something Law says and feel the heat of her body as she does her best to sit as far away from me as she can although she’s in the chair right next to me. I told the boys about the baby but asked them not to say anything. I don’t want to put her on the spot, but now that I know that Bear is married and not her man, we’re going to have to have a little talk. While they’re busy talking about the new album, I lean in as close as she’ll allow and ask, “How’s Lyric?” She stiffens, not looking at me when she answers. “She’s fine.” That’s it. That’s all I get. I’ll take it. Lawson is in the middle of telling a story about the last time we were all together at Arrow’s mom’s house when I feel someone standing next to me. Glancing up I see a somewhat familiar face, but it’s hard to tell in the darkened bar. “Willow?” he calls out, her head whipping up searching him out. When she sees who it is calling her name, she smiles brightly. Too brightly. It’s not just me who sees that devastating smile because all of a sudden the table has gone quiet. “Joaquin!” Willow stands and walks right into his arms, and I watch in horror as he kisses her. First one cheek. That causes a pang in my chest. Then the other cheek. This one causing my stomach to clench. And then on the mouth. Which causes my heart to fucking shatter before my blood starts to boil. Maybe this guy has a wife too. Another Bear who appears to be more threatening than he is? I hold on to that hope until his name registers. Joaquin Danjou. Joaquin motherfucking Danjou and my girl. You have got to be fucking kidding me. With a clenched fist I stand up, Lawson materializing right beside me. He steps around my rigid form, effectively pushing me behind him and extends his hand. “Joaquin. Good to see you again. It’s been a couple years.” “Lawson! I didn’t recognize you. You let your hair grow. Good to see you,” Joaquin says, taking

Law’s hand and simultaneously tucking Willow into his side. My gaze fixed on her, I watch as she shifts, fidgeting and unwilling to meet my eyes. How the fuck did this happen? This is on me. But seriously, Joaquin Danjou? The fuck? Fine. He isn’t a bad guy. I actually like him, respect him as an artist. That shit ends now though. Unable to keep it in any longer I bite out, “This guy? Really, Wills? You run nearly two thousand fucking miles away and end up with someone I fucking know?” I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. Shattering. My world is fucking spiraling out of control. The tenuous hold I have shattering into a million pieces and I just want to lash out. She’s not to blame. I know it. But I don’t care. I want to hurt them both. Him physically. Willow pins me with a narrow eyed glare. “I didn’t run, Stone. I left. I—” “Leave it, chèrie. You owe him nothing. Let’s go and get Lyric,” Joaquin coaxes, trying to lead her away. And that’s when I lose my fucking mind. For the first time I’m numb with emotion instead of some kind of drug. Here he stands, hands on my Wills, talking about my baby and telling her she owes me nothing. Fuck him. She promised me everything. Everything. Long before this French motherfucker came into the picture. I can feel the pain of this fucked up situation breaking through the numb and turning into something ugly. Fuck if I can stop it though. With a sneer curling my lip I take my eyes off Willow and glare at the asshole next to her. “You have a pierced cock, Joaquin?” He sputters and then on a quiet laugh says, “Umm, no. No, I don't.” I smile over at Wills as she shoots daggers at me. “That's a real shame; Willow loves a pierced cock. One of her most favorite things in the world, I believe she said.” Tilting my head at her as if in thought, my smile widens. “I bet you really miss it, huh, Birdie?” I can feel the bile rising at the back of my throat at the thought of him touching her. At the thought of my words hurting her. They are. It’s written all over her face. All that hurt mixed in with hate and disappointment. This isn’t the reunion I envisioned. “Okay, man. That’s enough,” Law says with an arm across my chest, pulling me back a bit. Judge and Arrow standing from their seats to flank me. Most likely ready to beat my ass. “Go home, Stone. For once, think of someone other than yourself and just go home,” Willow says to me coldly. Calmly. Taking Joaquin’s arm she turns and walks away, his hand on the small of her back, his lips pressed to her hair. The pieces of my shattered fucking heart falling like a ton of bricks around me. “Fuck. What the motherfuck just happened? Fuck,” I curse through gritted teeth. Law drops his arm and reaches into his pocket for his wallet dropping about two hundred dollars more than we owe on the table. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m not sure what the fuck that shit was, Stone, but it’s time to call it a night. We’re drawing a crowd,” Judge says, ushering me forward. I take a second to look around me and he’s right. People are watching curiously. I’m sure this shit

will be all over the internet in about a minute flat. Just what the fuck I need. I’ll be able to watch my epic meltdown on YouTube. Been in Canada for less than seventy-two hours and already I’ve overstayed my welcome. Too bad I couldn’t give a fuck less. I’m not leaving here without Wills. If this is where she wants to fight this out, then this is where I’ll be. The gloves are off when your girl is playing house with another man. The minute we walk past a wicked pissed off Bear and step foot outside, I turn to Judge, “I want to buy a house here.” They all stop and look at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Tomorrow.” They can look at me crazy all they fucking want. I need her, to be me. Gotta find my rhythm and right now that rhythm is singing “O Canada.”

Willow “DAMN IT! DAMN HIM! JD, I am so sorry. He’s such an ass when he’s angry,” I apologize as I unlock my

Jeep. I used to love that bad boy side of him, the one that said whatever, wherever without apologies. I want to scream I’m so frustrated. I should have left the moment I walked off the stage, but it was so good to see the boys, and I let myself get swept away in the familiarity of being with them. “When did he show up, Willow? Has he been here the whole time I’ve been away?” he asks a little tightly. He has every right to ask and be irritated with the situation, but I’m not sure I like what he’s implying. “No. He was at the school the other day after class. We spoke briefly. I told him that I wanted nothing to do with him and that was it. I left, and I thought he had too. I should’ve known better though.” “How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him?” “A year and a half. I left and came here and used my aunt’s last name for work so that I could stay off the radar and away from the paps,” I huff, “Lot of good that did since he found me anyway.” “Were you hiding from him? Did he hurt you?” Joaquin asks, anger inching into his tone. “I wasn’t hiding from him necessarily. I was just running from my life and the people in it. If I didn’t . . .” I trail off not sure how honest he wants me to be right now. “If you didn’t you would have gone back to him,” he says quietly. Looking away from him I nod. I’m sure that’s not the answer he wants to hear and I don’t want to see his reaction to it. “You didn’t answer me. Did he hurt you, Willow?” “Physically Stone would never hurt me. It’s the emotional damage and the things that have happened because of it that have devastated me.” God, I don’t want to be talking to him about this right now. “I owe you an explanation, but I just want to go home right now. I’m ready for this whole night to just be over. I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his warm sweater, my forehead pressed to him. “Can we talk about all of this tomorrow when I’m not so aggravated?” I murmur into his chest. With gentle hands he smoothes back my hair and tilts my head back to look at him. His eyes travel

over my face, looking . . . for answers? For truths? And in typical Joaquin fashion, my wish is his command. “Of course, chèrie. Do you want me to follow you home?” “No. I’ll be fine. I’ll text you as soon as I get Lyric put to bed.” He nods and I can see the wheels turning. “What? Go ahead and ask. I won’t lie to you. Not ever,” I promise. Cringing he asks, “Does he really have it pierced?” I can’t help but laugh. “You are a wonderful man, JD. I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but I’m happy I did whatever it was.” Reaching up on tiptoes, I kiss him softly, letting my mouth linger just a bit before pulling away reluctantly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Oui.” With another peck he puts me in the car and I drive away while he stands and watches.

As JD disappears from my rearview mirror, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. If I thought I was confused before Stone got here, I was dreaming. My emotions are such a damn mess right now I don’t know how I’ll ever wade through. I’m sure about two things though—Joaquin didn’t deserve what Stone said to him, and two, he’s not going to stop there. He showed his ass because he feels threatened and that steely resolve of his shone through his pissed off, possessive, don’t-give-a-fuck demeanor in a big way. Stone is going to make life impossible. And I’m so torn about that. I’m disgusted with the part of me that can’t help but get giddy at the thought of a clean Stone, my Stone coming here to fight for me. But then the other half of me, who still hates him as much as that whimsical side of me loves him, just wants him gone. Is pleading for me to tell him everything and chase him away. I just don’t know which side is stronger. Which part of my heart will win. It’s moments like this I miss my aunt so much. She was always the voice of reason. I’m lucky to have Cora because she’s so much like my aunt, but sometimes “like” isn’t enough and can’t take the place of the real thing. I made the fifteen-minute drive to my place on autopilot. When the Jeep rocks to a stop, I just sit there, staring at the porch illuminated by the porch light that Cora left on for me. On nights where she watches Lyric and I work late, she just stays the night in my guest room. With James Bay crooning softly to me through the Jeep’s speakers I pray she’s asleep already because I’m incapable of facing anyone tonight. I’m not even sure how I’m going to face me. Just a few days ago I was on cloud nine, sure that my life was finally going in the right direction, and now here I sit in my driveway listening to a man singing me a powerful damn message. A message I should heed. Weary from the bottom of my soul, I climb out of the Jeep and let myself into my thankfully quiet house. As silently as I can, I take the steps and slip into Lyric’s nursery. Going to the crib I look in at Lyric sleeping peacefully on her back, her dark hair a little wild and her perfect rosebud mouth puckered in sleep. She’s the one thing in my life I’m sure about. The one person I’m meant to love more than any other. It’s the easiest love I’ll ever know. Careful not to wake her, I sit in the glider next to her bed and set it in motion, watching the night light on her dresser project dancing music notes on her ceiling. I rock and let the wall that Perry and I painted with the music and lyrics of Brahms’

Lullaby bring a peaceful smile to my face. This room with its rocker-meets-classical-musician vibe is my happy place. My spot to let the outside world fall away and just be with my daughter. Tonight though it makes me sad even as it calms me. Stone won’t stop asking questions about Lyric. Demanding answers and time with her. I’m not prepared to deal with that. I don’t know what to say. The pain of that is like a wrecking ball having at my insides. Closing my eyes, I push that thought away and think about singing with him tonight. It was so familiar and I almost forgot that we had fought so much. His voice, his pleading eyes, the way his hands strummed over the borrowed guitar all pulling at me. As quickly as I was pulled under by him I was saved by the lights that broke through his spell and allowed me to escape. And then I was saved again when JD walked in. The instant guilt making me desperate to get out of there before Stone even opened his mouth. It didn’t matter that I had done nothing to feel guilty about, I did. Though I’m not sure who I felt it toward. Joaquin or Stone? Sighing softly, I grab the throw blanket from the back of the chair and cover up with it. I will my thoughts to stop chasing after one another and close my eyes. There’s no way I want to be alone in my big bed tonight, so I settle into the glider and let the soft, even breathing of my daughter lull me to sleep. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I can deal with today.

Stone I DON’T THINK THAT I slept a minute last night. How could I? All I wanted was to get in my SUV and

drive my ass over to Willow’s house. Every thought I had was of Joaquin there with them. With my girls. And it made me crazy. So here I am pacing the presidential suite of whatever fucking hotel I’m in and wait on Judge to call me back. I’m not sure what miracle he had to pull for me to be able to buy a house here, but he did it. For all I know I’m a Canadian fucking citizen. I spent the morning looking at houses online within walking distance to Willow’s. Hell, I might even knock on her neighbor ’s door and offer to buy their house. I fired off every house I could find to Judge and he was setting up appointments. I told him I don’t even care what they look like, just to pick one, and he about had a stroke so I agreed to at least look. Law and Arrow just left to get food after asking me about a thousand times if I was going to be okay by myself. Even made me call Koa and talk to him. Their lack of trust stings a bit but I get it. Talking to Koa puts them at ease and gets them off my back. After Koa I texted my sister who arrived at my place in Austin yesterday just to tell her I have shit to take care of here and would get with her soon. But now I’m waiting, anxious as fuck, and that’s when I find myself doing something as stupid as taking a drink would be. Pulling out the desk chair, I drop down in it and flip open my laptop typing Joaquin Danjou into the search bar. Picture after picture pops up. Some with women, some alone, on tour, award shows. The usual. What stops me cold is the mention of his new album and the song that has hit all of the charts. With dread in my stomach, I pull up the song and play it, listening to the lyrics and knowing without a doubt where he got it from. “Love as fragile as wishes on a string . . .” I look down at my wrist, where my wishing string used to be, and recall the memory. I watch as she ties the delicate black string around my thick wrist, the little silver feather that dangles from it getting lost in my ink. “What is this, Birdie? You trying to make me look like a pussy?” I smirk when she huffs out a breath. “No, Stone. It’s a wishing string. You make a wish and when it falls off, your wish will come true. So, make a wish.” Chuckling low in my throat, “Wills, I’ve got you and I’ve got the band. What the fuck else am I gonna wish for?”

“Anything you want. Just make a wish,” she demands, narrowing her eyes at me. I wasn’t kidding —I have it all as long as I have her and my music. But watching Willow, I see that she wants me to do this, so I close my eyes theatrically and wish for the one thing that would complete me. When I’m done I open up and grin at her, “You wanna know what I wished for?” I open my mouth to tell her and she slaps her hand over it, silencing me. “No! You know the rule about wishes—if you tell it won’t come true.” With her soft palm against my lips, I cover it with my own calloused one and swipe my tongue across it, then pull away just enough to nibble on her fingers, making her smile and her whiskeycolored eyes go all warm. “Did you make a wish, Birdie?” I ask her, my voice husky with the need now crashing through me. She nods and flashes me her wrist with her little dangling heart on a black string. “You gonna tell me what you wished for?” I nip the pad of her thumb, my eyes never leaving hers as I soothe the bite with first my tongue and then a kiss. “No,” Willow says breathlessly. “Wanna know what I’m wishing for now?” When she nods yes I tell her, “I wish that we were in bed and these perfect lips were wrapped around my cock.” I smile as I watch her swallow deeply. “And I wish that while you had me in your mouth, sucking and licking just how I like it, that you were sitting on my face, riding my tongue just . . . how . . . you . . . like . . . it,” I whisper in a low voice. With a trembling hand I text Law and tell him I’ll be back. Not a minute later, I shove my arms into a black leather jacket and pull a baseball cap down over my brows. The moment I hit the street, I light a cigarette and wait on the valet to bring around my car. That little trip down memory lane just wrecked my ass. Made me hard and put me on edge. My need to find Wills intensifies. I have no clue where she might be. Not knowing her schedule when for so long I lived it pisses me off, makes me anxious. So much has changed. I’ll try her house first. Then the studio. I’m close enough to walk to The Dirty Bird, but I don’t want to risk being seen. I can’t deal with paps or anything else right now.

I watch Willow sitting at the piano, eyes closed as she plays. Breathtaking in her intensity and quiet calm that rivals my own raging chaos. She’s so entranced, lost in the music that she doesn’t hear me come in. As soon as her fingers still on the ivory keys and the last note falls, I speak, “Did you give him my song, Birdie?” My voice is thick with the hurt and anger I feel. She startles, her eyes flying open and a hand going to her chest. “Stone, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here? Who let you in?” “Did you? Did you give him a song that you wrote for me?” I demand. I know the answer. I want her to say it. Our music was always ours. She wrote songs on her own for other artists but never songs about me, our love . . . our hurts. Those belonged to us. She let him have a song that was mine. Ours. Doesn’t matter that every word is a knife to my heart, tearing at an already festering wound. That every chord and chorus bleeds me dry and leaves me raw. I hear her pain in every verse. Hear

what I did to her, to us. Regardless of how it kills me, it’s my song and she gave it away. “I gave him my song, Stone. A song I wrote. By myself,” Willow tells me firmly. “It had nothing to do with you.” Standing she comes around the piano, gathering her things to leave. I shove my hands into my pockets wishing like hell I had a cigarette and pull out a lolli. Silently unwrapping it, I point it at her. “That’s a lie and you know it, Birdie. That song has everything to do with me.” Not denying it, she meets my gaze, her tired eyes staring into my tortured ones, “What do you want, Stone? Do you want me to say I wrote it about you, for you?” She plants her hands on her hips. “I did. I wrote it as I lay alone wondering where you were, who you were with. If you’d finally gone too far and killed yourself with the poison you loved more than me.” “That’s not true either, Birdie. I never loved anything more than you. Not even music,” I say through gritted teeth. “Well, you have an incredibly fucked up way of showing that then. For the first time in your life your actions spoke louder than your words,” she tells me, resigned. “You made your choice that night and every night before, and we’ve both paid . . . dearly. Own your mistakes, Stone. Isn’t admitting you have a problem one of the first steps of the program?” Her tone is gentle, voice pitched low, but the accusation in the words loud. Deafening. “I admit every fucking day that I’m weak. Every time I seek out a meeting to get me through the day, I admit it. To myself and to a room full of strangers just as fucked up as I am. I admit it when I play my guitar and pour my heart out to an empty house because you’re not there to sing to.” I throw my arms out to my sides, “I have more problems than a man in my position should. I acknowledge them because it’s a reminder of what my weaknesses cost me. I’ll continue to until I convince you that you are my strength. You and music are what has me admitting just how fucking weak I am.” When she won’t look at me, I shift to the spot she’s staring at just to my left. “Everything he has, everything you’ve given him, is mine. You, my daughter, my song. All mine. He’s not me. None of it belongs to him,” I tell her, the heat in my voice building. “You’re right, he’s not you. That’s the whole point, Stone. He deserves all of it. All of me. He’s not you. He won’t throw me away, because he cares about me. About us,” she accuses. I flinch at her words, each one of them like a blow. They cause me physical fucking pain. “He may care about you, but he’s not in love with you, Willow. I know what that looks like. I know what it does to a man to love you so fucking completely that he can’t breathe without you. So much that the sun doesn’t shine bright enough and the dark is too encompassing, ravishing an already ravaged soul because you’re not there to hold. I know what loving you looks like. I see it in the mirror every single fucking day. I know.” I shake my head and give a little shrug. “It ain’t him.” That shuts her up. But knowing Willow, not for long. I’ve just stunned her a bit. I mean every damn word though. Before she can argue that with me, before she can slice away at my soul with ugly fucking words about how he's not me and remind me of what I threw away, I move closer to her. Reaching past her, I notice when she sucks in a breath at my nearness and brush my fingers over the

keys of the piano. Imagining that I’m able to feel the touch of her hands underneath mine on the ivories. Without taking my eyes off my own fingers I demand huskily, “Play it for me, Wills. Sing me my song.” She shifts away from me just slightly, drawing my eyes to her. Willow shakes her head, “No.” Her voice is strained and I can see that she’s fighting herself but I’m not sure what she’s fighting. So I push for more of a reaction. Because if she’s feeling, even if it’s anger, I’m getting to her. “You want me to? I listened to it on the way over here. Over and over again. I can tell he didn’t change it. It’s all you. All me.” My eyes fall to her throat when I see her swallow tightly. “Should we play it together? Just like we used to? You know how that will end though, don’t you, Birdie?” I taunt. When she doesn’t say anything I go on. “It will end with me fucking you on this piano just like I have on the one at home so many times before.” I allow my fingers to dance over the keys, making them tinkle softly throughout the studio. “I’d play you just like this baby grand. With fingers on your skin, inside you, making the sweetest fucking music, just me and your body.” With a half smirk, I look up at her through the hair that’s fallen into my eye. “Come on, Birdie, sing it with me.” Watching her, I slide the sucker in my mouth, rolling it around before popping it back out. “Mmmm, watermelon. My favorite. I can still taste you every time.” A slow grin touches my lips at her flustered appearance. Feeling. Feeling is good. Just then Judge steps into the studio. Looking at first Willow and then me. “Hey guys. We okay in here?” he questions. “Take your friend home, Judge. Back to Austin. Please,” Wills demands. Pulling the stick free, I ask, “You coming back home?” “This is my home,” she says heatedly. “I thought you'd say that. Let's go look at those houses, Judge.” I turn and slap him on the back, a second away from walking out. “What the hell do you mean, Stone? What the fuck are you playing at?” “Oh, Birdie, I'm not playin.' If you're staying here with my daughter, this is where I'll be,” I assure her calmly. “She's my daughter, Stone!” Willow huffs out, thoroughly exasperated with me. “Lyric’s mine. Go back to Austin.” “You keep telling yourself that, I've done the math. You're stubborn but you're no cheat.” “No, that's all you,” she spits out at me. And I can't even fucking argue. I was a piece of shit boyfriend when I was high. And I did her dirty. But that's all done and I have a lot of making up to do. “That's not who I am anymore.” Truest words I've spoken in a long time. “Come on, Judge.” I walk out into the sound room while Judge stays behind to calm a totally pissed off Willow. I don't want her mad, but if it's all she's gonna give me, I'm gonna take it. Waiting by the door of the studio for Judge, sucker firmly in my mouth, I watch him come toward me, a frown on his face. He’s already ditched the tie; I can see it dangling from the pocket of his suit jacket. I get all-business, band manager Judge today. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“She still mad at me?” “Mad is an understatement. Are you sure you want to push her so hard right now, Stone? I mean, she wasn’t happy to see you as it was, and now . . .” He trails off. We step outside where I trade my sucker for a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling before turning to him. “Can’t make her happy; mad is all I’ve got right now. I fucked up for months and then had to take nearly a year and a half to get my shit right. She’s pissed as hell with every right to be, and now she has a boyfriend. A boyfriend, Judge. That shit ain’t right.” With another drag I look away before speaking again, staring off into the distance. “She’s all I’ve ever wanted, I just lost sight of that, ya know? And now she’s got my kid. And I’m doing my best to not be mad that she didn’t tell me, because I didn’t deserve to know. But now I’m clean and I need them both.” Glancing at Judge who stands quietly with his hands in the pockets of his pants, rocking back on his fancy shoes, and I shrug. “So, mad is better than nothing, bro. It’s the nothing that I can’t take.” He nods in understanding, “Then let’s go buy you a house.”

Two hours and eight houses later, and I’m the proud new owner of a detached—who knew that was going to be such a fucking issue—four-bedroom house about three blocks from Willow. Farther than I wanted, but as close as I could get. We are just walking out of the lawyer ’s office when I get a text from my sister. Scar: You can stop avoiding me. I know you guys broke up. I just want to talk. Me: Sorry I didn’t tell you. Shit’s fucked up. I’ll call tonight. Scar: You better xoxox “Was that Lawson?” Judge asks, as he fires up the rental. “No, Scarlet. She figured out that Wills and I broke up.” I hate that word. Hate saying it out loud. It makes it all too fucking real. “So now what?” He steers the SUV onto Queen and back toward the hotel. “Not sure. I’ll call her tonight and see if she wants to come hang here with me now that I have the house or if she wants to just stay in Austin where she can be alone.” “Is she all right?” he asks, clearly concerned. “I’m not sure. She says yes but Addy said something’s going on but that Scar doesn’t want to talk about it.” Popping a lolli, I say around the stick, “I can barely deal with my shit right now; she might want to stay in Austin.” “Hasn’t she been in London for the last few years? Is she just visiting or what?” “She’s been there the last three years, a nanny. And the way she’s talking, I think she’s back permanently. At least, that’s what I’m picking up on.” I shift in my seat to face him, “What’s going on with the knocked up model?” He cringes. “Still knocked up. Swears it’s my kid and I told her I’d pay for all of her care, but I

don’t want a paternity test ’til after the baby is born.” “Why not? What if you pay all this money and it’s not your kid, Judge?” I ask him, confused. Judge is a meticulous, brilliant business man. This is unlike his ass. “What the hell is it gonna cost, Stone? I mean, seriously.” “True, but it’s fucking principle.” “It’s dangerous for the baby. I’ve been doing some research.” He shrugs. “I’d rather wait. The money doesn’t matter to me. But hurting the baby just to get some answers now that I can get in a few months,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just wait.” Judge looks over at me. “Speaking of babies . . .” Blowing out a long, heavy breath, I shake my head, “I’m trying not to push her, ya know? I mean, I know Lyric is mine, and I just want to hold her and love on her.” I smile ruefully. “But I can’t get Wills on board. I’m just going to keep on poppin’ up every fucking where she is. Something’s gotta give eventually.” “And Joaquin?” Judge asks hesitantly. “Fuck him. He knew who she was when he went after her. I’m coming at them both with everything I got and I’m not even a little sorry about it.” I dig my Zippo out of my pocket for something to do with my hands and start flicking it open and closed over and over. “He couldn’t be any more different from me if he tried. Does that make him better for her?” My question hangs in the air for a moment too long and suddenly I just want to snatch it back. Finally, Judge speaks. “Not better, no. He seems like he cares for her, and she looked happy, but different isn’t better. Willow’s your safe spot; she doesn’t need someone just as safe. She needs that wild love you guys shared because it fires her up, makes her more alive.” Pulling into the valet line at the hotel he looks over at me. “She’s different now though, and I’m not sure how much of that is him, and how much is from what she went through with you.” Open . . . click . . . closed . . . clack . . . open . . . click . . . closed . . . clack. “She’s Wills. I can’t quit her. I need her, bro. I need her, to be me.” With trembling hands, I slide the lighter back into my pocket and murmur to myself, “My rhythm.”

Willow “YOU KNOW, YOU KEEP COMING here every day and they’re going to like give you your own VIP booth

or some shit.” “They might.” I laugh, spooning more food into Lyric’s mouth, smiling when that dimple in her cheek pops. “I love it here. It’s quiet, it’s chill, and they have killer sweet treats,” I tell her, looking around Spun fondly. “Can’t argue that. But you have to admit you’ve been here a ton lately. Why?” Perry is too smart. Sighing loudly, I wipe a smear of banana off Lyric’s chin. “Stone doesn’t know to look for me here. He pops up randomly every damn place else. I just can’t deal with him right now. I’m hoping he gets tired of all the cat and mouse BS and just goes home to Austin.” The jar of food now empty I get up and toss it, using that time to think about how much I don’t want to talk to Perry about this. Plopping back in the chair I watch her watch me. “What, Per? Just ask whatever it is that you’re trying not to ask.” “Do you want him to leave? I mean, you’re with JD, and he’s hot as hell. Gorgeous. Pretty near perfect, actually. But we’re talking about Stone fucking Lockhart, Willow.” She lowers her voice and glances around to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. “Stone. Lockhart. Lead singer of Wrecked. And you’re telling me that you want him to go away?” Her hazel eyes are big as saucers, free of makeup the freckles that cover so much of her stunning face stand out, red hair in a high pony, brushing her ears as she tilts her head and just stares at me like I’m absolutely insane. Maybe I am, but there’s so much she doesn’t know, wouldn’t understand, and I’m not ready to tell her. “It’s complicated. I do know that at this moment I want him gone more than I want him here. Does that count?” “I suppose it does. I just think you should take one giant step back and look at what I see,” she says, sipping her coffee. “And what’s that?” “I see you torn. You have this great guy, but then here’s the love of your life. And I truly believe Stone’s the love of your life. You don’t disappear and move to another country to get away from someone you can resist unless that person is a psycho who beats up on ladies, and I’m pretty sure

that’s not your boy. I saw the two of you together before stuff got bad. I remember the first time I met you guys. I did a cover shoot for their album, and I thought, this is what relationship goals look like. The two of you oozed love and respect, and it was beautiful.” Perry leans forward. “You’re torn, and torn isn’t fair to any of you. Don’t do that to yourself or them.” She’s right, about all of it. But to hear it come from her puts so much truth to all of it. A huge weight on my shoulders that I’m being unfair to JD. That’s not what I want. Stone was the love of my life, but a part of that love died sixteen months ago, and I’m not sure that’s a part of me that can ever be revived. And what about Joaquin? Stone’s right, he may not love me yet, but he cares about me and I care about him. I’m just not sure I’m capable of loving him, or anyone, the way I did Stone at one time, and I’m not sure that’s fair. More confused than ever, I look at my friend watching me with a sad expression, “What do I do, Per?” I ask as I pull Lyric from the highchair and snuggle her onto my lap. Needing her little self to anchor me. “That I can’t answer for you, my friend. But talking to them might help.” Perry’s right. I’m not ready to talk to Stone yet. But Joaquin, him I want to talk to. He had to leave early this morning to go to Quebec. Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a text to him. Me: Dinner at my house tonight? Joaquin: I’ll be there as soon as I’m done here. Me: Perfect see you then xoxox Joaquin: Bisous “Which one was that?” I sputter out a laugh. “You make me sound like a ho bag.” “Definitely not a ho bag, though if I were in your shoes . . .” Perry trails off, trying to hide her mischievous smile behind her mug. “I’ll just live vicariously through you while I give my vaggie patch a vibing.” “Oh my God, I die.” My laughter can’t be controlled, which makes Lyric giggle. Thankfully she can’t understand what the hell her Aunt Perry just said. “I need to go to the grocery, wanna come?” I ask when I can finally breathe again. “I would love to but I have to go home and get this shoot edited and to the magazine by tonight. I’ll come over if I get finished in time though.” “Nope, JD is coming over for dinner.” “Oooh la la,” she mocks in an exaggerated French accent. “Shut up, twat. I’ll save you some leftovers.” “Of Joaquin or dinner?” Eyelashes batting in innocence until once again we’re laughing uncontrollably. “Thanks, Per. I needed that. I feel like I haven’t had a whole lot to laugh about in too long. You’re my tribe, woman.” “And you’re mine, and never ever allowed to leave me. Seriously,” she deadpans and then grins. “Okay, I gotta go. Call me if you need me, and if you need to sample the goods to make a choice, I

will take one for the team and watch homemade sex tapes if I must.” Rolling my eyes, “Not a bad idea, pervy Perry. I’ll keep that in mind.” I stand to leave, Lyric on my hip, when my phone rings with a way too familiar number. How? “Which one is that?” she jokes again. Ignoring her question, I pass Lyric to her, my face pinched. “Stone? How did you get this number?” Perry leans in, pressing her ear to mine. “Birdie, I spent over a year looking for your ass. I made sure I got your number,” he chuckles. I shake Perry off as she yanks on my arm excitedly. This girl. “What do you want? You calling to say goodbye?” “You ready to go back to Austin?” he volleys. “You know my answer to that.” “I do. That’s why I’m calling to invite you to a little housewarming party I’m throwing. Nothing big. Probably just dinner. Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. You can help me . . . christen my new place like we did ours. I can dig out all the watermelon lollies if you want,” he drawls seductively. I hate myself for reacting to his gravelly voice, and the memory of what he’s done to me with those lollipops. “You remember, dontcha, Wills?” His voice is a low rumble. “I painted your pussy inside and out with that watermelon-flavored lollipop, making you taste even sweeter than you already do. And what did you do?” My breathing is ragged. I should tell him to shut up, but I can’t form words. “You came all over it,” he says huskily. “You remember what I did after that, huh, Birdie? I put it in my mouth and sucked all of you off that sucker before popping it into your pretty mouth so that you could taste too,” Stone groans, the sound making my nipples tighten and skin tingle. “I’ll never eat another watermelon lolli without tasting your pussy, Wills.” I hang up. Before he can say another word, I hang up. I forgot that Perry had even been listening until she said, a little dazed and flustered, “Holy shit. Did you come? I think I just came.” I sigh, flustered and dazed myself and take Lyric from her arms. “He has that effect on people.” “Did he say he bought a house? Here?” Perry asks, clearly perplexed. “Yep. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it was right next door to mine,” I mumble. “Oh, sweetie. You are so fucked. He’s determined.” “You have no idea.”

Just as I’m tucking a sleeping Lyric into her crib I hear the doorbell. With a last look at my daughter, I grab the monitor and tiptoe out of the room and then fly down the stairs. “Sorry. I was just laying Lyric down—” I say in a rush only to have the words fall short. “I’m sorry I missed that, Birdie,” Stone says, leaning casually against the door frame, hands in his pockets. “Mind if I come in?” he asks, flashing me a smile. “No. You need to go.” “Joaquin must be on his way over, huh? It’s okay, Wills. I promise not to cause any trouble,” he

lies. Frustrated with him for the third time today, I ask exasperated, “Why are you back, Stone? Why now? I have a man who doesn't cheat on me or go and get high and leave me in a strange city because he’s so coked up he forgot that I was at the hotel waiting for him,” I say bitterly. “You're right, Wills. I have done that shit. All of it and I'm not proud of a single moment I spent fucked up when I was with you.” He runs his fingers roughly through his hair before puffing out a breath and asking, “Does he write you songs when he can't find the words to tell you how he feels? Does he write the lyrics on your skin so that you can feel them? Does he play the guitar or the piano for you when you can't sleep?” Bending at the knees he takes my chin in his hand and his eyes trace my face before landing on mine. “I fucked up, and I promise you, I'm done. I've been sober, completely clean, for almost a year, and I plan on staying that way for the rest of my life,” Stone says earnestly. “Not one pill or bump was worth losing you. Not my highest high made me feel the way you do. I was just too stupid to realize it. I know she’s mine, Birdie. I know she is. And I don't blame you a bit for keeping her from me, but that's all over now. I'm telling you right here, right now. I'm here, and I’m not going anywhere. I want my family.” The determination in his voice makes me nervous. Causes a pang in my already tender heart. This is Stone. He won’t quit. Before I have a chance to deny his claims, to tell him none of it matters anymore, a voice comes from the walkway. “Willow? Everything okay here? Is this a bad time?” Joaquin asks. “If I say yes will you leave?” Stone questions, not taking his eyes off me. “If Willow wants me to, yes. She’s a big girl, she can make decisions for herself.” JD’s voice is tight. “I know what she is. More than you ever will.” Stone turns his head slightly, not bothering to face Joaquin fully. Before this can escalate, I step around him. “Everything is fine, JD. Stone was just leaving,” I inform them both, turning to glare at Stone pointedly. “Indeed I was. You two have a lovely fucking night.” He steps forward as if to leave and catches me by surprise with a kiss to my cheek, which ends up being more the corner of my mouth than the actual cheek. I jump from the shock of the kiss. The electricity that shoots through every limb at the feel of his lips on me and the actual jolt of him being so bold. Stone backs away, a smirk on the mouth that was just on mine, but I can see what that simple yet complex kiss did to him. “Bye, Birdie. I’ll see you later,” he says quietly before shouldering past Joaquin, hands deep in his pockets, whistling as he saunters loose limbed down the street, confirming my fear that the house he bought is too close. Shaking my head, I turn my attention to a frowning Joaquin. “Is he going to be a problem?” he asks bluntly. “Yes,” I answer just as bluntly, making him grimace, but then chuckle. “At least you’re honest.” “Always. I’ll never lie to you, Joaquin.” Nodding, “I know it, chérie. It’s not who you are.”

I reach my hand out for him to take. “Come in, let me feed you.” Dinner is a little tense at first, both of us thinking about the scene with Stone I’m sure, but everything is fine by the time we get everything cleaned up and settle on the couch. “You keep feeding me like that and I’m going to need to start hitting the gym,” he jokes. As he lays his head in my lap, the sound of James Bay quietly fills the room. “He reminds me a lot of you,” I tell him. “He’s so soulful and his voice so pure. Just like you.” Running my fingers through his hair, I look down at him and smile. Content in this moment, the earlier debacle a distant memory. Until he speaks. “What happened between you and Stone?” he asks quietly. I look at him startled. “What?” “You and Stone? What happened? It's obvious he still loves you and you yourself have told me that there's a part of you that will always love him—” “JD—” I interrupt guiltily. I remember that very brief conversation early in our relationship. “No, chérie, it's okay. I just want to understand your relationship with him a little better. Can you do that for me?” He shifts us so that it’s me lying down now. Blinking back the tears that are already forming, I nod. How can I deny him anything? He's been so good to me. So giving and understanding. And he deserves to know the truth. So with my head in his lap and him stroking my hair, silently brushing away my tears, I tell him. All of it. All of the pretty and the ugly. I tell him about the highs of loving Stone and the desperately low lows. And all the while he just listens. The only indication of his feelings is the tensing of his body underneath me. When I'm finished, and the tears are still flowing, I look up at him and expect to find pity or disgust on his face, but all I see are chocolate eyes shimmering with his own tears and pride, compassion, maybe even love. “All this time you've said nothing. To anyone looking at you, they would never see the hurt, the pain, right under the surface. You're so brave, Willow.” Embarrassed, I also feel a sense of relief. Like a weight has been lifted. So few know the whole story, the real story. I’ve shared a piece of me that I keep hidden from the world. It’s a testament of how much I trust this man. It’s a great feeling. One I’ve not had in awhile. “Let me stay tonight. I need to be close to you,” Joaquin says softly, coasting a finger down the side of my face. Without meeting his eyes, I start hesitantly, “JD . . . I—” “Shhh, I just want to hold you. Nothing more.” I don’t know how to explain to him that the thought of being in bed with him terrifies me. How many virile men can and would just “sleep” in bed with their girlfriend? None that I know. So I reach. “Lyric still doesn’t sleep through the night, she’ll end up waking you up.” “Let her. I’ll get up and you can stay in bed. Let me do this for you. Hell, for me. I promise, I only want to be near you. I understand that you’re not ready for more. I can see it written all over your face right now, and I swear to you I would never push you. I’m happy to just be with you.” The sincerity in his voice is my undoing.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.” He smiles. And just like that, I invite another man into my bed other than Stone for the first time in . . . ever.

Stone SITTING ON THE BACK PORCH of my new place with the guys, who have all moved out of the hotel and

into the house, I listen to Judge making a to-do list . . . out loud. “Okay, Addy is helping your sister pack up some of your stuff now, the moving truck will be there tomorrow to pick it up and pack up the other things you wanted,” he says. “Did you tell Addy where to find the box of letters?” I ask, inhaling from the cigarette clamped between my fingers. “I did. And the picture and your Fender and your truck keys.” “Oh, good. I love my Martin, but now that we’re out of the hotel, I need to shred. We’ll have to get someone over here to work on a studio.” Nobody says anything. They don’t tell me that I’m getting ahead of myself, or that I might not be here that long. Judge just nods and lets his fingers fly over the iPad. I’m glad. I don’t want to have to drop the bomb on them that I’m here to stay just yet. As long as Wills is here, together or not, this is where I’ll be. “I also want you to find a decorator and have them turn one of the bedrooms upstairs into a nursery.” Again, a nod and flying fingers. I don’t dare look at Law or Arrow because if they even hint at the possibility of Lyric never being in it, I’ll wig the fuck out. “Have we heard from the label yet with the dates for the promo tour?” Arrow asks, looking up from his phone. “Addy is going to fax that schedule over to me this afternoon. They were trying to come to an agreement with a couple of the talk shows on dates. One is going to be an outdoor show in New York.” Judge puts the tablet down and leans back in his chair. I take another drag and go to flipping my lighter open and closed. It’s becoming an annoying habit. The last time I was in New York was the day that Willow walked away. I need another reminder of that night like I need a fucking hole in my head. “Speaking of dates, we have the award show next month. I just got the email confirming our presence and your performance. I’m sure that Law told you while you were in Paradise that we were nominated for Group of the Year again.” When he doesn’t say anything more, though I can tell that he wants to, I glance up at Judge and see him watching me.

“Yeah, he did.” I wait and still he just looks at me. “What, bro?” I ask on an exhale of blue smoke. “Joaquin will be there. He’s been nominated. He’ll also be performing . . .” “Do you know which song?” Gut churning, I pray to whoever the fuck will listen that it’s not Willow’s song. I’m sure it is when Judge doesn’t say anything. “We’re doing a song off the new album then,” I insist. “Stone, be reasonable. You guys haven’t been in the studio in weeks, and you haven’t rehearsed any of them enough.” “We don’t need a lot of time to rehearse,” Arrow interjects. “We know them. Plus, we’ll be doing them all on this promo tour, so we need to be ready.” He turns to me. “We can do any song you want. I’m pretty sure I know what your choice is, and I’m fine with that.” With raised eyebrows I look over at Law. “I’m down for whatever, bro. You know me.” “See how easy that was, Judge?” I smirk. “You just leave the music to the professionals.” He flips me the bird and then sighs heavily. “You guys are a pain in my fucking ass.” “We can’t just let him have her, Judge. He didn’t just take Willow away from Stone, he took her away from us too. Fuck that French prick,” Arrow curses. He’s usually the laidback lover-not-fighter type. To see him so riled up is almost funny. “Nobody is taking anyone. She’s not his hostage, Ro,” Judge reminds him. “Whatever. It’ll still be fun to fuck with him, and playing any of the new stuff is bound to piss him off.” I take a drag from my smoke. He’s so damn right. It might also piss Willow off, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Over and over again. I’ve never fought fair or played by the rules in my life. I’m not about to start now. Law chuckles. “When the hell did you become so mean?” “I’ve been hanging around with you assholes too long,” Ro answers, shrugging. “Now that that’s settled, anything else you want to throw at us?” I ask Judge who still doesn’t look happy about the plan for the award show. “The label wants to know why Koa isn’t here with you and why you left Dane in Austin,” he answers calmly. “And what did you tell them?” I’m not quite as calm. It’s none of their business what the fuck I do and who I have with me. “I told them that who you have with you and when isn’t their concern,” Judge tells me. Not even batting an eye. “Good.” He’s not finished. “That’s what I told them, now I’m asking for me.” Law shifts in his seat and Ro clears his throat. Both waiting for me to lose my shit. “Because I don’t need them here,” I answer flatly. “You don’t need your sobriety coach or your bodyguard? The band’s bodyguard?” “No, bro, I don’t. I’ve been fine without Koa here. You or Law go to meetings with me if I feel off, and these Canadians don’t care who the fuck we are. It’s not the same as the States,” I try to

reassure him. When he just stands staring at me, much the way he’s been doing all damn day, I raise my hands in question. “Do you want me to call Dane, see how soon he can fly here? Will that make you feel better?” I ask sarcastically. “Yes, actually it would, asshole,” Judge says. “Now that you’re living here, you’ll create more of a buzz. I think we need him here. You need him here. Especially if you’re going to be spending time with Lyric.” He should’ve just led with that. All he had to do was mention her name. Pulling out my phone I shoot a text to Dane. He’s been our bodyguard since high school. He followed us to all our gigs without us even asking, just a solid, scary as fuck presence. Me: Get here Dane: See you tomorrow Me: Pack your long johns Dane: You’ll keep me warm Me: Damn right “He’ll be here tomorrow.” I grin and slide my phone onto the table. Ro and Law snicker at our standoff. Before I can bust his nuts anymore, the doorbell rings. “Who knows where you live?” Judge asks suspiciously. “Just you guys. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?” While Judge and I stare each other down, Law goes and answers the door. Moments later Law comes back with our visitor, a smile on his face. Shit’s about to hit the fan, and if I didn’t know better—which I do—Law is excited about it. Joaquin steps from behind Law, and I can see that there’s something new in his eyes today that wasn't there before. Malice and hate. For me. “Well, well, well. To what do I owe this honor?” I ask jovially, kicking back on two legs of the chair and lighting another cigarette. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches me watch him through the haze of my smoke. The guys all sitting, watching this play out, letting me handle him. “Why don't you do us all a favor and just go back to wherever you came from,” Joaquin bites out. Cutting right to the chase. “Do Willow a favor and leave. You've put her through enough already. And I'm sure your friends would like to go home,” he says, glowering down at me. Letting the chair legs slam down, I stand. “You don't know shit about shit. I'm here for my girl, and I'm not leaving.” “You're not wanted here, Stone. She’s not going to just come running back to you. You lost her loyalty long ago.” His stupid fucking accent grates on my nerves, the words even more so, and I snap. “She’s my girl!” I yell, jaw clenched and pulse in my neck throbbing. Joaquin grins lazily, goading me with a shrug. “That's your first mistake. You call her 'your girl' all you want because she's not that young, naïve,

faithful to a fault girl anymore. She's a woman. My woman. And you need to accept that.” “The fuck I will.” I stand exhaling in his direction, hoping he can't see the tremble of my hands from the need to beat the shit out of him. “She’s your woman? That’s cute. Has she ever sung for you? In the middle of the night, sitting there, naked, singing like a damn angel in the moonlight. Voice so pretty it’ll make your dick hard.” I smirk at the tightening in his jaw. “I’m guessing that's a no. Come talk to me when she has. Until you've met that Willow, you don't know her and she's not yours.” Pointing my cigarette at him, I narrow my eyes. “Those are my memories. The Willow I've had the privilege to know and experience. That side of her belongs to me. Without that you only have pieces of her. I'm the glue that puts all her pieces together. All of those beautiful broken pieces are mine to fix. You're just a bystander. Wishing and hoping he had the same bond that we do.” Taking a slow, calming drag from my cigarette, I blow the smoke from my nose before releasing the rest in a gray stream from the corner of my already upturned mouth. “You can never be me, and therefore Willow can never be yours,” I inform him matter-of-factly. Joaquin's breathing is labored, his fists clenched. My own muscles are bunched in anticipation. When he spits at my feet, and says something snidely in French, I have to put an arm out to stop Law from taking his ass to task. “Nah, leave him, Lawson. The truth hurts like a motherfucker sometimes. Doesn't it, Joaquin?” “The truth is you're a recovering addict who fucked up the best thing in your life and now you're panicking because she’s moved on.” He takes a step closer. “You don't scare me, rock star. It won't be long before you tire of being sober or waiting for something that will never happen. Willow isn't coming back.” “Willow’s my rhythm. You don't know nothing about that though,” I taunt. “And what's a rock star without rhythm, Joaquin? He’s a man with no soul. Soulless, reckless, and a little desperate. None of that bodes well for you.” I flick my cigarette, sending it flying past his face and into the pot in the corner. Smirking when he takes a step back. “Don't get too comfortable—my stamina is beast. I'll just keep coming at you over and over. I've got no soul and no shame. I'll run your ass out and not lose a bit of sleep over it.” Winking at him I lean forward and say in a not-so-quiet whisper, “Ask Wills to tell you all about my stamina. She's got stories for days.” The last is called after his retreating back and the brutal slam of the front door. “Well, that went well,” Judge says from behind me. I snort out a laugh. Smart ass. “I’m not sure who you're trying to torture with that memory lane shit. You or Joaquin, bro,” Arrow jokes, slapping me on the shoulder and then elbowing Law. “And look at you about to throw down defending his honor. It was so fucking romantic I nearly swooned.” I say nothing and light another cigarette. Chain smoking because I need an outlet. “He's got balls coming here,” Law sneers. He’s still clearly heated over the exchange. “Speaking of that shit, how in the fuck did he find out where I live so quick?” I turn, asking Judge. “You guys are with the same label, Stone. They have this address now. My bet is he had someone ask somebody at the label.” “Makes sense. Think he'll be back?” I question, plucking at my bottom lip, almost hopeful.

“No. I'm pretty sure he's all done welcoming you to his country,” Judge says, causing us all to snicker. “I thought Canada was known for its hospitality and shit. If he's the welcoming committee, I need to talk to someone.” “How about we just concentrate on finding a studio until we can get someone here to build one, huh?” Judge shakes his head. “Make my job easy for once, Stone.” “Where’s the fun in that, Judge?” Law asks, a grin taking up his whole face. “Fuck you, Lawson. You guys are a pain in my ass and don’t pay me nearly enough to put up with your shit.” “You love us, Judge. Don’t front,” I taunt. The confrontation with Joaquin has left me on edge but being with these guys helps so much. Helps me keep my focus, stay grounded. I’m not about to stroke their cocks and tell them that though. As I’m thinking about that, a thought occurs to me. A brilliant fucking thought. “There’s a studio at The Dirty Bird. A top of the line studio.” Judge raises his eyebrows. “You wanna call Bear or should I.” Pulling out my phone, I grin. “Nah, I’ll call him. Just so you know, we’ll probably have to pay him double.” “I’m thinking at least triple,” Arrow chimes in. “You’re right. He fucking hates me. Triple it is.”

Willow WALKING THE RED CARPET AGAIN is both exciting and nerve wracking. I never got used to it the many

times I made the glamorous trek with Stone, and now I feel like I’m sneaking onto it. Me, on another man’s arm. Part of me feels wrong and the other part is screaming at me to knock it off. I’ve been without Stone for almost two years now. The last few months of that time with JD. I don’t owe Stone anything, but I owe it to JD to be present tonight. It’s important to him. I grit my teeth and force a smile when I overhear announcers from one of the magazines talking about us. They stand, talking animatedly into the camera from their location a few feet away as they wait for us to make our way over. Pretending that I don’t hear them, I hold my head high. When Joaquin tenses his fingers around mine, I’m certain that he’s heard them. That very silly thought about me being disloyal to Stone is made even more real in that moment as the two gossips keep talking. “Joaquin Danjou is on the red carpet tonight with Willow Avery. The last time we saw Willow here, she was with Stone Lockhart, Wrecked front man and her long time boyfriend, who oddly enough is here tonight as well. It might turn into a more interesting show than we expected since both men are nominated for awards and are set to perform.” As we approach the duo, Joaquin kisses my temple and bends to my ear. “Smile, chèrie. Don’t let them see you crack, we’ll be inside soon.” I look up at him, nodding. It’s not fair to him that they keep bringing Stone into our relationship. I didn’t want to come tonight because of this very reason, but how could I say no to him? He asks me for nothing and gives me everything. I owe him my support. I want him to know I’m here. For him. Doing as he says, I smile prettily at the pair waiting for us and clutch at his arm just a little tighter. Finally, we make it to the end of the line and are posing for our last picture when a ruckus of cheering and screaming has me turning my head to see what the commotion is. It’s then that I see him. Stone. Our eyes meet when he pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head, his grays pinning me to the spot. His white dress shirt is tucked into his black jeans, sleeves rolled to his elbows, letting his ink add to the dangerously sexy picture he paints. All paired with a black vest and tie. Still letting me look my fill, his gaze flicks to Joaquin standing beside me and then down to our joined hands before meeting my stare again. Stone places a tattooed hand over his heart as if to tell me I wound him. It’s

the only move he makes as people bustle by. Swirling skirts and camera flashes and still we don’t look away. Without taking his eyes from me or removing the hand from over his heart, he reaches back into the limo and one by one I see canary yellow Manolos hit the pavement. Slim, endless legs following. I feel a familiar pang. Just like every time before when I’d catch him with someone who wasn’t me. So deep and true it's piercing. But what right do I have? None. I'm here with another man, and Stone . . . Stone is here with another woman. The moment is broken when Joaquin’s voice breaks through the tempestuous fog I find myself in. “You okay, beautiful?” Quickly turning my attention to him I nod. “Yes. Just blinded by all the flashes and trying not to melt in this dress,” I lie with a heavy heart. When will Stone ever not affect me? When will he ever not hurt me? When? When will I stop allowing it? “Let’s get you inside then,” JD says, placing a hand to the small of my back and guiding me forward and away from Stone and his date.

Awkward is sitting in a theater filled to capacity with the world’s most talented musicians while your new beau sits on stage, spotlighted in a halo of light singing his heart out, crooning a song that you wrote about another man sitting in that very same theater. Knowing that Stone knows that I wrote this song and that I wrote it about him has my emotions in a riot. My insides nothing but chaos and despair when I should be happy and proud. Awkward is not tearing your gaze from the beautiful man standing before you, eyes closed as he makes love to your words because you’re afraid of who you’ll seek out. Awkward is loving the wrong man but hating him almost as much, all while adoring the right one. When it’s time for Stone’s performance, I use the excuse of checking on Lyric to get out of there. There’s no way that I can sit next to Joaquin for that. I’ve heard the song and know that it’s about me and about his fight to get me back now that he’s sober. I was moved beyond words when JD played my song. But Stone’s music invades my soul. It always has, and I refuse to allow it to tonight. Joaquin is no fool—he knows why I left at that particular moment, and gentleman that he is, he let me with nothing more than a smile and a soft kiss to my temple. Once I’ve called Bear and Cora to see how Lyric is and am reassured no less than ten times that she’s doing fine, I go to the ladies’ room and pretend like I’m not killing time. Finally, sure that it’s safe to go back into the theater, I make my way to my seat next to Joaquin. They’re just getting ready to announce Best Duet, which means that one of the categories he’s nominated for tonight is next. He smiles at me and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze reassuringly. Moments later, neither of us speaks as his name is called and the cameras pan over to gauge his reaction. I hold my breath and pray that he wins, and then I pray again that he doesn’t. I hate that I do, but it all comes back to Stone. The magical moments that I shared with him. The pride would absolutely consume me. Bring me to tears. I never for one second thought that I would share that feeling with someone else or be expected to. All while

Stone’s in the same place at the same time. I want so badly to look around, find him in the crowd. Make a connection even if it’s just a glance. Not for him, for me. I don’t even realize that JD’s name has been called until he stands and pulls me up with him. He leans in while the room around us erupts in applause and kisses me on each cheek before placing his lips over mine. I can taste the excitement in his kiss, and it sends a ping to my heart, which is quickly followed by a pang. What if Stone is witness to this moment? Yet another one I've shared with him on more than one occasion. I loathe myself for being so preoccupied with Stone tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s here with someone else. That should make me feel less guilty about being here with Joaquin, but it doesn’t. JD releases me and smiles before heading for the stage and bounding up the stairs. Taking his award, he waves and dips his head humbly and then starts speaking in his beautiful, accented voice. “This isn't the first award that I've won, but this one holds special meaning. It's this song that brought a very special woman into my life and her music to my soul.” I smile through the tears as he lifts the award in my direction and then continues on with his thank yous. His happiness is infectious, overshadowing my guilt in that moment. About twenty minutes later, I’m reminded once again about what awkward is when Wrecked wins for Rock Group of the Year and the whole band goes up on stage. They let Stone go first and step back after they’ve accepted their statuettes, waiting for him to speak. When he doesn't, Lawson leans into the mic and thanks everyone from the label on their behalf, Judge, everyone who makes it all happen, the usual. Ro does the same and I can't help the small smile that touches my lips. I'm happy for them. I miss them all so much. They come and see me, but it’s not the same. Ro takes a step back and nudges a still reluctant Stone. When he finally does stand at the podium I swear he looks right at me. It’s not possible, but it doesn't squash the feeling. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Everyone they thanked, the fans who make this all possible, but above all else, Willow. She’s the rhythm, I’m just the man behind it.” He raises his award in thanks and saunters off the stage, the melancholy of the moment following him just as my eyes do. I want to go and hug him. Congratulate him and tell him not to look so damn sad. But how can I when I’m just as sad? Sad that I have no right to do any of that with Stone, even though the man sitting next to me, allowing me this moment, just won an award for a song I wrote and I got to do all of that with him. Tearing my gaze away from Stone, I glance over to find Joaquin watching me, melancholy of his own clouding his eyes. I do my best to smile reassuringly at him, and he lets me lie to him and myself.

Willow TWO WEEKS AFTER THE AWARD show I’m just starting to find my groove again. I accept that Stone is

dating someone else, and I’ve convinced myself that I’m finally ready to move forward. The fact that he’s been gone for most of these two weeks is not lost on me and my newfound confidence and my strength when it comes to Stone. Today is Lyric’s first birthday, and Cora and Perry insisted that I throw a huge party. Not that they had to twist my arm. I want nothing more than to celebrate my miracle. In the kitchen with Perry and Joaquin, they sit and talk while I move around the kitchen humming “Love Me Tender” to an almost asleep birthday girl on my shoulder. When the doorbell rings, I wave them away and go to answer it. It’s probably Bear with the cake. Opening the door, my smile slips a little when I see that it’s not Bear but Stone. He stands, a stuffed pink bird with its wings wrapped around her baby and a pretty little gift box in his hands. “Hey, Wills. I came to wish Lyric a happy birthday and bring by her present,” he says, letting his gaze fall to her, love shining in his eyes. Immense guilt washes over me. So I lash out. “Stone, what are you doing here?” “I just told you—” “No, not just here today, I mean here. In Toronto,” I hiss in a low whisper. I don’t want JD to walk up on this. Things are just finally going back to normal after the awards. “I think we both know the answer to that, Birdie.” He grins but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “What’s the matter? Did your girlfriend leave town already?” My tone is nasty, tinged with jealousy. I hate myself for it. “Girlfriend?” Stone asks, confused. “The one that you had on the red carpet with you. It’s fine; you don’t have to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” When he raises his hand to smother a laugh my eyes narrow dangerously. “Birdie, I brought Scar with me to the show. She drove with my truck from Austin and asked if she could go with me since

she’s never been.” My eyes pop wide from their glare. “Scarlet is here?” Oh my God I’m an idiot. A jealous one and now he knows it. “She was. She had to get back though. She wanted to come and see you, but I had to leave town for a couple days, and she felt funny staying on her own here. She wanted me to tell you that she misses you though and to call her.” I shift Lyric, embarrassed at my hasty assumptions. “I miss her too. I’ll call her this week,” He just nods and watches me for a second. It’s the softening of his eyes that I can’t handle. So again I lash out, stepping out on the porch and further away from the occupants inside. “Stone, why do you keep doing this? I don’t want to do this push/pull thing with you anymore.” “Can’t be helped, Wills. You’re my rhythm. I need you, to be me.” I watch the strong column of his throat expand as he swallows, but before he can continue I interrupt him. “No, I used to be a part of the music, Stone, that's when—” “You are the music, Wills!” he whisper-shouts forcefully so as not to wake Lyric. “You are the fucking music. Every verse. Every lyric. Every God damn note is you,” Stone says softer now. “I bleed you, Willow. I sing you! You're the music that lives in my heart. It's always going to be that way; it always has been. Whether we're together or not, whether you admit Lyric is mine or not. It's always going to be you and me, Birdie.” His voice catches on the nickname that before he came back he hadn't used in so long. He drops his head, his hands shoved into his pockets, and I just watch him, tears sneakily streaming down my face. I’m not sure when they started and I’m not sure I can stop them. I want to tell Stone the truth. But I can't without hurting me. Once I tell him, nothing will be the same for either one of us ever again. As it is, he’s trying so hard to convince me to come back to him and I don't want to be that girl anymore. I don't want to be the girl that they whisper about in pity or laugh at when they think she can't hear. I want to be the woman that I've become since I've left him. The woman that loves him still but also loves herself and knows that she can live without him. I'm not sure that he's capable of loving that woman. I'm brought from my thoughts when he raises his head and tags me with his cool gray eyes. Reaching up, he dashes the tears from my cheeks with his calloused fingers. Searching my face with his own tear-filled eyes. “I’ve been a fuck-up all my life, Wills. I fucked up everything because I could, and everyone let me because nobody gave a fuck. I fucked up with you so bad, over and over I fucked up, baby. I know I did. I did you dirty when all you did was love me,” he says shakily. “When I was a nobody playing dive bars, you stood beside me and encouraged me. Once I made it big, you stood behind me and let me shine, and all you ever asked for was my love and respect, and I couldn't even do that shit right, even though I wanted to so fucking badly. So fucking badly,” Stone whispers as he brushes a thumb across my trembling lip. “Wills, I'll never let you go, not really. Please don’t ask me to.” He stops speaking and I stare at his throat and the tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt.

Watching again as he swallows. I close my eyes when he starts speaking in a voice clogged with emotion. “I love you so fucking much, Willow. So much that I'm going to give you the respect you've always wanted and deserve. The tour starts the day after tomorrow, only a few small shows for promo. Tell me to stay and I'm here, Birdie. Just one word and I'll cancel the whole fucking thing, I don't care. You mean more, this baby,” he places a hand over Lyric’s back as she sleeps against me, “means more. Tell me to stay, Wills,” he pleads. I fight the sob trying to break through and raise my head to meet his gaze. Letting my eyes wander over his face, memorizing his every feature, the love and desperation rolling off him in waves, I shake my head no. “You need to go, Stone. The band needs you, the guys, they depend on you,” I tell him on a broken breath. Then stronger, “I need you to go. I can't do this anymore. I cannot be who you need me to be.” Taking a step back, I break his hold on me, replacing his hand on Lyric’s back with my own. “If I let you stay, if I ask you to, I'm not the only one you'll be hurting the next time, and I can't allow that, Stone. I could never inflict that kind of hurt on another person, especially my own child.” The words hurt him. They’re like a punch to the gut; it’s obvious in the way he flinches. When he opens his mouth to say something, the door creaks open behind me. “Stone, I didn’t know you were invited,” Joaquin bites out in a tone about a mile south of welcoming. “Yeah, well, Willow doesn’t tell you everything, I’m sure,” Stone responds, his tone just as chilly. “Probably not, but I know her pretty damn well, and I would bet money that she didn’t invite you over.” “You think you know her, but you don’t. You don't know her, not like I do.” JD shakes his head, ready to argue. “You may know her body,” Stone chokes out, clearly not liking the way the words taste on his tongue if his pinched face is any indication. “The feel of her skin. But you don't know her. You don't know that she likes to be sung to when she can't sleep. Or that she had her heart broken by that asshole Eddie Christensen her junior year. That Arrow took her to prom in place of him and that I hated every minute of it. You don't know that her aunt smelled like roses and would cook for us on Sundays, and you don't know how hard it was for her to say goodbye to the only family she had left.” He looks over at me. I’m barely able to make him out through the tears in my eyes. This Stone is the one I fell in love with, and it kills me that it took losing me, losing himself, to find this version again. “You don't know her. Not like I do.” The words are spoken softly but with conviction and so much truth. Nobody could ever know me the way Stone does. All the heartfelt sentiment lasts about two point five seconds before all hell breaks loose and the hot-headed Stone replaces the sentimental one. Seeing it happen is like watching someone flip a switch to light up a room. Not wanting Lyric to be woken up by the outburst I’m sure is about to come, I step into the house quickly, almost running into an eavesdropping Perry. “Here, let me take her. I think you’re going to need to have all of your senses available to diffuse the situation out there.” Even she knows, from her spot in the window, that shit’s about to go down. Handing her Lyric, I get one foot onto the porch when I hear Stone, who has stalked off the porch

to pace, say, “You’re not needed here. No matter what you’ve been playing at, this is my fucking family. Not yours. My girls!” Stone seethes, thumping a fist against his chest in agitation, possession. “You don’t know shit. You rock star types are all the same, you know that? Everything is always about you, until it’s not,” JD spits out, disgusted, descending the steps after Stone. “I’m not playing at anything. I’m here because Willow wants me here. Why are you here again?” Joaquin asks, a smug, calm look taking over his face. “I’m here for my family. I—“ “They’re not yours! Willow hasn’t been in a long time, and Lyric never was,” Joaquin roars, startling me. I’ve never seen him angry, let alone enraged as he is now. “Tell him, Willow. Tell this selfish piece of shit what happened the night he threw you to the wolves. His precious Wills, tossed out with nothing!” he yells, malice and hate dripping from every word, his accent more pronounced. I gasp, my hand flying to cover my mouth, a strangled “Joaquin” bubbling past my lips. Stone tenses next to me, eyes narrowed and bouncing from a pissed off, pushed to his limits Joaquin to me. There is no stopping the onslaught of tears. They come hard and fast, leaving trails of fire on my already overheated skin. “Birdie?” Stone looks at me for answers. The confusion evident as he steps closer. My arms tight around my middle, I take a step back, the sob caught in my throat escaping. I shake my head no, but it doesn’t matter. Joaquin just keeps talking, his voice fading in and out, wavering like a heat wave on a summer day, bending and shimmering right in front of my eyes. Teasing, promising to burn me. I turn to run away from it, from them, but Stone stops me, “Birdie, please. What is he saying?” His voice is ragged, war torn. And it brings me to my knees. Dropping to the ground, I bury my head in my hands, the pain swallowing me whole, leaving nothing for me to hold on to. Nothing to grasp at, to anchor me to the here and now. I’m blank on big chunks from that horrid night. I don’t want to remember any of them, fight daily to forget, but my mind swirls as JD just drones on, ignorant to what he’s doing to me. What he’s stealing from me. This isn’t his story. Listening to him, while trying to block him out, the memories taking me back to a bar down the street from the posh hotel that I had just been evicted from by the man whom I’ve loved all of my adult life. An innocent, kind smile and an offer of a drink and an ear. I tear at my hair as I recall waking up in a strange motel room, alone and . . . naked from the waist down with a head leaden and fogged. To jackknifing to a sitting position and scrambling to find my pants, finally finding them and shoving my legs into them as I run to escape. Tripping over my shoes and falling onto the door. Of pausing just long enough to snatch up the sandals that had caused me to stumble before yanking open the thin door to the room and breaking out into a cheerfully sunny day, unaware of the violent storm brewing inside of me. “Miss? Miss, are you okay?” I whirl toward the sound of the voice, my head swimming and the glare of the sun throwing me off balance. Staggering, I’m steadied by a gentle hand to my arm. I flinch, yanking my arm back, still willing my vision to adjust. “It’s all right; I’m an officer. I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to reach in my pocket and show you my badge.” His voice is soothing but it still grates

over the rawness of my skin, my ears, the throbbing in my skull. “Here it is, miss.” He flashes me his shiny badge and it’s like a thousand knives to my sensitive eyes. Wincing, I recoil too quickly, listing to the side. “Easy, there. Let me bring you to this bench; we’ll get more help on the way.” The stranger is careful not to touch me and I’m grateful. The thought of his hands on me has me bending at the waist and retching. Stomach tightening painfully, I dry heave, moaning as I do. Before long, I’m being lowered to a gurney and loaded into the back of an ambulance. Talk swirling around me that I understand but don’t want to accept. Possibly homeless . . . no identification . . . Rohypnol . . . rape kit . . . all of these words worse than the last until I just tune them all out and squeeze my eyes shut. When I wake up again, I’m in a curtained off hospital room, a nurse and the same gentleman who helped me earlier speaking quietly in the corner. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat feels full of sandpaper and glass. Rushing over, the nurse lifts a straw to my lips, instructing me in a soothing tone to drink. She asks the man to leave as a doctor walks in. A woman with a face full of compassion and that’s when they tell me. Drugged and raped. I had been drugged and raped a block away from my hotel while my boyfriend laid inside, high, drunk, and most likely with another woman, maybe even a harem of women. Drugged and raped . . . drugged . . . and . . . raped . . . He’s still talking, but I can’t take anymore. This isn’t right, this isn’t his story to tell no matter how far Stone pushed him. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” I yell through my tears. “Stop it right now!” When two strong arms wrap around me and pull me up, I know it’s Joaquin. Struggling at first to move away from him, he tightens his hold. “Shhh, chèrie. Shhh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let him push me. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry.” I can hear the sincerity in his voice, but at that moment I don’t care. I trusted him. Confided in him. My shoulders sag in defeat. I lean back when he tugs me again, into his solid chest, and let him soothe me with soft words, some in French, some in jagged English, as he feathers kisses on the side of my face, in the mass of hair clinging to his beard. In my despair I forgot about Stone standing there until he takes hold of my arm, pulling me from Joaquin's hold as he pushes back on his shoulder. There is anguish and jealousy, fear and trepidation mixed with the confusion of before. It’s all more than I can handle, and I just want to go inside and hold my daughter. To bury my face in her sweet-scented hair and just . . . be. Instead I’m caught between two men, both of whom I care about and both of whom have destroyed my trust. I hear Joaquin let loose a string of curses. And then softly, “Hey there, Lyric, come here to JD, your mama is okay, little songbird,” he soothes. I watch through my tears as he takes my daughter from Perry’s arms and goes back into the house with her. My friend looks worried and torn but finally follows. On unsteady legs I turn, embarrassed, hurt, and exhausted, both mentally and physically, to face Stone only to find him staring at the house, to where Lyric just disappeared. Horrified, he just gapes after her, the look in his eyes pushing me over the edge as he shakes his head in denial. I slap him hard across the face. He reels back, palm to the red imprint of my hand, looking at me in shock. Pain, despair, disbelief . . . guilt flash across his face.

“Don't! Don't you dare look at her like that!” I seethe, rearing back to hit him again. He catches my wrist, restraining me so that I can’t slap him. “She's mine, not his! Mine! She is pure and innocent, every beautiful and decent thing inside me,” I insist, my voice breaking on yet another sob. “You don't get to look at her like that! Ever, Stone. Ever,” I wail as I pound a fist against his chest and he lets me. Over and over until we’re both on the ground and he’s pulling me into his lap. His tears coming as fast as my own. Arms bound around me as I fist his shirt in my hands. “She's mine. My heart’s rhythm. Don't you look at her like she's not,” I cry. My words coming out on hiccupping, body-wracking sobs as I repeat over and over, “She’s mine. She’s mine.” Stone methodically rocks and soothes a hand over my hair to my back and then up again, over and over, working to calm us both. Him knowing is almost a cleansing for me. I feel free of the burden that the secret was, even if I hate how he had to hear it. The pain is always there, always lingering. The fear, the blame, the sadness. Then I look at Lyric, and I’m . . . grateful. That’s not a word anyone should ever use after being raped. But from that ugly, disgusting, and vile darkness came the most beautiful, rewarding light. That’s what I have to hold on to. My daughter and music have helped to heal me when nothing else could. My Lyric, who should be a daily reminder of the horror that I went through, is my saving grace. I tried so hard to shield Stone from the truth, partly because there’s something inside me that blames him, and another larger part of me that wanted to protect him from the ugly because he’s had so much of it in his life. I’ve wanted to tell him so many times, all for different reasons. To hurt him, to scare him away, and sometimes because I needed him. In my weakest moments I wanted to tell him so that he would hold me and make it all okay because he’s always had that power. But once he came back, I couldn’t. I was so afraid that telling him would force him back into a world of drugs, alcohol, and despair, and I couldn’t bear to take that chance when he’s come so damn far. Him knowing now though, is healing in itself. I feel like I’ve taken a giant step out of the darkness that I’m not always aware is shadowing me. I just have to hope that it won’t drown him in his own feelings. I’m not sure how long we sit there in the grass, rocking and crying, sniffling and soothing. Minutes, hours, days. But we’re still there when Cora and Bear pull up, and we must look as horrid as we feel because before the truck rocks to a complete stop, Bear is out and dashing toward us. “What did you do to her, you motherfucker?” he bellows. Lifting me from Stone’s grasp like I’m nothing more than a doll and placing me behind him. When Stone reaches to bring me back into his arms, Bear grabs him by the shirt, winding back to punch him. “Bear, no. Stop. He didn’t do anything,” I shout as I push back on his chest, trying my best to get through to him. Cora flies out of the passenger side to intervene, pulling on his massive arm. “That’s enough. She’s okay, Bear. Listen to Willow,” she soothes. All the time he’s got a hold of Stone who’s not even trying to fight back or protect himself. Looking at him over my shoulder as I strain against Bear ’s weight, Stone looks completely void. His face ashen, his eyes blank, bereft. “Bear, please. Joaquin told him. He knows. He knows,” I choke out.

That gets Bear ’s attention. He instantly straightens, releasing Stone and gathering me as well as Cora in an embrace as she and I cry softly. They’re the only two people aside from my therapists who know what happened that night and that Lyric is the result. They went to doctor ’s appointments with me, discussed options, supported me when I refused those other options vehemently. They know that this is bigger than all of us. My pain is their pain. They’re the family I’ve been missing since I walked away from Stone and the guys. They’re the family I needed even before that. Breaking away when I hear the door open, I look up to see JD on the porch, see the apology on his face, but can’t find it in me to care. His betrayal still raw, cutting too deep. I turn then to Stone whose pain is palpable. I can feel it reaching for me. Calling to me. But again, I’m too raw, too exposed to deal with his when mine is suffocating me. He’s staring at nothing, his hands trembling, shoulders slumped. “Stone.” My voice is little more than a croaked whisper. Slowly he brings his gaze up to mine, but it falls away. Like he can’t look at me. It hurts, but I understand. I’m broken to him now. Tainted. I saw the same thing for months every time I looked in the mirror. I’d rather he not look at me. I don’t want to see the love that always shines in his eyes for me dimmed and replaced with something ugly. I selfishly look for it, every time I see him. “Willow, I—” He scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing the trembling tips of his fingers over his lips again and again. I watch silently as he falls back into the fog my voice snapped him out of. Then quietly, as if an afterthought, “I have to go. I have to—go.” And I let him. Pulling myself together, I walk up to my home, flanked by Cora and Bear, right past JD. Stopping only to pick up the stuffed bird and wrapped present that Stone had left behind. With my back to Joaquin, I tell him in a defeated, yet steady voice, “You should go.” “Willow, please. I’m so very sorry.” “I don’t accept your apology right now. Maybe later, but now I just want you to go,” the closing of the door punctuation to my words. I keep it together as best as I can as I take Lyric from a sad-faced Perry and turn to the room, “I just need to be alone for a bit.” My tone is becoming more and more fragile by the moment. Cora nods. “Of course. We’re going to clean up down here and make some phone calls. You go be with your sweet girl. We’ll be here if you need us,” she assures me gently. Slowly climbing the stairs with Lyric who is clutching the gifts from Stone, I shut us into the nursery and sit with her in the rocker, allowing the room and my daughter to work their magic. Waiting for the peace that I find here to wash over me, but it doesn’t. I’m worried about Stone. What the news will do to him. I’ve had almost two years to try and find a way to live with it, and some days I still struggle. The guilt I saw written all over him is what scares me the most. At his best, Stone is a wild card. When he’s low, there’s no telling what kind of trouble he’ll find or he’ll allow to find him. Looking down at Lyric, I smile sadly as I see her fiddling with the paper and pretty ribbons on the gift box. “I’m sorry that your party was ruined. Should we at least open this present since it’s here?” I ask

my precious girl. When she claps and gives me a toothy grin, dimple and all, I feel some of the weight of the afternoon being lifted. Shifting so that I can help her since she refuses to relinquish the bird she has in a choke hold, we work together to tear open the wrappings. Underneath we find a black velvety box and lift the lid. Overcome by a riot of emotions, a shaky breath slips past my lips when I see what’s nestled on the inside. There are two gold necklaces. One a slender bar with a heart punched out of it with what looks like coordinates stamped into the shiny metal, and the other is the small heart with a tiny half note engraved in the center, dangling from a child-sized chain. Along with them is a lovely poem about mothers and daughters and a card with what I instantly recognize as Stone’s handwriting. Birdie & Lyric, For my two girls. I’ll always be where you are and you’ll forever be the rhythm in my heart. I love you always, Stone With tears in my eyes, I clasp first Lyric’s and then my necklace and reach for my phone and dial. Law picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Willow! What’s going on, pretty mama?” I can hear the smile in his voice which confirms my fears. “Stone isn’t with you, is he?” “Isn’t he with you?” he asks, confused. “We’re supposed to meet him over there.” “No. You need to go find him. He shouldn’t be alone. I would start at the bars,” I say, regretfully. “The bars? Wills, what the fuck is going on?” Law demands. “I can’t get into it, I’m sorry. Just please message me when you find him.” I hang up before he can answer, not willing to give him more than I did. Lawson will find him. He always does. Sliding from the chair with Lyric wrapped in my arms I lay on the floor and lift her in the air to look down on me. She giggles and kicks her tiny little legs, the necklace from Stone swaying back and forth in a hypnotic beat. The tears once again start falling all on their own, pooling into my hair spread out on the carpet. I could allow myself to wallow in this self-pity, but I refuse. Not today, not when I have so much to be happy about inside this little mommy and Lyric bubble where the outside world can’t touch us. I won’t wonder if Cora and Bear are still downstairs or if Perry is worried. I won’t think about Stone and how he’s feeling or Joaquin who I’m not ready to forgive. I only want to focus on Lyric and how lucky I am to have her. Looking at my daughter, so happy and oblivious, I can’t help but smile. And briefly let my thoughts wander to Stone. “I need you, to be me,” I whisper to my daughter. My heart’s new rhythm.

Stone I WALK AIMLESSLY DOWN KING Street not knowing where to go, what I’m looking for, just knowing that

my skin feels too fucking tight, my heart too fucking broken, my bones don’t even feel right. Before I realize where I am or what I’m doing, I slide a stool out and sit at the dimly lit, scarred up bar. “Glen Grant, if you have it. Bring the bottle,” I tell the bartender when she glides over, stopping in front of me. “Oooh, a big spender. I’m gonna need to charge you before I have my manager unlock the cabinet for that one,” she says in what I’m assuming is her “sexy” voice. My head is down, eyes never meeting hers because I’m afraid to look anyone in the eye right now. How could they not see what I’ve done? What happened to my beautiful Birdie because I was high and drunk and stupid. So fucking stupid. I remember nothing from that night. Not a single fucking thing. Only waking up on the floor, clothes still on from the night before, a strange woman in the bed and no Willow. I had no clue what time it was or what day. Just that Willow was gone, and some fucking chick I didn’t know was in my room. Our room. Mine and Willow’s. And that even with a pounding head and cotton mouth, I needed something to take the edge of panic off. Much as I do now. Three months of in-house rehab, another few months with Koa, and almost a year ’s worth of meetings and I can’t find a single fuck to give. I’m just lucky I can’t score anything more than a drink right now because I wouldn’t be able to find my fucks to talk me out of that either. Pulling out my wallet, I snatch the Black Amex out and toss it at her with my ID. So much for staying off the radar. From my pocket I pull out my cigarettes and go to light one when I remember you can’t smoke any-fucking-where any more. Throwing the pack onto the bar, I bury my fingers in my hair. Over and over. The need to just yank it all out so fucking strong. From my pocket, my phone starts vibrating. Fumbling with shaky hands I pull it out both wishing that it’s Willow calling and terrified that it might be. It isn’t; it’s Law. Denying the call, I toss the phone next to the discarded smokes and watch as it immediately starts dancing across the surface. Again and again I silence it. Not taking any chances, I power it off. I don’t want to be found. I want to be lost. I want to drown my miserable fucking ass in the three-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey I’m sitting here waiting on. I would give anything to find that numb nirvana a few lines of coke could bring me or a handful of

pretty pills. More than all of that though, I wish I could get lost in Willow. In her smell, her breathing, the rhythm of her heartbeat. Synch the two of our pulses and just be. Just be, like we were before all the stupid shit. But I can’t do that because I fucked up. I fucked her life all the hell up, and there’s no way to even begin apologizing for that. How? How does a person apologize for what I did? No wonder she disappeared on me. I don’t fucking blame her. I want to disappear on myself. “Mr. Lockhart?” Releasing the hold on my hair, I raise my head to the young guy talking to me. The manager, I’m assuming. “Yeah?” I ask warily, pushing the loose strands back off of my face. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware that this bottle is thirty-five hundred dollars before I pour you a glass,” he hedges. I can see his mind working, trying to verify that it’s really me, but with the glasses I’ve taken to wearing around here, it throws people off. “Yeah, I know how much it costs. I gave you my card. Just charge me so I can have the bottle and we can stop talking.” The last word leaves my mouth and I go right back to staring at the bar and tunneling my fingers through my hair. I should’ve just bought a fucking bottle at the liquor store and taken it back to the house. At least I would be drinking right now. Nah, that’s a lie. Lawson would have me at a meeting quicker than I could pour two fingers worth of bliss into the glass. The manager obviously heard the irritation in my voice and is a smart man to not push any further. I hold my breath when I hear the seal on the bottle crack. Exhale when the first splash of whiskey falls into the glass. Squeeze my eyes tightly shut when the tumbler is placed in front of me. The scent of the decades old whiskey wafting up at me, calling to me, seducing me like a siren of the sea singing to a lost sailor. That’s me. A lost soul adrift on a sea intent on dragging me down to its darkest depths. Drowning me in a hell of my own making. I can feel the manager ’s eyes on me still, so I nod in thanks, praying to fuck that it’s enough for him. I need out from under his scrutiny. He slides my credit card and ID across the bar, placing them next to the open bottle and taps a finger on the plastic stack. “You’re gonna want to put that away, eh. All it takes is one nosey drunk to get a look at it and see who you really are. You’ll have the paparazzi here before you know it and something tells me you’re not ready for all that.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just shuffles off leaving me alone, just like I’d hoped. Only now I have no one to focus on. Just me. Just my demons and I. Once again. I’m tense, my muscles wound tight in anticipation of that first sip. Alcohol wasn’t my real problem, the drugs were. But too much liquor and next thing I know, I’m an eight ball deep at some fucking party, some random chick with her hand down a rock star ’s pants. It’s then that I’m on top of the world only to come crashing down and realize that feeling of euphoria was a ruse. Bullshit, because that’s when Willow hated me most. Then I hated myself because I never remembered any of it except that killer fucking high. I would spend all day trying my best to make it up to her, only to fall victim to that high all over again. It became a vicious, vicious fucking circle. Then it all fell to shit the day I finally admitted to myself she

wasn’t waiting at home for me. I sat there and contemplated life and what’s important, what isn’t and how I can’t live life without Birdie. When is high high enough? The answer is never. In the moment I’ve never felt too high. That’s how I found myself in the hospital, tied to a fucking bed after being out for days. Rehab was my only option after that. I was trading my illusion of nirvana for Paradise. Paradise Rehabilitation Center: for those who seek privacy on their journey to wellness. Basically rehab for the fucking stars and I was about to piss it all away. All I’d worked so hard for. “You want anything else?” The bartender materializes in my peripheral, her tits on display, suggestion in her voice. She’s turned up the “sexy” now that she knows who I am. Without glancing her way, I shake my head no. I’ve been celibate as long as I’ve been sober. Longer. Maybe I should throw it all away in the same day, just like I did Willow. Fuck it. Not like I’m gonna get her back now anyway. Raising my head and looking at the pretty blonde for the first time since I arrived, I know it won’t happen. She’s not what I want. Who I want. Her short, blonde hair is not the long, chocolate strands shot through with caramel that I want wrapped around my fist, falling in a curtain around me as she rides me. The brown eyes watching me aren’t the whiskey-colored pools I’ve written songs about. Her voice isn’t that soft melodic one that calms all of my demons. Nothing about this girl is right. Nothing about her is Willow. I’m about to answer when the manager calls out sternly, “Ash, your shift is over. I have him.” She pouts petulantly and saunters away, but not before leaving her number on a napkin along with a smudge of peach lipstick. I nod my head at him in thanks and wrap my hands around the glass. My hands warm instantly. Like this little tumbler holds all the magic in the fucking world. Tilting the glass, I watch as the amber liquid swishes around, coming close to the edge before I tilt it the other way. Around and around. Side to side. Never taking my eyes off of the waves I’m creating. Slowly I place the drink back onto the scuffed bar top. The only thing stopping me from tossing it back and letting the smooth heat of it burn as it goes down is the thought of what Willow must have gone through. What she’s been going through. I think back on all the times I’ve seen her in The Dirty Bird, all the times she turned down drinks from anyone other than Bear or his wife. Her not drinking anymore. Going back to school for a degree in Music Therapy. It all makes sense to me now. I don’t deserve to crawl into the bottom of a bottle. Drown all of my thoughts, all the pain and fucked up shit that keeps going through my mind. I deserve to feel every ounce of the hurt. Live the anguish. Why the fuck am I so special that I get to drink it all away? Abruptly I stand, nearly knocking the stool over. The manager looks over, eyebrows raised in question. Holding up the unlit cigarette, I jerk my chin to the door, signaling that I’m going outside for a smoke. He nods in understanding and I slip out into the cool evening. As soon as I step through the door, my glasses fog up. I’m not sure when it got so fucking cold out, but it did. Lighting up, I tug my beanie out of my pocket and pull it on. With the cigarette dangling from my lips, I tuck the longer strands of my hair under my cap and pocket the glasses. My gaze lowered, I look at the toe of my boots and inhale deeply. The nicotine makes me feel lightheaded, the only high I’ve allowed in so long. Flicking the ashes over and over, I pace, prowling like

a caged lion. I have no fucking idea what to do with myself, only that the restlessness is almost as bad as it was when I was detoxing. Then I wanted to tear my skin off because I needed to score, now I want to tear it off out of anger and rage for what I’ve done. All the mistakes I’ve made. Snubbing the cigarette out, I immediately light another one, pacing and smoking, inhaling and exhaling, extinguishing and lighting another. Over and over until my throat feels raw and my face and hands frozen. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out here, my mind a riotous mess, but I have to go back in to at least warm up. Head down, I go back into the bar to my seat. All of my stuff still there, the glass of whiskey taunting me. There’s a band just setting up on the stage in the back, the sound of them tuning their instruments and checking the sound making my hands itch for my Martin. The need to pour myself into some music so strong. I concentrate on that instead of the other longings setting my blood on fire. The feeling of longing never leaves me alone. Longing for a line of coke. For my guitar if it's not in my hands, my music, a drink, a cigarette, a little pill to make it all go away and then another to make it come back. Longing for Willow. Always Willow. Always fucking longing. Three hours later I’m still sitting at the bar, swirling but never sipping the whiskey. The only reason I know it’s been that long is because Logan, the manager, told me. I’m nearly knocked off my seat when someone tackle hugs me from behind. “Dude, do you know how many fucking bars there are in Toronto?” Lawson demands, sliding onto the stool next to me, gaze on the bottle of Glen Grant and the full glass. “How did you find me?” I ask sullenly. “Well, Wills called and said you shouldn’t be alone, and when I asked her what that meant, she just said to check the bars. So, I started with the meeting we’ve been going to, but they said you hadn’t been by. Guess she was right,” he says. No accusation in his voice, only concern. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?” “Birdie called?” I couldn’t keep the hope from my voice. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as I hate myself right now. How she can even look at me, I have no fucking clue. “Yeah. She used to call me every time she needed help with you, or if you went rogue and we didn’t know where you were, she would always text me to tell me that you were back,” Law says, sadness coating his words. “I feel guilty as hell for ignoring it all for so long and letting her deal by herself. It wasn’t fair. We all knew what the fuck you were up to. We just chose to ignore it because we worried about upsetting you and fucking with the band’s vibe.” He’d never admitted any of this to me. I had no idea that Willow turned to him for help. “Nah, man. It’s all on me. I’m the only one to blame. I’m glad that she at least had you,” I say, sincerely. “It’s on all of us in some capacity. We let you down as much as you let us down. We’re family. Always have been. Shoulda never let things get so bad. I’ll never let you stumble down that path again though, I promise you that,” he assures me. “Why did Willow call? And how much have you had? Do

we need to call and see if we can get Koa here to go on tour with us?” Lawson peppers me with questions. His support unflappable, his faith in me not shaken. I bow my head to gather strength. I don’t deserve his loyalty. Raising my head, I force myself to look him in the eyes. I can’t hide from this. I won’t share Willow’s pain with anyone other than Law. But I need to share my pain with my friend before it strangles me. “Lyric’s not mine.” It’s a choked whisper, barely audible in the loud bar. The words take a moment to register with him. “Wha-what do you mean? How can that be?” He’s so shocked by the news that if it wasn’t so fucking tragic, it might be funny. “That night she left. I-I guess I said some fucked up shit to her, brought that other chick to the room. The one who woke up in our bed.” Swallowing past the lump in my throat I shake my head at my stupidity, at my selfishness. “I threw her out, Law. I kicked her out of our room with nothing. What kind of man does that, huh? What kind of man kicks the woman he loves out with some random bitch standing next to him?” I’m so disgusted with myself, I can’t see past the inner hate that is eating away at me. “Stone, man, you’re being too hard on yourself. I understand that you fucked up, but you weren’t you, man. If you hadn’t been high—“ I interrupt his bullshit excuse for me. I deserve none of that. Not one bit of it. “If I hadn’t been high, Willow wouldn’t have been roofied and fucking raped.” The words are torn from me. Taking a piece of me with them. Saying it out loud, admitting that because of me, Willow, my beautiful, perfect Birdie, was drugged and raped fills me with so much shame. So much fucking shame and self-loathing. I just want to rage. Break shit. Destroy everything around me until all that’s left in my wake is chaos that matches the chaotic storm battering at my insides. I reach for the glass and go to toss it back but stop just before I do. Eyes closed, thoughts like a fucking riot, screaming and blaming, kicking at my insides and pulling at my soul. I hurt her over and over and over, and she never stopped loving me until I destroyed her. That’s the day her heart stopped beating in rhythm . . . for me. Whiskey glass pressed against my forehead, I feel the tears pricking at my eyes. I’ve cried only two other times in my life. The day that I realized Willow was gone, really gone, and today when she told me about Lyric. I can’t even care that I’m about to shed fucking tears again, in the middle of a packed bar. I just don’t give a fuck about anything. Law sits next to me silently. Just watching me, not trying to talk me out of drinking. Not reassuring me about what I told him. He loves Willow too. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling. Probably the need to beat the shit out of me. I don’t blame him. Would welcome it, in fact. His phone starts ringing. He curses under his breath. “Hey, Willow. Yeah, I found him. No. He’s not okay, but he’s okay, ya know?” I whip my head to look at him. Wills is calling to check on me? Why? Why the fuck do I deserve her fucking concern? I’ve done nothing to earn it.

“Willow . . . I—I’m sorry. That’s not enough, but I just . . .” He trails off, his voice cracking with emotion. “Yeah, he did. I won’t say anything to anyone, not the guys, no one. I’ll be over there in the morning. Love you too.” His one-sided conversation drives me insane. I can’t take knowing that he has the freedom to talk to her. To tell her he loves her, to go and see her and Lyric whenever he wants. And I don’t. I watch as Law disconnects the call, sadness blanketing his usually animated face. Without saying a word, he reaches over and takes the tumbler from my hand, throwing back the drink. He winces, putting the now empty glass down. “Be glad you didn’t drink that. It was terrible,” he says as he blows out a whiskey-scented breath. Eyebrows raised, I look at him in clear disbelief. “Okay, it was fucking delicious. But still, be glad.” Law puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m proud of you, Stone. A weaker man would be lying in a gutter drunk right now. The old Stone would be so high nothing could touch him. You sat here, in a bar, for hours, the devil in your hand and still you resisted.” Shaking my head, I meet his gaze. “That’s nothing to be proud of, Law. The fact that I want to be so far gone I don’t even know my fucking name is enough. I don’t deserve that escape. It would be so easy for me to just fuck it all and score right now, but I need to carry this pain. Her pain.” My eyes screwed tight, I can see Willow’s beautiful face, the beauty mark just above her mouth, and the one dotting the middle of her plump bottom lip, dimples in her cheeks flashing at me. And then I see Lyric. Her happy smile complete with dimple, the same beauty marks, and Willow’s eyes, and my heart constricts. “Nah, I’m done taking the easy way out. This is my cross to bear, and I can’t, I won’t, get lost in an eight ball, a bottle of whiskey or a fucking handful of pills. I owe them both more than that.” Law watches me closely, like he’s thinking of the right words to say, and I wait him out. Finally, he nods, “That’s the smartest most unselfish thing I’ve ever heard you say, bro. If you can stay straight and prove to her that you’re a different man . . .” He trails off and glances away before looking back at me. “What do you want? Do you want to be her guy again? Can you be?” He shakes his head when I go to speak. “No, man. Listen. Think. Can you be her man and help her raise Lyric knowing what you know now?” He spins the glass in his hand around and around watching me. “It’s different now. You’re not fighting for your lady and your daughter anymore. You have to love bigger, Stone. Willow loves Lyric unconditionally. Can you?” His voice is somber. The question carrying the weight of the world. My world. Can I? Can I look at her and see Wills and not search for him? “Truthfully? I don’t know,” I say ashamed. “I know how that sounds. I mean, if she can do it after all that she’s been through, why can’t I?” I ask him in disgust, head bent over the bar. Shrugging, he says, “Maybe because you feel what happened to her was your fault.” Leave it to Law not to pull any punches. His words hit me in the gut, robbing me of breath. “It was my fault, Lawson.” Defeated, I raise my head to look at him. Need to see the blame in his eyes, but I don’t see any of that. Nah, not from Law.

“You can blame yourself, sure. Truth is, you were an asshole to kick her out. But what happened next is on the cocksucker who hurt her. Nobody can take the blame for that. Not you, certainly not Wills.” Lawson stands, a forearm resting on the bar, my shoulder gripped in his other hand. “Wills is one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. I saw it when she came to live with her aunt after her parents died. And again when her aunt died, leaving her with nobody in the world but us. And I saw it again and again when she picked your ass up and dusted you off.” Law shakes his head and cracks a rueful smile. “This is Willow at her best. Most women would have had an abortion. Hell, would’ve taken the morning after pill. And not a single fucking person would blame them. Not Wills though. She owns life, Stone. She faces it head on and takes the hits. You have to be stronger than her though, and that’s what you need to figure out now. Can you be stronger than the strongest woman we’ve ever known?” He shrugs. “Once you figure that shit out, the rest is cake. Well, not really, but it’s one hurdle out of the way.” Chuckling, Law gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s go hit that meeting. I’m feeling all guilty and shit for taking that drink now, and I’m not even the motherfucker in recovery.” My lips rise in a tight smile as I blow out a short laugh. Pushing up and off the stool, I turn to my oldest friend and search for the words to thank him. This is a man who has never given up on me. Not when I stumbled through life and our shows stoned out of my fucking mind, not when I chased away Willow, his friend. He stood by me when I nearly died from an overdose and fumbled my way through rehab, a total asshole the whole time, and not now either. Any one of those times and I wouldn’t have blamed him. “Thank you, Law. For-for everything. I never would have survived any of this without you,” I tell him sincerely. “Sure as fuck you wouldn’t have,” he says and just walks out of the bar, knowing I’ll follow. Fucker. I shake my head and chuckle softly. “Logan!” I call. When he looks in my direction, I slide the thirty-five hundred-dollar bottle across the bar to him. “Have one for me.” Pulling my beanie down further, I hurry to catch up with Law, leaving the stunned manager watching after me, mouth agape. Time to get my shit straight and find my rhythm. And then help Willow find her way back to hers.

Willow THANKFULLY OVER THE LAST THREE days I’ve spent all my time in classes. Aside from the few moments

here and there that I saw Cora or Bear when they came to pick up or drop off Lyric, I haven’t had to see anyone. Joaquin called and we spoke briefly. He apologized and I forgave. What use was there to punish the two of us anymore over something that can’t be changed? I’m disappointed though, and if I’m honest, just because I’ve chosen to forgive him doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget. I feel differently about him now. I’m trying not to allow myself to go there, but it’s difficult. Stone is doing his promo tour so I haven’t had to see him, but he’s called or texted every day since he’s been gone. Just this morning he texted me one word, rhythm. He didn’t have to say anything more. The voicemails I have yet to listen to. I’m not sure I’m brave enough. I’m glad that I had these three days away from everyone. I picked up extra sessions for one of the other therapists who had an emergency, and I’ve been able to bury myself in music. I need it as much as they do right now. My voice is raw, my fingers tender, calluses on my calluses, but my soul, my heart, they’re light, and that’s all I care about at this moment. As grateful as I am for the reflection time, I’m even more grateful to be home finally after a long few days. Sighing contentedly, I toss my keys on the counter and go into the living room where I hear Lyric and Perry, giggling away. Lyric’s not talking yet, but she’s making sounds like crazy. Some of her delays are because she was premature, so I don’t stress. I just keep on working and waiting. She’s so happy and vocal, probably from all of the music therapy she gets to sit in on “Hey, ladies. What are you two getting up to in here?” I ask, dropping to the floor next to them and the plethora of toys they have surrounding them, including the pink bird from Stone. Perry doesn’t look up. “Bear had to go to The Dirty Bird. Something about a keg line. He called and asked if I was around.” She shrugs and continues playing with Lyric. She’s upset with me and I can’t blame her. She opened her home to me and helped me get on my feet, and I lied to her. Well, I omitted, and that’s just as bad. I let her assume that Lyric was Stone’s since the day I found out I was pregnant. Never coming out and saying it, but not correcting her when she did. “I hope you didn’t have anything going on.” “Nothing but the usual edits.” I can’t take the awkwardness between us. Since leaving Texas and

Addy behind, Perry has become my closest friend. “Per, I’m sorry.” “It’s not that big a deal. I like hanging out with the little songbird,” she coos the last bit making Lyric squeal. “Not about tonight, though I am sorry you had to stop what you were doing. I’m sorry about everything. About not telling you the truth about Lyric.” Finally, she looks up. “Why didn’t you, Willow? Didn’t you trust me?” The hurt I hear in her voice makes me feel awful. “Of course I trust you. It had nothing to do with trust. I just—I didn’t want that stigma to follow Lyric all her life. I didn’t—don’t want people to look at her differently because of how she was conceived. It’s no more her fault than it was mine, and I figured the fewer people that knew the more protected she’d be,” I say softly. Hoping Perry understands. “Willow, I would never! I love her,” she argues. “I know you do. But you may not have. I made a decision that a lot of people don’t agree with and that’s fine. I made the only decision that I could for me.” Taking her hand, I glance over at Lyric playing, oblivious to our very serious conversation. “You’re a good person. One of the best I’ve ever met, and I see how much you love Lyric, but I wanted you to be able to love her without ever having that love tainted. It’s easy to say how we think we’ll react after the fact, but the truth is we don’t ever know until it happens. Hell, I loved her instantly. The moment I heard that little heartbeat, I was sure, but I was still terrified to hold her. To look into her face and maybe see him. I just wanted her to have a fair start in life, ya know?” Perry looks from me to Lyric and back again. “Do you—do you see him? I mean, do you know what he looks like?” she questions hesitantly. I blanche a little at the question; I wasn’t expecting it. Glancing once again at a now sleepy Lyric lying on her back and playing with my toes, I smile softly at her chocolate brown hair and her almond-colored eyes. The flash of her dimple when she yawns. “Not in her. In her I only see love. I only see her and me.” I turn back to Perry. “But yes, I know what he looks like. I’ll never forget his face as long as I live. I look for it in a crowded supermarket, in quiet restaurants, the mall. Even The Dirty Bird even though I’m in a different country.” Taking a deep breath for strength, “I told the police all there was to know that night and it wasn’t much. He wasn’t in the system, so there was no way to identify him, and the bartender said he paid with cash so just a bunch of dead leads. I keep in contact through email with the detective who found me that day. He randomly runs the DNA they have against the system to see if there’s a match. He’s promised to call me if he ever gets one.” Nerves frayed I pick at my already peeling red nail polish. I haven’t spoken about any of this, other than confiding in JD, since I sat down with Cora and Bear all those months ago. “Why? Why would you want to know, Willow?” Perry asks, confused. “If they find a match, I’ll go back and testify so that he goes to prison and can never do this to anyone ever again.” With a hand to my chest, over my rapidly beating heart, I lean in, trying to shield Lyric from the words although she’s too young to understand. “I consider myself lucky in the sense

that I can’t remember any of the horrible things he did to me. To my body. I woke up damaged but have no memory of what happened to make me that way. It’s tragic and life changing, even without becoming pregnant. But to think that he’s out there raping women . . . I feel sick.” The anger and bile both rising, I stand and gently lift a nearly asleep Lyric into my arms, cradling her small frame against mine. “I’m lucky that I can’t remember. But just as unlucky because I can never forget,” I whisper. Perry nods. “Let’s eat some fucking cake,” she says brightly, changing the topic and putting an end to the dark and deeply depressing conversation. Thankful, I grin. “Let me get her settled. We can have movie night in my room if you want,” I offer hopefully. She bounces up off the floor, red hair falling into her eyes. “Yes! I just bought a bunch of chick flicks that will either make us piss our pants or cry. Oh, and some gangster shit. I’m running home to grab them and my overnight bag. I’m sleeping over, so go shave your legs or put sweats on. I don’t want to get poked to death while I try to cuddle you,” she calls as she makes her way to the front door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Be ready.” The door slams and just like that, she’s gone in a whirlwind of glossy red hair, the scent of vanilla, and outrageous demands. Chuckling at her crazy, I place a kiss to Lyric’s head and start up the stairs. “Auntie Perry is cray cray, baby,” I whisper. Once we get to the nursery I get Lyric all cleaned up and into her jammies. Tucked in and asleep again, I kiss her lightly so she doesn’t wake. Before I go, I remove the little stamped heart necklace for the night, brushing my thumb over it before putting it on her dresser. Stone can be so thoughtful. I had forgotten since the last year we were together he went from being the man I loved to a stranger I didn’t like at all. Now that he knows the truth about Lyric, I’m not sure what Stone will be present next. Shaking the thought off, I tiptoe out, flicking the switch that turns on her lullabies and the mobile and go to my room. The minute my feet cross the threshold, I’m flopping onto the four-poster bed, moaning at the relief I feel to finally be home and in my room. Scrambling to a sitting position, I run a hand down my calf self-consciously. “Smooth as a baby’s ass, you bitch,” I mumble, grinning. Pulling the bright white down comforter back I climb under and sit back against the pillows. With my jumbo remote in hand, I power up the ridiculously large Smart TV that Bear hung on my wall and pull up the internet browser so that I can check my email while I wait for Perry. The moment the browser opens, there’s Stone and the boys on stage at some outdoor event. A still shot that catches Stone with his head bent over his Fender, hair hanging in his eyes, the leather cuff I gave him calling my attention to his hands and the way they hold the guitar. God, he’s beautiful. Without thinking, I click on the play button and his voice fills my room. Fills all my empty places. Fills the cracks that he left behind. If only for a moment. How something could cause so much pain even while it heals is beyond me. But it does. “This one’s for a special woman who makes me want to be a better man. I wrote it after she left me, not knowing if she’d ever even hear it. Hell, I still don’t know if she’s heard it.” He laughs a little and gives them that sexy as hell rock star grin. “Let’s hope she’s watching now.” Stone winks into the

camera before pressing his lips to the mic. My name falls from his lips like a plea, a prayer, a curse. All at once. He closes his eyes and continues to sing of a love that he pushed away, a love that is the only thing that gives him purpose, a love that is me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him play on a stage like this in so long. This time, so much different than the last. It was not long after I got to Toronto. He was playing at the Much Music Video Awards, and I stood hidden in the crowd on Queen Street and just watched him. He had looked so awful. Empty and lost. Like me. It had just added to my sadness. Another layer on top of the already too-heavy stack. My heart hurt looking at Stone. I ached for him even while I hated him. It’s a tone I’ve come to recognize with him since he’s been back as well. Always a contradiction in my feelings. My heart pulling while the rest of me pushes. It’s exhausting. He sang our song that night; I could tell that he didn’t want to. He was just going through the motions. It was all more than I could take. I remember walking away, glancing back at him over my shoulder as the crowd swallowed me up thinking that it may be the last time I ever saw him in person again. The man I had loved since I was seventeen. Shaking off the memory, I go back to watching him on the screen. Such a different Stone from the MMVA’s. I’m mesmerized by his voice and can’t stop my face from scrunching up like I’ve smelled something bad because his guitar riff is just so damn dirty. He’s in his zone, his fingers flying over the strings, wrapping around the fretboard, working the frets, his face pulled in a grimace. You just can’t help it when something sounds that good. My heart soars listening to Stone. His music lives inside me; I feel every one of these notes to my soul. When he’s finished, he sticks the thin silver guitar pick I know is stamped with our initials in between his teeth and grins around it, winking into the camera. His hair is damp from sweat, his shirt molded to him. He’s gotten bigger, filled out. I hate that I find everything about him so sexy. “It should be illegal for a man to be that damn hot.” I squeak out a startled yelp. “Perry! Holy shit you scared me.” Tossing a pillow at her that she easily deflects. “Yeah, you didn’t hear me. You were preoccupied.” She smirks, a bowl of popcorn in her hand. “Is this from their promo tour?” Perry plops onto the foot of the bed, watching the screen still, one leg bent under her. “Yeah. Last leg I think. I’m not one hundred percent, but I think that’s what the text said.” Now that it’s over, I have the sudden urge to Google everything he’s done while he’s been gone. “You guys are talking?” she asks, nudging me. A sly smile on her pretty, freckled face. “No. He texts or calls every day though.” Her jaw drops and she stares at me agape for a full five seconds before I kick her. “What?” “He calls or texts every day? So you have been talking.” “He’s been talking. I don’t answer, or listen to the voicemails for that matter.” “Willow Avery. Are you telling me that after everything, he’s been reaching out to you and you’re not even bothering to return a simple text?” she accuses. “I’m not ready to talk to him right now. He makes me feel . . . fragile,” I confess.

“You are the least fragile person I’ve ever met in my life. I think that he makes your feelings feel fragile. That’s what I think.” She shakes her head at me. “What does that even mean, Per?” Laughing at her ability to speak in code and make it sound pretty. “It means that he shakes your foundation. He makes you unsure of how you feel about JD and maybe even a little about him. You’ve been angry at him for so long, and he makes you not want to be angry, and that fucks you all up. Makes your feelings fragile.” Perry crosses her arms and looks at me smugly. She’s hit the nail on the head and she knows it. “Regardless. I don’t like it and until I figure out what to do and where to place all of it, I’m ignoring him,” I reply, crossing my own arms. All that’s missing is a “harrumph” and a “take that” from me. “You, my friend, are stubborn as shit.” “Yup. Now what did you bring?” I ask, done with this whole conversation. “Fine, I’ll let you change the subject. For now,” she grins. “Now do you want to watch more Wrecked on tour or do you want to watch some movies.” I waver just for a moment but then I say, “Movies. Definitely movies.” “I was hoping you were going with Wrecked.” She pretends to pout but walks over to the Blu-ray player and pops in a disc. “What are we watching?” I ask, plucking popcorn from the bowl on her lap. “Begin Again. It’s about a rock star who fucks up, loses the girl, but she finds her own way, and he wants her back.” I choke on the kernel and glare at her profile. Her smile takes up her whole face as she tosses popcorn in her mouth before saying coyly, “You’re gonna love it.”

Stone “LAW, YOU AND RO MEET me at the studio when you get this message. I have to get something down and

couldn’t wake you guys. See you soon, fucker.” Disconnecting the call, I stick the lolli back in my mouth and yank open the door to the studio connected to The Dirty Bird. Ro was right and I ended up paying triple to use the space, but I don’t give a shit. It’s a great set up plus it gives me the opportunity to possibly, maybe, I’m such a fucking pussy, bump into Wills from time to time. Like right now . . . I had no clue that she’d be here. I just called and confirmed some time with the kid who answers the phone. Walking up to the booth, I see her through the glass, Lyric sitting in a little chair as Willow plays the piano and sings. Pressing the button on the wall beside the door the sound filters out. She’s singing “Burning House.” Removing the sucker, I press my head to the cool glass and close my eyes briefly, letting her voice smooth out all my rough edges for a second. This song. This song reminds me of something Willow said to me not long before I forced her to leave me. The night before I hadn’t come back to the hotel. To this day, I remember every word Willow said. Every emotion, but I still can’t remember where the hell I had been or who with. Just that I stumbled into our room at around eleven in the morning, guilt dogging my every step, to find Wills there, tears in her eyes. Then I watched as she stood and looked me over from head to toe and those worried tears dried up to be replaced by anger as she hurled her phone at me. I barely dodged that before she threw a pillow and then a shoe. I let those hit me because it hurt more to try to move out of the way of them. And just as quickly as the anger exploded from her it dissipated into grief and resolution. In the middle of our hotel room I watched as she broke down and cried. I tried comforting her but she pushed me away and I was still fucked up enough to let her. To not realize that I was pushing her away as well as letting her go. “You’re like this inferno. This big damn burning house. Flames consuming every inch of it, every inch of you. But I love you. God, I love you. So I hold on, and when you push, I hold on even tighter until you’re throwing fire at me as well. I let you burn us down because leaving you was never an option. I’ve held on for so long, you’ve finally killed my flame. I can’t fight fire with fire if mine is gone. So now what? Do I just stay here with you, and try to dig us out of the ashes of what’s left? I can’t. I can’t let you torch what’s left of me.”

With my eyes squeezed shut, letting the memory play out in my mind, I thunk my head against the glass, stopping when the door cracks open. “Ummm, you okay, dude?” Aidan, the kid I talked to, asks nervously. Glancing up, I see Willow coming toward us, Lyric on her hip, chubby little arms wrapped around her mama’s neck. I can’t help but smile, they look so much alike. “Stone, what are you doing here?” Willow asks warily. “Hey, Birdie,” I greet, shaking off the sad memory. Happy to see that they’re both wearing my gift, I lean in and place a kiss to the side of her head and then one to Lyric’s, startling Willow and making Lyric hug her a little tighter. “I didn’t realize you were here. I just had to get something down and the studio wasn’t booked this morning. I’m not following you, I swear,” I joke. Although if you think about it, it’s exactly what I’m doing. There’s probably better equipped studios nearby, but leasing one of them was never even an option. Willow is here. So, this is where I am. “You—you’re using this studio? This one?” she asks incredulously, gesturing to the space around us. Looking up at the letter A above the door I shake my head no, “Well, not this one. Studio B. I think.” Grinning, I look over at Aidan. “That right, bro?” “Yeah, that one’s open today.” He looks from me to Wills, back to me. Like he’s waiting for something but he’s not sure what. Eyes on Willow, I tell him. “You can go. We’ll be fine.” “Uh, of course. My bad. Willow, I got that down if you want it.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing into the mix room. “Thanks, Aidan. I’ll see you later,” she tells him with a smile. Once he scurries off—and there’s no other way to describe it—she turns back to me. “How did you talk Bear into this?” “I paid triple,” I confess before changing gears. “I’m glad that you liked the birthday gift.” I push my sleeve up, revealing the Willow tree and the coordinates matching the ones on her necklace. White ink situated within the black roots, anchored there, just like she is in me. “That’s permanent,” she says, wide eyed. “Roots, you . . . Lyric. All permanent. I’m going back to my roots.” I shrug. “Wh-what happens if I move?” Willow stammers. “You can have roots and still have wings, Birdie. Doesn’t mean I won’t follow. Home isn’t a place.” Cocking my head, I grin, “I think that you’re the one who told me that.” She’s about to say something else when Bear walks in and sees us in the hallway. Lyric immediately squirms to be set down. “Hi there, baby girl,” Bear booms, scooping her up as she tries to walk and then decides against it and crawls over. He pretends to stagger under her weight, causing her to giggle. “You’ve been eating your spinach, eh? You’re getting to be big as a moose,” he says dramatically. Lyric eats it up, clapping and laughing. Such a happy little thing. Bear, never missing a beat says over her head as he

tickles her, “I’m taking her into the office to FaceTime Cora so you two can finish up your little chat. I’ll leave the door open,” he tells Willow pointedly. Giving me the stink eye as he walks by. I may be paying quadruple by the time the day is over. “I feel like a broken record, but why are you here, Stone?” “You do ask that an awful fucking lot. I’m starting to think that you don’t want me here.” I can’t help but tease her. The last time we saw each other was so heavy, I need this. We need this. I like to get her riled up. Puts color in her cheeks and a spark in her whiskey-colored eyes. “You—you know the truth now. You can go.” Her tone isn’t as timid as her words. “Why would I go? Because Lyric isn’t mine? She yours, Wills?” Remembering where we are I try to keep my voice low. “Because last time I checked, you’re her mom and that makes her my family. Lyric being here is partly on me, and I’m sorry for what happened. I’ll never stop being sorry for that, but I’ll never be sorry that she’s here.” Taking a step forward, I invade her space as much as she’ll let me. I would give anything to be able to run my hands through her hair, pull on it, tipping her head back, forcing her to arch into me. With a smothered groan, I go on, “I look at her and I see you. I see your pretty smile and those flashing dimples that do my ass in. She has your hair, your eyes. I’m pretty sure once she’s older she’s gonna own your sass too. I look at her and I see the woman I fucking love, and that’s enough for me.” This time I do reach out and run a hand down the silky hair she has tossed over her shoulder. Her breathing is a little ragged. I like it. “I had a few days to think about everything, Wills, and I came to the conclusion that none of it matters. It hurts me. Nah, it fucking kills me. But none of it matters in the here and now. If you can love Lyric despite it all, I can love her because of it. Hell, I already do, and I’ve barely been able to spend time with her.” Not giving Willow a chance to react or overthink it, I take one more step closer, putting her against the door and me flush against her. The scent of her skin, lavender, honey, and Willow, is a high I can get on board with. Before I can stop myself, I tug on the locks of hair I’ve been stroking, making her gasp slightly, just enough for me to lower my head and fit my mouth over hers. My tongue dipping gently in between her parted lips. The moan that escapes me can’t be helped. I’ve been starving for her kiss, her taste. Widening my stance, I snake an arm between her and the door and tug her even closer still. Murmuring her name when she melts into me and kisses me back. When she clutches at the back of my neck, pulling me to her, I deepen the kiss further. Then just as our tongues melt against each other, she pushes me away. With the back of her trembling hand she swipes at her mouth, as if she’s trying to erase my touch. “No, I won’t cheat on him, Stone.” She shakes her head and straightens her shoulders gearing up for a fight when not two seconds ago she was clinging to me. “I won't cheat on him. No matter how much I loved you once, I’m with him now. I won’t,” Willow says stubbornly. Growling low in my throat in frustration, I thump a clenched fist against my chest. “You're cheating on me, Willow! You're cheating on me. You were never his!” The heat in my words causes it to carry, but I couldn’t care less. Let Bear come out here. “Why can’t you just stop? You don’t even know me anymore. You wouldn’t like the person I’ve

become, Stone. I’m not the same girl you fell in love with. I’m a mom now. Lyric comes before everything.” If her words are meant to deter me, they don’t. If anything they make me want her more. Love her more. Willow moves around me to leave, but I stop her. “Oh, I know you, Birdie. You may have changed, but it’s all for the better.” I throw her a cocky smirk and hit her with the lyrics I came here to work on without her even knowing it. “Want you. Need you. Live you. Breathe you.” I shrug. “All of it and then some. I'm not giving you up, Wills. He wants to fight? I'll fight. I'll hit him with all the history we have. I'll slap him in his smug damn face with how it was me, me, who taught you to do that thing with your tongue.” My smirk turns to a grimace, but I harden my jaw. “I was your first and I'll be your last. That's a fucking promise.” Raising my arms out in surrender, “I’ve got no pride left, Birdie. I left that shit back at rehab. I'm all out of give-afucks and I'm ready to fight to the death if I need to. So like I said, if your little boyfriend wants a fight, I'm ready with an arsenal of memories, and he won't like a single fucking one of them. Not a single, God damn one.” Before I can say anything more or do something really fucking stupid like kiss her again, I walk away. Once outside, I can’t light a cigarette quick enough. As I’m exhaling my first not calming enough drag, Ro and Law pull up with Dane. “Hey, man, we doing this?” Law asks, eagerly, drumsticks already in hand. “No. I need to go home and take a cold fucking shower,” I snarl, pushing past him and climbing into the back of the SUV, leaving him and Ro standing at the curb. The two assholes just stand there with knowing smiles, trying not to laugh. “So then Willow’s here, huh?” Ro asks, no longer able to contain himself. I flip them both off as they bend at the waist and fall all over themselves laughing. Fuckers. I’m changing the God damn locks when I get home. See how they like that shit.

Willow I’VE AVOIDED STONE LIKE THE plague since the other day when he kissed me. And I let him. Kissed him

back even. I ignored his calls, his texts, even him knocking on my door. Out of guilt. Out of preservation. I don’t have that luxury with the guys though. Judge, Law, and Arrow make it impossible. They show up all together or one by one, and I can’t say no to them. Don’t want to. They aren’t a threat to my heart. My happiness. My whole damn existence. Glancing in the family room from my spot at the stove, I laugh at the sight. All three are here now on the floor playing with Lyric. The band has meetings with the label in Austin, and they leave in a little bit. Stone isn’t leaving until the day after tomorrow for some reason though. Trying not to put too much thought into it, I go back to watching my little clan. Laughing at their antics. They dote on Lyric like real uncles and even as it makes me happy, I can’t help but let the sadness creep in. In a different time, a different place, this is how it should be. How I always thought it would be. I’m brought from my musings when my cell rings. Recognizing the ring tone, I pick up before the bridge in the song. “Hi. You’re up early, eh?” “I couldn’t sleep any longer, I missed you,” Joaquin answers sincerely, “I saw you last night,” I murmur, a smile in my voice. Things aren’t as easy with us as they had been but they aren’t as tense either. Slowly but surely we are falling back into our groove. Part of the static in the atmosphere with us is my fault. The gnawing guilt over my kiss with Stone hanging over my head. I’ve opened my mouth to confess everything no less than ten times, and each time I lost my nerve. I vow that if I see him tonight, I will tell him everything. I promised to always be truthful with him and he deserves nothing less. “Are you free tonight? Maybe we can find a sitter for Lyric and you can come here. Spend the night. I’ll even cook for you,” Joaquin entices. I hear the meaning in his offer. “I’d like that,” I say softly, though I’m not sure I’ll be staying the night once I come clean about everything. I’ll sleep better knowing that I was honest though. “I’ll call Cora and Bear and see if they can watch Lyric.” “Sounds great. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

“See you then.” “Bye, chèrie.” Hanging up the phone, I turn, startled to find Law leaning against the counter, arms and ankles crossed watching me, a thoughtful expression on his face. To see all six foot four of him, tattoos covering damn near every inch, nobody would believe that he’s a huge softy. One of my best friends and always an ally when it comes to Stone. I missed him every day and am glad he’s back in my life, even though by the looks of it he’s about to make mine difficult. “Was that Joaquin?” Yep. Difficult. “It was, nosey,” I quip. “Not nosey, just curious.” He shifts, leaning back, hands gripping the rounded edges of the granite. “You like him a lot, Wills, or is he just the safety guy?” “The safety guy?” My brows are drawn in confusion. “You know. The guy you pick because he’s the safest bet.” “You mean the one who won’t get high and forget that he has a girlfriend? If that’s the safe you’re referring to, then yes.” Snipping at him isn’t going to stop his meddling. I’m not even really angry. Just guilty. That guilt, over one little kiss, no matter how not little it really was, is eating me up. “Don’t be mad,” he soothes. “And you’re not telling me shit I don’t know. I was there. Fuck, Willow, I wouldn’t blame you for choosing the safety guy. I just want you to choose him for the right reasons.” Law does know, better than anyone. I’m reminded of how bad things got and how he helped me more often than not, all while denying what was going on. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.” Rubbing my temples, I grin at him and his big brother posturing. “I may not be certain of what I’m doing or with who, but I promise you that it will be for the right reasons. It’s not just me I have to worry about anymore.” We both look at Lyric, still playing with Ro and Judge. “You’re a great mom, Wills. I always knew you would be though. You mothered the hell out of all of us even though we’re older,” he chides, making my grin morph into a face-splitting smile. “You all needed it! Your poor mom. She was a saint to put up with all of your rowdy asses.” I laugh. “You’re right about that. She still is.” The fondness in his voice warms my heart. “Willow?” I tear my eyes from my daughter and her “uncles.” “Hmm?” “I’ve got your back. Always. No matter if you choose the safety guy or Stone.” Law pauses, making sure I understand that he’s sincere. “I mean it.” With emotion clogging my throat I just nod. These rock stars are gonna be the death of me. When did they all get so damn feely and deep?

Willow I’M BEHIND THE BAR POURING out three shots of tequila for a couple regulars when Carleen nudges me

with her pointy little elbow. “Oww!” I scowl and then follow her line of sight when she keeps staring straight ahead. That’s when I see him. Stone. Guitar swung around and pressed to his back, his loose limbed swagger, frayed jeans, and black t-shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders. He’s been hitting the gym again . . . hard. And it shows. I glance down the length of the bar and see JD sitting there with a pint, talking to one of the headhunters from the label. Not paying any attention to what’s happening around him. Thankfully. Bringing my attention back to the front, I shout over the too-loud crowd, “What the hell is he doing?” This is so not my scene. JD and I are supposed to be at his house having dinner, but Cora had a bartender call in as well as one of the bands slotted for tonight—my guess is they’re together—and asked if I could fill in. I’d never deny Cora anything, even if it’s torture. I ask again and Carleen just shakes her head, eyes still glued to Stone. With shaky hands, I pass the shots to the group waiting and fill my next order. Eyes darting back to the stage every few moments and then to Joaquin to see if he’s noticed the bane of his existence yet. He hasn’t. My head snaps up when I hear Bear ’s booming voice. “Hello my Dirty Birds! How the fuck are you? I’ve got a special treat for you lucky bastards. You won’t be seeing Queens Nation tonight,” he announces which is met with a round of boos. “Oh shut your mouths, ya filthy animals,” Bear taunts. Way more animated than usual. “Instead of those assholes who are MIA along with my bartender, I have for you a real motherfucking rock star!” Why is he playing him up like that? He doesn’t even like Stone. Damn traitor. “Stone Lockhart from Wrecked is here and has agreed to do a few songs—” Before he can finish, the whole damn bar goes ballistic. Lovely. There’s no way Joaquin missed that. Glancing over, I find him watching me in that quiet way of his. I raise my hands palm up and shrug assuring him that this wasn’t my doing. Then I try to busy myself with the people screaming drink orders at me, pretending like I’m not drawn to the man standing on the stage so that the man, my man, sitting at the bar won’t see. It’s a losing battle as soon as he starts speaking. There’s no way to ignore him even though I want to. He has such a presence about him. A magnetism that I’ve never been able to look away from. “Wow! You guys are fucking awesome,” Stones says, chuckling softly as he pulls up the stool and

flips his guitar around to his front while settling himself on the seat, foot propped on the top rung, pulling his jeans taut against his thighs. He adjusts the mic first and then his cock with a devil’s grin. “Sorry.” Liar. “Clearly the band’s not with me. They’re in Austin handling some shit with the label. I stayed behind to take care of more important . . . things.” His voice dips low and he looks up in the direction of the bar through a curtain of black hair over his one eye. It’s impossible for him to see me with the house lights up, but I can feel his stare and my breath catches. “Since the guys aren’t here, I’m gonna do a couple covers instead of our stuff. Songs that hit home with me.” He takes a swig from the water bottle that Bear put on the table next to him. “You mind if I take a minute, get some shit off my chest?” he asks the patrons, laughing when they answer in unison, the whole damn bar like it’s a first grade classroom. “Good. I thank you for that. Bunch of polite fuckers. I’m from Texas and I thought we were polite. We ain’t got shit on y’all.” Stone waits for the whistles and laughs to die down and then crosses his arms over the top of his guitar, the whole place so quiet you can hear a pin drop. “It’s no secret that I’m an addict.” I shift uncomfortably on my feet, he shrugs nonchalantly. “Doesn’t make me special. Or a better musician, although some may argue that. Being an addict has taught me a lot though. About who I am, who the fuck I want to be, and who matters most in my life.” Again he looks toward the bar, like he’s talking directly to me. And like whoever is working the lights tonight knows it, they dim them so that he can see me. I feel trapped in his gaze. His smile widens, although I can see the sadness in it, the vulnerability. “And who matters most . . . got pushed away. I lost her when I got lost in the dope. My heart hasn’t beat in rhythm since the day she left. So, say no to fucking drugs,” he says to lighten the mood. And then he goes and says, “This one’s for you, Willow.” Not Birdie. Not Wills. Willow so that everyone in the room knows who he means. And then he launches into Imagine Dragons’ “I Was Me” and my world implodes. My breath hitches and the tears are instantaneous as the words wash over me, invading my every pore and seeping below my skin to grab a hold of my heart, squeezing, wrapping, filling the cracks he caused that these words are helping to heal. “Please believe me when I tell you that this is not who I am . . . If I recover will you take me back?” I can’t look away. The words, they couldn’t hold more meaning if he had written them himself. There’s a tear sliding down my cheek that I don’t bother wiping away. It wouldn’t make a difference; they just keep coming. Stone’s gaze is piercing, steady, and then he closes them on a soulful note and the beauty of the moment, nostalgic on so many levels, and new, and just . . . overpowering, is overwhelming. When the song ends, he opens his eyes and meets mine, blurred with tears, before lowering his head. I’m assuming to rein in his emotions because I feel like doing much the same. The crowd gives him that brief time and then they detonate in deafening applause. With the reminder that we’re not alone, the spell’s broken, and I whip my head to where Joaquin was sitting only to find him gone. I go on tiptoes and scan The Dirty Bird but don’t see him anywhere. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I curse. The thought of him witnessing my reaction to that kills me. He doesn’t deserve this limbo that I find myself in with Stone. I care about JD so much. So damn much. His patience is beyond my comprehension. If I were him, I would’ve been gone weeks ago. Stone taunts him at every turn, throwing our past in his face. And still Joaquin stays. Mumbling something to

Carleen, I toss the bar towel down and stalk toward the break room where I’m most likely to find Bear. I need to do something with these emotions and being pissed is better than whatever it is I’m doing now. “What the hell was that, Bear? Since when are you Team Stone?” I bite out in aggravation, storming into the small room. I don’t mean to take it out on him. I shouldn’t, but I just feel out of my mind right now. Like I have no control over myself. Stone’s voice as he sings a Sam Hunt song that I’m certain he’s playing for my benefit, filters past the door, trickling through the walls it seems, to reach out and wrap me up in the words. I stomp over and close the door, trying to tame the reaction his voice evokes. “I’m not Team Stone. I just—I just think I misjudged the guy,” Bear says. “Misjudged? Bear, he would get high and forget about me. Cheat on me. Kick me out of our fucking hotel room with some skank clinging to him.” Bear knows what happened that night, the why’s and where’s and the consequences. He doesn’t need the reminder any more than I do. “I know, Willow. I know.” He sighs and takes my hand. “I’m going to tell you something not even Cora knows.” He takes a deep breath, watching me. “My older brother was an addict.” Bear pauses and I flinch at his words. “Jonah?” He nods. “I never told Cora because I didn’t want her to look at him any differently. It was when I was in college. He had only been married a couple years, baby on the way when he fell at work and hurt his back.” With a small shake of his head he goes on, “The pain pills got him. Then when he couldn’t get those anymore, someone turned him on to meth. Nasty shit that is,” Bear spits out in disgust. “He would act out, and do stuff he never would, say things to hurt you one minute and apologize the next. I’d never seen mood swings like that. I even talked to his wife about maybe him being bipolar, you know, since our mom was.” Bear sighs. “This went on for over a year. Then came the other women, the lying, the sneaking around. It all became more and more obvious and I knew something was seriously wrong. My brother loved his wife. Had since we were kids. He was a good man, an honest man. This wasn’t my brother.” Hearing him say these things is like listening to him talk about Stone. Not that all addicts are the same, but the similarities are there and my heart breaks for his wife. I know all too well what she went through. Loving an addict is not easy. Especially when they’re hellbent on tearing everything apart. “I finally confronted him and for weeks he denied it. But I couldn’t let it go. This was my big brother, the man I looked up to, aspired to be like. My best friend. So I started following him. I caught him with some random woman and a bag of meth, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I gave him an ultimatum, either he checked into rehab or I called the cops.” Bear smiles. “He’s been clean for over a decade now.” I smile along with him. I’ve met Jonah and his family a few times, been to their house for barbecues even. He’s a great guy. I never would have guessed that he’d been through all that. Nor Roby, his wife. They’re so in love. “I look at Stone and I see my brother. I can’t help it,” Bear says. “I look at him and Lawson going

to meetings every couple days and I’m brought back to a time when I would sit in the back of some room in a church basement with Jonah because he was having a bad day or just needed to know that he wasn’t alone. I have a pretty good idea about what he’s going through, and although I’m not Team Stone, I am Team Jonah, and it wouldn’t be fair to my brother if I looked down upon Stone for being a recovering addict who made a shit ton of fucking mistakes, eh?” He pulls me in for a hug. “I’m also Team Willow and only want what’s best for you. I’m not saying it’s him, because only you can know that. All I’m saying is let’s not condemn the man for his sins when he’s trying so damn hard to make them right.” He looks down at me and smiles almost sheepishly, “I heard every word the other day at the studio. It takes a real man to admit all of that, Willow.” Squeezing me tight he releases me and walks out of the break room, letting in the velvety sound of Stone, the words “You can say we’re done the way you always do, it’s easier to lie to me than to yourself . . .” finding their way to me. Like a message. A message I can’t argue with. God damn Sam Hunt and Stone Lockhart. Going over to the employee lockers, I open mine and yank out my stuff and stride out of the bar, not slowing, doing my best not to falter when Stone croons, “We don’t have to miss each other . . . Come over . . .”

Insides a mess, tears already in my eyes, guilt and sadness eating at me, I stand at Joaquin's door, waiting anxiously for him to answer. After what seems like an eternity but is barely a minute, he opens. A look of melancholy on his handsome face, hair a tussled, sexy mess. He smiles sadly and stands aside for me to enter. “I’m sorry it's so late. I tried to call, but it just went right to voi—” my voice trails off when I see the broken phone strewn on the coffee table. Like he had been trying to put the shattered pieces back together again. It’s almost metaphorical. “We need to talk.” There’s a tremble in my voice that I can’t hide. Joaquin sighs loudly. “I knew this was coming. From that first day he showed up. I knew we would have this talk.” Not mad, just . . . resigned, he stalks over to the wet bar in the corner of his sunken living room. All floor to ceiling windows behind him, the lights of Toronto winking at us from below. “I need a drink. Care for one?” he asks with raised eyebrows. Of all the times I’ve wished I hadn’t given up drinking, this is one that tests me the most. “No, thank you,” I murmur. Giving him space to fix his drink, I think about all I want to say. How I want to say it and what it means for both of us. I didn’t enter into this with him lightly. It was something I wanted. He was someone I wanted. “As soon as he started singing tonight, I knew I was fucked,” Joaquin says, swearing uncharacteristically, before taking a swig from his glass. “I thought I’d dodged the bullet at the award show when you got up so that you wouldn’t have to see him perform.” He looks at me knowingly and I flush. I knew I wasn’t fooling him. “You got up and I breathed a little easier. Then he sang a song called ‘Willow’ and I damn near rejoiced that you weren’t there to hear it. I mean, I was taken by him

after that performance,” Joaquin tries to kid. “I never let myself dwell on why you couldn’t stay, chèrie. And that was my first mistake.” The ice in his tumbler tinkles as he makes his way from behind the bar area to stand in front of me. “I let you avoid the truth so that I could do the same. So you see, we’re both to blame.” His smile is gentle, but doesn’t reach his eyes. Very carefully, his eyes following his movements, he takes my hair and drapes it over my shoulder, letting his fingers glide through the strands. Stroking over it softly, I can see him contemplating his next words, see them churning around, gearing up to actually voice them. “Have you been sleeping with him, Willow?” His eyes land on mine, holding me there until I answer. They’re the color of dark chocolate, and just as intense. “No,” I answer simply. Never breaking our gaze or wavering. I see the moment he believes me and know that it doesn’t matter. I’ll be leaving here tonight nothing more than an eventual friend. I can’t lie to him by omitting the truth. “I never slept with him.” Softly I confess, “But I wanted to.” Joaquin sucks in a breath and closes his eyes briefly. Before he can say anything, I finish with the confession, “He kissed me. The other day. I told him that I wouldn’t cheat on you and he left. Nothing else happened though.” His jaw hardens with anger. “The other day? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. “A couple days ago and I had every intention of telling you. Honestly,” I add, when he gives me a doubtful glance before stalking away from me. “We were just having such a nice night, I didn’t want to ruin it, and I knew if I said anything that it would. It was the first time in a couple weeks that things weren’t awkward, so I decided to just enjoy it. It was wrong and I’m sorry, but I really did plan on telling you this evening at dinner.” Once he reaches the windows on the far wall, he turns back to me. “Am I supposed to thank you for that? Thank you for not fucking him, especially when you wanted to? Thank you for only kissing him? Forgive me, chèrie, if I’m not so willing to shower you with gratitude,” he bites out. I let him. He’s angry and hurt, and that’s the only reason he’s speaking to me like he is. Any other day, I wouldn’t stand for it, but I let him lash out. It doesn’t last long. With thumb and forefinger, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m angry but that’s no excuse to speak to you like that.” “I know. And I’m sorry. I was stupid to think that I could just get over him. I truly did believe it though, Joaquin. I would never have started anything with you if I didn’t truly and honestly believe it.” “What happened then, chèrie?” His voice is soft, his accent heavy. “He came back.” I shrug. “I was okay, not great, when he wasn’t present. When he wasn’t here, in my face, reminding me of everything we shared, all we used to be, I was able to get through my day without all of the memories. But now with him here, I can’t ignore them,” I confess. “So just like that you’re going to go back to him after everything?” There’s disappointment dripping from every word. Shaking my head, I try to clear my throat of the tears. “No. I don’t know. I just know that the way I feel isn’t fair to you. I feel like I’m in limbo with him here, and I can’t, won’t, do that to you.” I swipe at the tears on my face. The ones rapidly following and spilling onto my shirt, a lost cause. If only

they could cleanse me of the pain I feel right now. “If it weren’t for him, I could fall in love with you and we could be happy. I’m sure we could be. I care for you so much it kills me to let you go.” My voice cracks on the emotions choking me. “Then don’t.” “JD-” “No, Willow. Just don’t. Let’s go to Montreal. You and Lyric can move into my place and we can get away from all of this shit. We don’t have to be over. I don’t want us to be over,” he pleads softly. With my heart beating wildly, “I can’t hide from him forever. What kind of life would that be, constantly hiding from Stone because I can’t control the way I feel about him?” “It would be different in time.” His argument is weak; we both know it. “It’s been almost two years, Joaquin. Two years filled with so much pain and rebuilding. So much. And yet, here we are, and I can’t hurt you anymore than I already have and that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” I bring a hand to his face, running a thumb over his downturned mouth peeking through the ebony softness of his beard. “I could love you. I know I could because you’re you and everything calm and good I want in my life. And Stone is chaos. Choosing between the calm and chaos of love should be a no-brainer. But it’s not.” Taking a deep breath and letting my hand fall to his arm, “I can’t love you like you deserve to be loved. I can never love anyone the way that I did . . . do, Stone. Unfortunately, I don’t think that will change no matter if we’re together again in this lifetime or the next. I was blind to think that it could.” The tears are still falling, my heart is breaking for what could’ve been, but I know that I’m doing the right thing. Joaquin knows it’s the right thing. He may not be happy with me now, but in the long run, given time, he’ll see. Taking his face in mine, I rise up on my tiptoes and place one last lingering kiss on his warm lips. One kiss to convey so much. A goodbye, a thank you, an apology. As I break away, he pulls me back for just a second, pressing his mouth more firmly to mine before letting me go reluctantly. “Goodbye, Joaquin.” “Goodbye, Willow.”

Stone I’VE BEEN BACK IN AUSTIN for exactly thirty-six hours and all I can think about is Willow and getting

back to her and Lyric. We spent the first week in LA at the label’s headquarters and then here at the satellite offices going over shit I’m not ready for. Maybe it’s because my mind is on the girls and getting back to Toronto. I threw Wills off the other night at The Dirty Bird. She hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts since. It was a huge public display and it was in front of her boyfriend. Which, I’m not gonna fucking lie, was just a bonus. Let him see what he’s up against. But now I don’t know if she’s pissed or what, and I’m stuck in meetings and shit for the next few days in a completely different country. “Stone, are you even listening to me?” The soft feminine voice cuts into my thoughts. I shake my head no and adjust the lolli in my mouth. I used to call them suckers ’til Wills demanded I call them lollies because she hated the word “sucker.” Crazy ass. I chuckle to myself causing an exasperated huff. “I said I want to be here with you, but if you’re going to be in Canada, I’d like to go there, at least for a couple days. I haven’t spent enough time with you. I miss you.” I really don’t want anyone in Canada. It’ll take my focus off of Willow and Lyric. Or take Willow’s focus off me, and I need all the help I can get. “Now’s not a good time. I’ll be here for a few days. We can spend time together but you coming with me isn’t a good idea. At least not right now.” Drawing her into my arms, I give her a tight hug. “Bear with me. I just need some time.” “Fiiiinnneeee,” she drags out. “You’re lucky I know you love me or I would think you didn’t want your little sister around,” Scarlet pouts. Squeezing her one last time, I release her and move to sit on the couch motioning for her to follow. She flops down across from me and I shake my head at her theatrics. Aside from her being a tad dramatic, Scarlet and I might as well be twins. Both of us covered in ink, same gray eyes, damn near rocking the same haircut even. We were separated by social services when our mother OD’d— guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree—and went years without knowing where the other was. Wasn't until high school when Law’s mom helped me find her that we reconnected, but now it’s like we were never apart.

“I really would like to go with you back to Toronto. It would be nice to see Wills and meet my niece.” Scarlet looks at me pointedly. “I love Willow. I could kill you for fucking things up with her, but it's not right that she didn't tell you about Lyric.” Her accusations piss me off. Even if things weren't the way they are, I wouldn't have blamed Will's for not telling me. Not until she was sure I was clean. It should've been a dead giveaway that something wasn't right when she didn't. I crunch down on the lollipop and toss the stick into the ashtray. “Don't. You don't know the whole story, Scar. Don't make judgments on her,” I advise firmly, trying not to sound like a dick. I won’t tell my sister the truth because it’s not anyone’s business. If I have my way, no one will ever know aside from the few people that already do. In fact, I plan on putting the ball into motion while I’m here. At least the trip won’t be a total pain in my ass. “I’m not judging, just a little upset since she knows how we grew up,” she continues. “How is that, Scarlet? You in a loving home, with doting parents, traveling the country?” Guess I should have tried harder to not be a dick, but her talking down on Willow, even though she’s coming from a good place, is doing my ass in. “Since this is obviously a sore subject and I don’t feel like fighting with you, I’m going to drop it. Just know that I’m anxious to see them both.” Scarlet stands and comes over to pop a kiss to my head. “You don’t always have to be such a hard ass, you know. I get that you’re hurting. We can talk about it whenever you want. But you don’t get to be an asshole to me for caring.” There isn’t any heat in her words. It makes me feel even worse. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” “Apology accepted. Buy me something pretty and we’ll forget it ever happened,” she teases. “I’m not buying you shit, you mooch,” I kid. “Hey! Consider me property management. You don’t want to have an empty mansion for someone to squat in,” Scarlet deadpans. “It’s hardly a mansion, and you are the squatter.” Darting off the couch, I just miss her swinging fist. She almost catches me when I go sliding into the foyer, her hot on my heels. “No running in the house, Scarlet!” My voice echoes around the empty space, so loud I don’t hear the doorbell right away. “Shh, was that the door?” “Oh shut up you cheater!” She giggles, coming at me again, when we hear it more clearly this time. “I told you,” I say smugly, reaching for the door handle. I don’t bother asking who it is. Dane is at the gate house; he won’t let anyone up that I don’t want to see. He’s sent Ron the drug dealer away more than once. Makes me crazy to think that he’s still lurking. I should’ve turned his ass in and done us both a favor, but there’s that saying about snitches getting stitches and all. Wrenching the door open, I smile when I see Law, Judge, and Ro standing there. “Why are you ringing the bell? Where’s your key?” moving aside so they can come in. “Forgot it in the truck,” Law says, squeezing by and slapping my ass as he passes. “You ready,

pussy?” “Ready for what?” I ask. “You didn’t even look at the schedule that Addy gave you yesterday, did you?” Judge chastises. Ro just chuckles and takes Scar ’s arm and leads her into the living room to sit. “Damn it, Stone. We need to be downtown for a shoot in less than thirty minutes.” He’s aggravated, obviously. “Umm, so the fuck what?” I look at Law for some help and he just raises his palms, basically telling me I’m on my own. “Are you not here to get me? Let’s go. I’m sure they’re going to put me in whatever the fuck they want me to wear anyway, so what’s the problem, bro?” I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to tell me what his deal is. “Nothing. I would just like to not have to hold everyone’s fucking hand for one God damn day,” he spits out, stalking back out the front door. With wide eyes I turn to Lawson. “What the motherfuck was that?” “Dude, I have no clue. He got a phone call and that’s how he’s been ever since. No clue who it was even from,” Law answers as he starts out the front door he just came through. Grabbing my keys and phone, I stick my head into the living room and call for Ro, “Yo, let’s go. Before he kills us all,” I joke. “Ooh, can I go?” Scarlet asks, jumping to her feet. She’s a model when she’s not working as a nanny, so while this is torture for us, it’s a wet dream for her. “Yeah, just don’t poke the Judge. He’s pissy as fuck.” She mumbles something under her breath, and I swear it sounded like she said, “I’ll let the Judge poke me.” “What did you say, Scar?” I demand. “Nothing,” she singsongs as she breezes by me. All of a sudden I’m rethinking her tagging along.

I’m tired as hell. We’ve been nonstop for days but we got shit done. Promo shoot, done. Meetings with the label and another with my finance guys, done. There’s nothing else that I care enough about doing here. I’m ready to get back to Wills. Pulling out my suitcase, I decide I’m going to do just that. Fuck staying here and driving myself crazy. Why sit and wonder what she’s doing, whether Joaquin is there, if Lyric is walking yet, when I can drive us all crazy and be there? With some renewed energy, I start packing clothes and shit that I didn’t want the moving guys to touch. I hadn’t moved all of my stuff, just my essentials. I don’t know what Willow’s long term plans are, but if they include Toronto then so do mine. But this is our home and I’ll never get rid of it. Let my sister stay here for as long as she wants. Once my suitcase is full, I zip it up and pull out my phone, balancing it between my shoulder and ear while I roll the case out into the hall. I get Judge’s voicemail and promptly hang up. I dial the

airline next and book a flight to Toronto that leaves in a little less than two hours. Hoisting the luggage, I go down the stairs to find Scarlet and tell her I’m leaving. As I walk through the kitchen, I dial Judge again, again going to voicemail. I click off and dial Addy, who, of course, picks up on the second ring because she’s fucking awesome. “Addy girl! I need a favor.” “Of course you do, darlin’,” she responds in her soft drawl. “Whatcha need?” “I’m on the next flight to Toronto. I can’t get a hold of Judge; can you let him know for me?” “Flying out? Commercial?” she asks as she types frantically. I can hear the clicking of the keys as she scrambles on the other end of the phone line. “Yup. No time to get the plane ready.” “Oh. Judge didn’t mention you guys flying out so soon,” Addy says hesitantly. Feeling me out. “There’s nothing else on my schedule, right?” “Umm, kind of? You’re all done with all of your meetings and promo stuff. Bu-” “Perfect,” I interrupt. “Just let him and the boys know.” She sighs in defeat. Clearly realizing that nothing she can say is going to keep me here. “Just you?” “Yes, ma’am. I mean, they’re welcome to come along, but I’m leaving in less than two hours. I’m not waiting for them.” I find my sister, finally, out by the pool, and slide the door open and walk out into the hot Texas sun. The sun reflecting off the water and blinding me. When she looks at me in question, I hold up a finger telling her to wait. “We good here, Addy? I need to get my ass to the airport.” Another sigh. “Yes, Stone. We’re good. I’ll get a hold of them all now.” “Thanks. You’re the best.” Just as I’m disconnecting, I hear her call out my name. “Stone! Stone, are you taking Dane with you?” “Yup. If I’m flying commercial, I figured I should bring him with so Judge doesn’t kill me,” I chuckle. “Oh, he’s gonna kill you regardless, it might just hurt less if you bring Dane,” Addy says, giggling herself now. “Call me when you land, you troublemaker.” “I’ll call. And you love me,” I say quickly before hanging up. “So I take it you’re leaving?” my sister asks, peering at me over the top of her sunglasses. “Yup. I’m heading out now. You gonna be okay?” I don’t doubt for a second that she will be, but she’s still my sister and there’s still something going on that she’s not telling me about. “I’ll be fine. Be careful and call me when you land.” Pushing her glasses back up on her nose, she turns her face up to the sun. “Let me know when I can come meet my niece,” she calls out. “I will. Call me if you need anything,” I throw over my shoulder, already at the door. Satisfied when she raises a hand in acknowledgment. Putting my own sunglasses on, I walk out the front door to let Dane know we’re going. In a few hours I’ll be in Toronto and seeing my girls. I just hope Joaquin isn’t around. I’m in much too good of a mood to fuck with him today. If he is though, I’ll

have had a three-hour flight to think about what memory I can torture him with now. The thought has me smiling all the way down the drive, whistling a jaunty tune. I warned him. Rock star without rhythm . . . is a man with no soul.

Willow STONE IS SITTING ON MY porch smoking when I pull into the drive after my class. When he sees me, he

snubs out the cigarette and meets me at the Jeep. “Hey Birdie,” he says softly, as he pops open the back door. “What are you doing here, Stone?” I ask tiredly, watching him unbuckle Lyric, being careful not to wake her. Gently he lifts my daughter out and settles her tiny sleeping self on his shoulder, pressing a kiss into her hair and murmuring to her soothingly when she stirs. The sight takes my breath away. It literally steals every little bit of air I have watching his tattooed hand soothe over her head and her back. I can hear him softly singing “Love Me Tender” just like I always do, as he turns and walks up the stairs, pausing at the door for me to catch up. With no other choice, I follow and unlock the door, letting us into the house. He turns and heads to Lyric's room. “I'll take her, Stone. You don't have to do that,” I tell him, moving to take Lyric from him. “I want to, Wills. I've missed so much with her.” His voice is pitched low so he doesn't wake her and I watch once again as he goes to put her in her room. Wild horses couldn't keep me from following behind him. Stone enters the nursery, his singing resumed, and lays Lyric down in her crib. With steady hands, he removes her little shoes and jacket, then leans his inked up arms on the top rail and gazes down at her while he finishes the song. I can do nothing but watch from the doorway. Frozen to the spot as emotion grips me. So many times I've dreamt of this. Dreamt he was here with us, just like this. That Lyric was our daughter and we were a family. “Wills?” He breaks into my thoughts with his soft rasp. Blinking to bring him into focus, “I'm going to make some tea,” I whisper hoarsely, leaving him next to the crib. I need the extra time to get my thoughts in order. He's managed to invade all my senses, break down too many of my walls. I'm staring out the kitchen windows at the night when I see Stone walk in the room. “You okay, Birdie?” he asks with that gravelly voice of his that touches all my fragile places. I can only nod. Not trusting myself right now. My emotions are a chaotic riot. I love him. I hate him. I want to hold him. I want to hit him. I want so much, but I don't know what to do with any of it. “Why are you here, Stone? I thought you guys were in LA and then back to Austin?” In the

reflection, I watch him hop up on the counter, hands braced on the granite at either side of his legs, muscles and ink dancing with the movement. He twists the baseball cap on his head backwards, the hoop in his nose catching the light. He has on a black tank top, the material clinging to his muscled chest, the barbells through his nipples outlined making my insides do a funny little dance. “I went. Did the meeting thing in LA then went home to Austin to check on the house and meet with the finance guys. I cut it all short. There’s nothing that can’t be handled over the phone or Skype if they really need to see my face. I didn’t want to be away from . . . here, anymore.” He said here but he meant me. I’m sure of it. I just choose to ignore it. “What does the label want that’s so urgent?” I question curiously, moving past him to the stove and the kettle that is about to start whistling. Pulling a mug down from the cabinet right beside him, I try not to breathe him in. Fight not to lean into the warmth of him, so close I can feel his leg brushing ever so slightly against mine as he swings his feet. I peek around the cabinet at him, and find him looking at my ass. He doesn’t even pretend he isn’t when he realizes he’s been caught. He just gives me that slow Stone smile. The one that they love to capture and put on billboards it’s so damn hot. “Want some tea?” He shrugs, “Okay.” “So what did the boys at the label want?” I prod. This is the first normal conversation we’ve had since he’s been back in my life. I can’t help but like the familiarity of it. Of him. “They want us back on tour. But I'm not ready.” “Sobriety is hard. Don't push yourself.” I look down at our mugs, playing with the tea bags I’ve dropped in each, just taking a second to weigh out my next words. “I’m proud of you, Stone,” I say quietly. It’s hard for me to admit, I’m not exactly sure why, but it doesn’t make it any less true. “Don't do that. Yes, it’s hard. It's a disease. But nobody tells cancer survivors that they're proud of them for beating it. They deserve it more than me. I'm an addict. I don't deserve accolades for that shit.” My head cocked, I look at him. Does he not see what he’s accomplished? “Stone. Look at me.” I wait until he brings his angry gray eyes my way. “You’re your own cure. You. You walked into rehab on your own and walked out sober and you’ve stayed that way ever since. That’s something to be proud of. I’m not saying that being an addict is something to be revered for, but being a survivor, and facing your demons head on, is.” His eyes dart to every corner of my face and then back to my eyes. This is the most intimate moment I’ve initiated since he came back into my life and I want nothing more than to hold him right now. Heal him. Fill the cracks that his addiction left behind. But I won’t. I can’t. I’m still too broken myself. “Only you could ever see the good in me, Birdie. Always.” Stone reaches out and runs his callused finger down the side of my face before dropping his hand to the granite again, squeezing the edge. “The day I vowed to get sober I made a promise to myself that when I finally got you back in my life that I’d never lie to you again.” I lower my head so he can’t see the hurt there. That’s something I can’t get past. All the lying and cheating. It haunts me. Niggles at me whenever I feel myself weakening toward him.

He goes on speaking, not forcing me to look at him for which I’m grateful. “Do I want a drink right now? Fuck yes. A hit? A pill? Absolutely. But then I think about you. About Lyric. I think about how brave you are. All I put you through. And the thought of taking that sip, that line, turns my stomach.” With a finger under my chin, he makes me look at him now. He won’t let me hide from him and I’m not sure that I want to. “For as long as I live, I will never be that guy again. That’s no lie, Birdie.” The kettle shrieks scaring the hell out of both of us. With a startled laugh, I grab it off the burner, pouring the water into the mugs. Grateful for the interruption. I go about doctoring his tea the same as I do mine only with a double dose of sugar for him. “Plus, that isn’t why I’m not ready to go back on tour,” Stone tells me as he takes the steaming brew from my hand. My eyebrows drawn, I watch him and wait. When he doesn’t answer right away I take the bait. “Why then?” Him wrapping his large tattooed hands around the dainty cup shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Looking up from his hands, my gaze collides with his. “I’m not ready to leave you. You or Lyric.” “Stone—” “I know, Wills. I know. You have JD. But you gotta know I’m not going anywhere. Even when they do finally make me go on tour, I’m coming back here. If you and the little bird are here, this is where I’ll be.” Sipping his tea, he gives me a moment to let that sink in. “Stone, that’s nuts. You have a home in Austin, the studio.” He interrupts me again. “None of it matters if you’re here.” Stone pins me with a look of pure determination. “If I have to steal you from him, I will. I will remind you of every pretty word, stolen moment, every fucking memory until you can’t handle it anymore if that’s what it takes, but I’m not walking away, Willow. You can’t make me. Lyric deserves a dad who loves her mama as much as he loves her little girl. That guy’s not JD. It’s not.” My lip trembles as I watch him place a hand over his heart. “I’m your rhythm, Birdie. Me.” His words are strong and ring true. I can’t do this with him. I need to think, to breathe, and I can’t do either with him so close. Using his fucking words on me. People always say that actions speak louder than words, but with Stone it’s just the opposite. His words hold all of his meaning. Drawing in a Stone-scented breath, I walk to the other side of the kitchen. “You have to go, Stone. It’s late and you shouldn’t be here.” He snorts. “You worried your little boyfriend is gonna show up and get the wrong idea? Let him, Birdie. Better yet, tell him. He’s not your guy.” I shake my head, rubbing at my temple and the headache that’s starting to form. “Joaquin won’t— he’s not . . . we’re not—”I stammer. “We broke up,” I say and then take a sip of my still too hot tea. At this revelation, Stone hops down from the counter, his grin kicking up one side of his mouth, lips curling in mirth. “When did this happen?” “Couple weeks ago I guess.” I don’t dare tell him it was the night he sang for me at The Dirty Bird. “You know what? I’m not discussing it with you. I’ve had a long day. I need to get to sleep. I

have another class in the morning.” Putting my mug down, I start for the front door, hoping with everything in my being that he follows. After a moment he does. Once there he turns to me, “You know you don’t have to work, Birdie. You and Lyric never have to want for anything as long as you live.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets he watches me. “Stone, I told you, that money is yours. You earned it. Just like I’m earning mine.” His eyes are calm, his gaze steady. “Okay, Wills. Okay. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.” Before I can argue that with him, he’s on the sidewalk strolling to his house which is still entirely too damn close.

Stone IN THE STUDIO AT THE Dirty Bird, I make adjustments to the lyrics in the notebook in front of me. The

guys are still in Austin for a couple more days and I’m getting stir crazy at the house. It’s too fucking quiet without those assholes. Dane is there, but that motherfucker is so quiet he might as well be a mute. Shit’s unnatural. Cigarette clamped between my teeth, I play the bridge again. Hitting the body of the Martin with my wrist, the snap on my leather cuff adding to the melody. I hear the door open and look up to see a glaring Bear. “Cora is gonna kick your ass for smoking in here.” With a grin I nod and take a long drag of the cigarette. He didn't come in here to bitch about my smoking. “What’s up, Bear?” “New song?” He lifts his chin in my direction. “Yeah, man. I did a ton of writing in rehab, but I’ve felt . . . inspired lately, I guess you can say. Amazing what you can get done when you’re not fucked up and your mind is clear.” I laugh wryly. “If only someone had told me sooner.” I take one more deep pull before putting the cigarette out. “What’s it called?” Bear asks, coming further into the room. Slowly I release the smoke from my lungs, watching it swirl between us. He’s never really been nice to me. I mean that one night at The Dirty Bird when I sang to Wills he pretended to be nice to me, but this is different. I feel like I’m being tested or some shit. “Willow’s Lyric.” He nods approvingly. “Will they let you name another song after her?” I snort, “I don’t give a fuck what they say about shit. My contract with them is almost up. If they want to keep me, they’ll stay off my ass.” This piques his interest a bit. “Are you thinking about leaving and going with someone else? They’re a big label; bands would kill to be signed with them.” “Not sure. The guys and I have talked about starting our own label. I don’t want to tour as much anymore, and if Fall Out had their way I’d be touring for the next three years with no break. I’m not doing that. I’m done with that shit.” “You just hit big, what, like five or six years ago now? You really done with touring?”

“Yup. What kind of life would that be for Lyric? And I don’t want to be gone so much that I’m some deadbeat absentee father. I had one of those. Not what I want for her.” I cross my arms over the top of my guitar. “I lived my childhood in foster homes. Some I didn’t think I’d even survive. One or two I almost didn’t. I just want Lyric to have a happy fucking home. One where she knows she’s safe and loved. Give her a couple brothers to watch over her little ass.” I laugh, a little embarrassed that I just admitted all that to a man that barely likes me. Clearing my throat, I keep going, might as well let him in on the plan. Fucker ’s gonna have to like me eventually, I’m not going anywhere. “So, yeah. I’m done with the crazy, never-ending tours and parties and bullshit.” I reach for my smokes on the stool next to me and light one up, glancing in his direction expectantly when he doesn’t say anything right away. “So I take it you know that she and Joaquin broke up?” The smile that slips over my face can’t be helped. “I do.” Bear shakes his head and laughs. “Don’t look so upset about it.” “She was never his to begin with.” “No. I guess she wasn’t,” he says thoughtfully. “Do you mean everything you said? About Lyric and making a home with Willow?” “God damn right. Every word,” I say with conviction. “Are you planning on taking her away from here? From us?” He raises a hand to halt my answer. “I mean, if she’ll have you.” The bastard smirks at me. “I’m all done being first. I put my dreams ahead of everything because music, ya know? And Wills let me because it was our thing. She may not have wanted in the band, but we made music . . . together. And then I let the devil get me. Let addiction take everything that meant anything to me and just leave me empty. I’d been lost for a long time. But not anymore. I have purpose. I found my rhythm again. Willow is my rhythm. I finally feel whole again. Unbroken.” Inhaling slowly from the cigarette, I exhale even slower, trying to organize the chaos of my thoughts and eventually answering the question he asked. “If Willow says this is where she and Lyric want to be, then this is where we’ll be. We can work shit out with the band and the label. If they don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. If I learned anything in rehab, it’s that we only get this one life. We may get a couple redo’s, but you gotta make them count. I want to make this one count.” Bear just watches me for a second. Weighing my words. “Well, if you’re serious, and I believe that you are, I’ll help you in any way that I can. I only want to see them happy.” He pierces me with a steady glare and then nods. “If you guys decide to move forward and start your own label, you’re going to have some legal shit to wade through. Tell Judge to call me. I can help with all of that.” With narrowed eyes, I jerk back a little surprised and give him a dubious look. “What? Don’t let the beard and flannel fool you, eh? Underneath this whole lumbersexual thing I’ve got going on, I’m an attorney.” Before I can stop myself, I burst out laughing. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that Paul Bunyan over here is a fucking attorney or that he just called himself a lumbersexual that has me doing my best to

smother my laughter with the back of my hand. “Keep laughing, you little prick. I was a partner at one of the largest, most prestigious law firms in Montreal.” “No shit?” I ask incredulously. “No shit. That’s actually how I met Cora. Her first husband died and left her his half of The Dirty Bird, but his partner tried to screw her out of it so she hired me to help. The rest is history,” Bear says, smiling fondly at the memory. “And the partner?” “Also history,” he says smugly. “Well-played, sir. I’ll let Judge know.” We sit for a few seconds just in the moment, bonding or some shit. It’s weird as fuck, honestly. Testing the waters, I ask, “Did we just become friends?” “Not a fucking chance, rock star.” Lips lifted in a smirk, “Didn’t think so.”

Parked outside Willow’s place, I pop a lolli in my mouth. I found out from my new friend Bear that Wills has a class and that Cora has Lyric today visiting her mom. It’s something she does regularly which gives me a couple hours to spend with Birdie. As soon as she pulls up, I hop out of the truck and make my way over. “What are you doing here, Stone?” “You know, you say that a lot. If I was a weaker man it would probably hurt my feelings.” “You’re right, I do, and I think I’ve even apologized for it once before. Maybe,” she says thoughtfully, walking toward her house. Before she makes it to the door I snag her arm. “Come for a ride with me, Birdie.” My request has her whipping her head in my direction. “You have the truck here?” Her voice holds reverence and a little bit of excitement that she can’t hide. There are a lot of memories in that old truck. “I do.” She shakes her head no and looks away. “I can’t go. I have to go and get Lyric.” “You’ve always been shit at lying. You know that, right?” I tease. “She’s with Cora visiting her mom and all of the old folks. I already talked to Bear.” “And he told you? That traitor,” Willow mumbles. “Come on, Wills. Come for a ride with me,” I coax, tugging on her arm again. My hand tingling where it lies against her soft skin. “Just come with me, Birdie?” “Where, Stone?” “I don't know. For a ride. Like we used to before shit got crazy.” I see the memories dance across her face. We used to drive with no destination in mind. Just get in the truck and go. Willow’s feet on the dash and the wind blowing in our hair. We'd find secluded places, quiet lakes, fields of

wildflowers, abandoned barns. And we'd just be. Or we’d fuck like we weren’t out in the open. Up against those weathered barns, after skinny dipping in the lakes. And sometimes we made love lying among fragrant flowers, their scent mingling with ours. They were some of my favorite fucking moments. And then the band hit big and we couldn't get away by ourselves like that anymore because people recognized me. I didn't miss those drives so much then. But fuck if I don't miss the hell out of them now. Toronto couldn’t give zero fucks about who I am. And who I am is a man who wants to take a ride with his woman. Thankfully, I’m allowed to be that guy here. It only takes a moment, but I see it in the softening of her features, the relaxing of her shoulders, the biting of her bottom lip, that I’ve won. When I let my fingers run down her arm to her hand and tug once again, she lets me. Before she can change her mind I lead her to the curb. Without releasing her I reach with my other hand and open the passenger door and help her in, reluctantly letting her go in order to close the door. I walk around the hood of the truck and glance through the windshield to see her watching me. My lips lift in a half smile on their own accord and I toss her a wink. She’s right where she needs to be. Where I need her to be. My rhythm.

Willow BEING BACK IN THIS TRUCK brings so many memories flooding back. Some smack me in the face with

their intensity, some soothe over me like a caress. All of them make my heart race. “Do you have any idea where you’re even going?” I ask him when he heads down the road. “Nah. We never knew where we were going in Austin though either,” he reminds me. It’s true. We didn’t. We would just drive and talk and sing and laugh. Every one of those rides always ended with him and I naked. Sometimes only partially so, but naked where it mattered. I flush at the thought and it of course doesn’t get past him. “Whatcha over there thinking about, Birdie?” he drawls. His voice has always held his Texas roots but only slightly, which suited him. Nothing about Stone screams Southern gentleman or good ol’ boy. He’s reckless and looks it. With his tattoos and piercings and the way he dresses like a legit rock star. Worn jeans, boots, t-shirts, and even a leather jacket most days. He’s no cowboy. But he’s perfect. Beautiful. Stone was born to be a star. He looks the part and he for damn sure acts it. He’s everything you can’t control and I never wanted to. Until it was too late. But I see now that even then I didn’t want to change him, just to help him find his way back to who he was. The man he was meant to be. “Nothing. Just wondering where we’re going.” He scoffs. “Oh my beautiful, girl. You really lie like shit, baby.” Stone smirks that smirk, and I squirm in my seat, pressing my legs together until he points at them. “See, that right there is another one of your tells, Birdie. The first one was that pretty blush just across your cheeks and the second is when you squeeze your legs real tight like that,” he mocks in that sexy rasp of his. “Like you’re either trying to will yourself not to get wet or you know there’s no chance of that so you need to find some relief.” Before he goes on, he glances over at me quickly then brings his eyes back to the road. “I can help with both; all you have to do is tell me which memory has you so hot.” I want to hit him for knowing me so well. “The memory where you shut up.” He throws his head back and laughs, drawing my eyes to the strong column of his neck and the ink dancing with the movement of his laughter. I can’t deny what he said. Being around him again has been a constant reminder of just how potent my body’s reaction to him is still. All he has to do is

smile, speak, breathe and I want him. Even though my heart is telling the rest of me that it’s not ready to get Stoned again. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this. We always had so much fun together, all except for that dark time in our lives where Stone wasn’t Stone. I don’t want to dwell on that anymore though. I need to make a decision. I’m either going to forgive him and move forward, or I’m going to hold on to the painful memories and use them to keep my heart safe and my walls erected. I’m just not ready to make that decision yet. When he’s finished laughing at me, he reaches for the glove box and pulls out a lolli. I’m almost certain he’s doing it on purpose. “I don’t want to smoke with you in the truck,” he says as he unwraps the sweet treat and pops it in his mouth. “Since when?” I ask baffled. Rolling the ball to his cheek so he can talk around the stick, “Since I read somewhere that it’s not good for Lyric. Even though she’s not here you can have the chemicals and shit on your clothes and they can rub off on her.” He’s so matter-of-fact about it. So serious and informed. “You read up on it?” That’s the part that stuck out to me the most. I heard everything he said, but it’s that part that grabbed a hold of my heart. “Yeah. It’s been quiet at the house with the guys gone, and just me and Dane there, so I’ve been reading.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t realize just how much of a big deal it is. “About babies?” Not looking at me he nods. “About babies, and other things.” His voice drops an octave, the playfulness gone, and his face becomes pinched. I shake my head confused about what else he could be reading about to put that look on his face and that tone to his words. “What other things?” Watching him closely I notice when his hands tighten on the steering wheel, twisting over the wrapped leather, causing it to creak. I see his jaw tense and his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. It all falls into place. Removing the lolli from his mouth he tosses it into an empty cup sitting in the console. “I’ve been reading about what happened to you. How people are expected to live with the aftermath in their everyday lives. How it affects them,” Stone says, glancing at me before he switches lanes and slows down to pull into a parking spot in front of a row of eclectic shops on Queen Street. Slowly he shuts off the ignition and turns to look at me. “Why?” My brows are drawn down, trying to understand. “Because if it affects you, it affects me, Wills.” When I start to shake my head, he interrupts. “For just a minute do your best to forget about the asshole I was while I was using and remember the guy I was before all the bullshit. Wouldn’t that guy care about something so fucking important? So serious and life changing?” He waits for my answer and I can’t deny that he’s right. That Stone would’ve been by my side every step of the way. Helping me to heal and learn to live with what happened that night. Cheering me on and encouraging me as I became the woman I needed to be so that I could love myself again, and more importantly, love Lyric without conditions. I did all of that, but I did it without

him. That he’s reading about it now brings tears to my eyes. “It never should have happened, but it did. I will never forgive myself. As long as I live I will carry it with me. There’s nothing I can do to change any of it though. God knows I would if I could, so I need to be able to understand because I want to be able to help you if you need me. It’s not enough to love you. I want to know what you might need from me. I want to be able to lift you up if you fall.” Stone swipes a tear from my cheek and then places his rough hand on my thigh, squeezing slightly. “Not that I think you will ever fall. You’re the strongest person I know. Always have been, Birdie. I just want to be the one picking you up if you ever falter for a change, instead of you being the one dragging my ass to my feet.” I don’t know what to say. With his hand on my leg, tears running down my face, his scent surrounding me, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, I’m overwhelmed. It’s all so much and yet not enough. The urge to walk away from him and all of these contradicting feelings is just as strong as the desire to crawl into his lap and let him hold me tight. All my broken pieces wanting to cling to him, begging to be made whole. We sit quietly, him watching me and me trying to rein in my emotions and the chaos he always manages to stir up inside me. “You’re right and I’m sorry. It’s going to take some time for me to learn to separate those two versions of you. They’re so different, yet they wore the same face.” Sniffling, I look up at him and admit, “I hated who you became, but I’m learning that you’re not your addiction, Stone. Your mistakes aren't what define you. That you can be more than your demons and you’re doing just that. You are digging in deeper than the scars you've left behind. On both of us.” My eyes are drawn to his hand as he presses his fingers to his mouth, tugging gently at his bottom lip. “You're not your addiction,” I repeat for both of us. “You're so much more. It’s just hard for me to remember that.” Taking a deep breath, “I’ve blamed you for so long. I didn’t blame him when I know I should have. It was easier for me to blame you. It made staying away from you a little more bearable.” Stone makes a strangled noise low in his throat, “Birdie—” “I don’t blame you anymore. I don't blame you,” I repeat in a breathy voice. I'm surprised at this revelation and feel the need to repeat it again, taste the truth in the words and let him do the same. “I don't blame you,” I say with conviction. Stone gives a stiff nod and takes the key out of the ignition. I watch, slightly dazed and a little confused as he gets out and walks around to my side and jerks open the door. I'm just about to ask what he's doing when he gathers me into his arms and pulls me from the truck. He holds me suspended in the air, tight against him, his face buried in my hair. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him even tighter. I can feel the trembling, but I'm not sure which one of us it is. “I blame me, Birdie. You don't have to. I fucking blame me,” Stone swears into my hair, never loosening his hold. There's nothing I'll be able to say to change his stance, so I just squeeze tighter, hold him harder. Let our broken bits meld together and hope that just a few more of them will come out whole. And when the rain starts, he doesn’t let go and neither do I. We just stand wrapped up in one another ’s

arms, chest to chest, our hearts beating as one. Finally beating in rhythm.

Stone NOT GIVING TWO SHITS ABOUT standing in the rain, getting soaked, I savor the feel of Willow in my

arms for one second more, doing my best to shield her from the nasty weather. When the ground shakes with thunder, and lightning flashes through the sky, I reluctantly let go and tuck her back into the truck. Jogging around the front, I stop and look through the windshield at her, the rain making it difficult to see clearly, but I can make her out just enough. Some heavy shit went down here today, but it was necessary and now I feel as if a weight has been lifted, leaving me lighter and able to properly redeem myself. I have so much to make up for. I have more to atone for than any one man should. I know what it is to have the love of a good woman. I won’t stop until I’ve proven that I’m worthy of that love again. Through the rain, Willow peers out at me. When I don’t move, she cocks her head and motions for me to hurry up. Completely soaked, I hop in and quickly slam the door on the now torrential downpour. “I guess we aren’t walking on the beach after all. Where the fuck did that come from?” I ask her as I push back the wet hair clinging to my face. I’m sorry for the interruption of the shit weather but it’s probably for the best. It helped to lighten up a heavy moment. I don’t want to let that heavy moment set the tone for our time together today. “Welcome to Canada,” Willow laughs, using the edge of her shirt to dry her face. Just that little flash of skin, the little strip just above her waistband, has me sucking in a deep, breath. It’s been too long. I’ve been teasing her for months, reminding her of how good we are together, about how I know her body and what she likes. All that time it was all foreplay for me. Torturous, make me hard foreplay. I clear my throat, hoping to rid my voice of the need I feel for her. “So since we can’t walk, should we chance being recognized and get some food? I’m starving.” “There’s a place we can go over by The Dirty Bird. Nothing fancy, coffee and sweets, but some great little sandwiches too. It’s my favorite place to be if I’m not at the DB,” she suggests, to my relief. I was afraid she’d just ask me to take her home. Putting the wipers on high and kicking the defroster on, I shift the truck into gear. Once I’m on the road, I jerk my chin in the direction of the glove box for another lolli. I’m dying for a smoke, but I

really want to try not to smoke around her as much. Just like she always has, she says nothing, knowing what I want, and grabs one out and hands it over. I raise my brows and grin at her. “Watermelon. My favorite.” Willow rolls her eyes at me, but not before I see those thighs press together and that flush creep over her cheeks. Not able to contain it, my grin turns into a smile that I try to hide behind my hand. “Yours too, right?” I tease, loving that she just glares at me as her cheeks get pinker and she crosses her legs. I can’t wait to get my lolli all over her again.

Few minutes later and we’re turning onto my street. We jammed to some Lynyrd Skynyrd followed by some Maroon 5, which I promised not to judge her for, and then some Mumford and Sons on the way to my house, not leaving room for me to ask if she minded stopping. There was no way I could sit in public with this wet ass shirt stuck to me. Just driving and singing at the top of our lungs while the rain beat down on the truck was fucking awesome. It was like old times. I almost just kept driving. “I have to run in and change my clothes really quick, Birdie. I’m fucking soaked.” “I figured that’s where we were going. Is this it?” Peering through the windshield through the rain, I see her eyes widen. “How in the hell did you manage to not only buy a place a block from me but one so big in this area?” she asks as I hit the remote on the gate that Judge insisted I have installed. “I’d say it was luck, but I think it was fate,” I tell her, driving through to the garage at the end of the drive. “Wait ’til you see the inside, you’ll love it.” I’m excited to have her here finally. As lame as it sounds, I wanted her to see it and get her approval. I’ve never bought a house without her. Even my first place when she was still in high school she had a say in. “Come on, I promise to be quick.” I hop out of the truck and go to help her out, but she’s already jumping down so I wait at the hood. “I still can’t believe that you found this place,” she says following behind me. “I like it. I’m not sure if I’ll stay here though,” I say over my shoulder. Willows face falls a little bit, clearly taking that the wrong way. “Yeah, of course not. You have a home in Austin.” “I do. But what I meant is I want this piece of land over on the beach. I’m waiting on the finance guys to approve it right now. It’s pricey, but we can build the most incredible house on the property. Beachfront. Exactly the way we want it.” If she noticed that I said “we” she doesn’t mention it. “Wow. I don’t even want to know the price tag on that.” “No, no, you don’t,” I laugh. “So here’s the kitchen.” I gesture to the wide open room, all stainless steel, wood beams and exposed brick. Willow sighs dramatically “What a waste of a beautiful kitchen,” “Yeah, yeah, smart ass. Feel free to come and cook for me so that I don’t starve.” Tossing a wink her way, I take her through the formal dining room. “Talk about wasted space,” I mutter, grinning at her. She was adamant that we have one in the house in Austin although we ate in it exactly two times a year. We’re entering the main living room

when she stops, eyes focused on the grand piano in the corner, and the picture sitting on top of it. “You brought it,” she breathes out. Tentatively, like it might jump up from its perch and bite her, she makes her way over, sliding across the bench, eyes never leaving the framed memory. “Of everything I left behind, this is the one thing I missed the most,” Willow murmurs, running a finger over the glass. “Seems silly, when you think of it. It’s just a picture.” A small smile sneaks across her face. “We were so happy,” she says wistfully. I cross my arms across my chest to stop myself from reaching for her. “Yeah, we were.” My voice is low, gentle. I want to tell her how surprised I was that she had left it. How fucking hurt. How seeing it there made me go out of my fucking mind. But I don’t want to bring that shit up right now. I don’t want to remind her of the reasons she left. Only of the reasons she needs to come back. “We’ll be that happy again, Wills. And think of all the fun we’ll have on the way.” I don’t give her a chance to respond or shoot me down. “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna go change. Look around if you want. The decorator is still working on shit so there’s not a whole lot to see.” Leaving her to put on a dry shirt gives me a minute to get myself together as well as her. Everything inside me is screaming to bring her upstairs to my bedroom and lay her down. Spend the rest of my life getting reacquainted with her body. Learning all the new curves and valleys. I groan a low rumble, entering my room and walking straight to the shower. I need a minute and so does my cock.

Willow I’M STILL SITTING AT THE piano, letting my fingers dance softly over the keys, staring out the window at

nothing when I hear him come into the room. “You always were a better player than I’ll ever be,” Stone says, drawing my attention to where he stands. Hair damp and falling into his face, plain white tee clinging to his muscled chest and his ridiculously chiseled arms, the front tucked into his favorite jeans showcasing the belt buckle I’d bought him ages ago. The worn leather cuff on his wrist and ring on his index finger making him look just edgy enough to hint at the rock star he truly is. It’s his scent that gets me though. A scent I missed more than is normal, I’m sure. It’s fresh and warm, woodsy and natural. Like a cozy blanket wrapped around you while you sit in the cool morning air and watch the sun come up over the lake. Way too much thought goes into that, but it’s exactly what it reminds me of. Having looked my fill, I bring my eyes back up to his. “I’m better than you at a lot of things,” I say to rile him up. Piano isn’t one of them. He always seemed to think so, but he never sat and listened to himself play the way I did. Stone picked up an instrument and made love to it. He didn’t just play them. He formed a bond. He’s never given himself enough credit, always crazy hard on himself. “You ready to go now?” Getting up, I walk around the piano toward him. “Do you need to go home and change or are you okay?” Stone asks, letting his gaze roam over me. Lovingly. Longingly. Lasciviously. “Nope, I’m good,” I answer quickly, leading the way out of the room. Suddenly the house seems much too small for his presence.

The bells over the door tinkle as we walk into Spun. Kim standing at the counter turns around at the sound, smiling at me and then gawking at Stone for a moment before schooling her features. I snicker under my breath; she didn’t react that way when I brought Joaquin in here. “Willow, where have you been? I haven’t seen you all week,” she accuses. Then, “Who’s your friend?” As if she didn’t already know.

“Kim, this is Stone. Stone, this is Kim. She’s part owner here.” Stone steps forward and offers her his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. Wills says this is her favorite place to be,” he tells her, grinning. I glance over at Kim and see her swoon. It’s ridiculous. I roll my eyes and intervene. “Can I get a set up for a dirty chai, and one of my muffins?” Kim, still holding on to Stone’s hand, looks over at me like I’ve just spoken Japanese. “Hmmm?” “Lord, woman. Just make my damn tea,” I laugh when she startles. “Right. Shit. Sorry,” she says, flustered. She finally drops Stone’s hand. “And for you?” Stone’s grin widens. He’s enjoying throwing her off her game. The prick. Putting Kim out of her misery I push him out of the way. “He’ll have a sweet tea with extra lemon and the roast beef and horseradish on the ciabatta bread without the arugula.” I don’t even have to think about it. That’s how well I know him. I think about my own order for longer. I look over to him, brows raised in question. “Sounds perfect, Birdie.” Kim flits away to get our order started, handing me the drinks a moment later. “I’ll bring the muffin and the sandwich in a minute.” Taking the tray with everything I need to make my drink, I hand Stone his glass and lead the way into the back room where I like to sit, avoiding the table I sat at with Joaquin. Seems silly but I feel a twinge of guilt. “This place is pretty cool. I can see why you like it here.” “I do,” I agree, taking a sip of my tea. “Tell me what’s going on at the label. When I talked to Judge the other day he seemed super stressed.” Stone stretches his long legs out so that they’re on either side of mine and turns his hat backwards. “Well, I told you the label is pushing us to tour and I don’t want to right now. Having some time off made me realize how hard we’d been working for so long. I mean, it was twelve straight months on the road the last tour we did.” He shakes his head. “It gets old.” “I agree with you there. It’s tough. What option do you have though?” I ask, stirring my drink thoughtfully. “Not resigning. Starting our own label,” Stone says, watching me for my reaction. “Is that even an option?” I sit forward, truly interested in what he has to say. I missed talking shop with him. “‘Willow’ is the last album that we owe them on this contract. Judge is in negotiations now, but I’m leaning more toward going into business for ourselves, pick up some awesome new talent and call it a day.” The excitement in his voice makes me smile. Stone doesn’t get excited about much. He gives meaning to the word “broody.” “I think that’s a great idea. You guys would have no problem putting together a client list.” I nod enthusiastically. “That’s what I’m thinking. I’ll know more once Judge gets back.”

We’re interrupted briefly by Kim bringing our food and another sweet tea for Stone. I thank her as she sets everything down, doing her best not to stare at him. I’ve never seen her so flustered. When she leaves I ask, “So is that why Judge is so uptight lately?” Popping a bite of my cranberry orange muffin in my mouth I chew slowly and wait for him to answer. “Partly. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what really got him all fucking pissy,” he chuckles. Nudging his foot with mine, “Tell me right now.” “You remember that one model chick that was in a couple of our videos? Judge liked her, called her back?” “The tall blonde, Brianna?” I remember because I didn’t like her. Not even a little. She was all over the guys, trying to gauge which would stick, it seemed like. “That’s the one. Apparently she’s pregnant.” When he stops there I sit and watch him, waiting for the rest and then it dawns on me. “With his baby?” I ask, stunned. “Is he sure? Holy shit. Out of all of you, I never would've bet on Judge . . .” “He's not positive and he wants to wait to do the paternity thing. Something about testing now being dangerous for the baby. So he's paying all her medical and whatever else she fucking needs.” I agree, “Yeah, it can be really dangerous for the baby and mom. Best to wait.” “Did you?” “Did I what?” “Wait until Lyric was born to have the paternity test? How does that even work?” I shake my head, confused. “I never got a paternity test.” Stone straightens in his seat, setting his sandwich down before leaning in and asking quietly, “What do you mean you didn't have one? So there's a chance she's mine?” His voice is hopeful, making me feel bad. “No, Stone. There's no chance.” “How can you be so sure, Birdie? Let's schedule one. What if she's ours?” The hopefulness in his voice is laced with excitement as he goes to stand. With a hand on his forearm I stop him. “Stone, for almost a year I made you wear protection on top of me being on the pill,” I remind him gently. “And before that night we hadn’t slept together in more than four months,” I remind him. “What? It was that long? And I thought you told me you stopped taking the pill?” he asks confused. I flush with guilt. I had lied to him, but I had done so because I knew he had been lying to me. “I had to, Stone. I knew you were using, I didn’t know what though, and then I knew there were other girls. I didn’t want to take any chances, And eventually I did stop taking it. It seemed pointless to keep taking it when I didn’t need it.” I murmur a little broken heartedly. I won’t be sorry for lying. His sins are way more serious than mine. “Fuck. Willow, I never would have fucked around had I not been high. You have to believe me,” he whispers earnestly, reaching for my hands. “I never looked at another woman in all the years we’ve been together, never even fucking wanted to. I wasn’t me when I was using, Birdie. I have no

idea who that fucking guy even was. But it wasn’t me.” “I understand that, but that fact is—”My voice is starting to rise so I stop speaking. “You know what? This isn’t the time nor the place for this discussion. We can talk about it all another time. In fact, we need to if we’re ever going to be able to be friends again and not have this anger and resentment between us.” I had been looking at a spot right over his shoulder, watching for someone to be listening in on our conversation, but bring my gaze to his when he starts speaking. “You’re cute.” “Wh-what?” I stammer, baffled by his abrupt one eighty. “You’re cute. You think we’re gonna be friends.” With a dangerous glint in his eyes he leans back in his chair stacking his hands behind his head, making his biceps bulge, his ink rippling over the muscles. Just watching me, a sly grin on his too damn handsome face. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Stone.” “If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you go,” He sings softly. “Oh. My. Jesus. Did you just sing Justin Beiber to me?” leaves my mouth on a strangled laugh. His smile widens and he shrugs, “Is it too late now to say sorry? ‘Cause I’m missing more than just your body . . .” He sings with a semi straight face, which is more than I can say for myself. I burst out laughing, spilling my chai in the process. I may have even snorted a little. “Shhhh, you’re causing a scene, piggy,” Stone says through his own laughter. Looking around, I see that we have drawn some curious glances. “Why do you even know Justin Beiber songs?” The question sets me off into another fit of giggles. “The Beibs is an amazing musician and artist, Willow. You should learn to appreciate good music,” he deadpans before losing it again. “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than some weak ass Beiber to win me over,” I toss out, not thinking. “Is that right? That a challenge, Birdie?” The dare is there in his voice. “That’s a fact, Jack,” I volley. “Original or cover?” “Either. No, both.” Screw it. Go big or go home, right? “And what do I win if you approve?” Swallowing a little nervously, I shrug. “Whatever you want,” I say, stupidly. Or maybe not so stupidly. “I accept,” Stone says, that wicked glint in his eyes the most wicked I’ve ever seen. His smirk, reckless and way too sexy. I believe I just made a deal with the devil.

Stone I’M COMING DOWN THE STAIRS, pulling my phone out of my pocket to call Wills when it rings. Smiling I

answer, “I was just getting ready to call you, Birdie. What are you doing tonight? I haven’t seen you two ladies in a couple days. Let me take you to dinner.” With the phone tucked against my ear, I snatch my guitar out of the stand and head out to the patio and flop down on the lounger. “I can’t tonight, I have a set at The Dirty Bird,” she answers. “Can I come? Maybe we can sing together again. No fucking Johnnyswim though; that shit’s depressing.” Leaning my arms across the top of my ratty ass Fender, I grab a cigarette off the end table and fire it up. Willow laughs. “It is not depressing. And maybe. But I was wondering if you and the guys want to come over to Bear and Cora’s for a little barbecue?” “Does Bear know you’re inviting me to his house?” I ask jokingly, but serious. “Of course he does. Bear ’s the one who said to call you guys. It’s nothing big, just some people from the bar, his brother, and his family. It’ll be fun.” She rushes on to say, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” “No. I’m in. What time?” Taking a drag off my forgotten cigarette, I put the phone on speaker and start texting Law. “We’ll eat at one so that those of us who have to work tonight have time before our shifts.” I fucking hate that she feels the need to work. And hard. Between The Dirty Bird and school, she’s always working. She puts in a ton of hours at the school, but she loves it so damn much and so does Lyric. “Text me the address. We’ll be there. Do you need me to pick you up? Or watch Lyric tonight?” I ask her, hopeful. I would love to get a chance to spend more time with her. “No. Perry is watching her tonight. Plus, I thought you were gonna come sing sad songs with me.” Her voice is playful, almost flirty. It gives me butterflies like a fucking thirteen-year-old girl. Pussy. “Sold. I’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything? Case of beer, chips, or some shit?”

“Nope. Just yourselves. I gotta go, Lyric just got up. I’ll see you in a bit.” She hangs up and I laugh. “Bye, Birdie.”

We leave Dane at the house—he’s not a friendly guy. He wants to do his job and be done. He’s been with us for years and he’s still like that, so we don’t try to change him. “Is that it, Judge?” Law asks from the back, pointing over his brother ’s shoulder. “Yeah. Gotta be,” I answer, checking the address on the house to what Wills texted. I’m certain when I see her Jeep parked in the drive. After finding a spot to park down the street, we walk to the house and knock on the door. Nobody answers so we go out to the back where we can hear voices. The house is on an awesome little lake, gravel drive, big front porch. And the yard is packed. “Holy shit,” Arrow says from behind me. “Willow said it was nothing big.” “Yeah, well, she lied,” Law says, slapping my back and moving around me to enter the party. We follow behind him, stopping and shaking hands as people introduce themselves. Finally, we make it through the throng to the area where the tables are set up. I catch sight of Willow sitting there, Lyric in her lap as she talks to Cora. She throws her head back and laughs at something her friend says, making Lyric laugh too, and the sight warms me from the inside out like nothing ever has before. Protection and love surge through me. These are my girls. Paternity be fucking damned, man. Willow must feel me watching her as she lowers her hand and scans the group, the smile on her face real. She’s found a place for herself here. With these people. As much as that hurts my fucking heart, it also makes me so happy that she had them when I failed her. Her eyes land on me and her grin widens. Willow waves me over. Turning to Judge, I swat his chest with the back of my hand. “Found her, come on.” She stands, shifting Lyric to her hip when we get there. “Hey, guys,” she greets brightly. The boys all take turns giving her a hug. When she finally gets to me, I wrap my arms around them both, laying a kiss to Willow’s temple. Glad that she lets me because I would have caused a scene if she hadn’t. Pulling back, I hold my arms out to Lyric. She hesitates at first but then reaches for me. Willow’s never really let me hold her unless she’s asleep so this is a huge step, for both of us. I tickle her and talk some nonsense about buying her a pony or some shit when I glance up to find five sets of eyes on me, but Willow’s are the ones that I focus on. Bright with unshed tears. “You okay, Birdie?” I ask bringing my attention back to Lyric who is now trying to get the hat off my head. “Y-yes,” she stammers. Still watching. All of them still watching. I’m about to ask them why when Cora speaks, breaking the silence.

“So you must be Arrow, eh?” Ro steps forward and holds out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you. Willow has told me a ton about you,” he says in that smooth guy voice of his. Bear ’s gonna beat his ass if he hears that shit. I grin at the thought. I’m broody and moody because I’m a prick. Arrow is more of a broody fucker because it gets him chicks. “The quiet, mysterious one of the group, I see,” Cora says a little coyly. “Gotta keep the ladies on their toes; can’t make it too easy,” Arrow tells her, winking. About that time Bear comes up behind his wife. “You got something in your eye, Bow?” I clamp my lip between my teeth to stop from laughing. Willow looks at me, the amusement on her face mirroring my own. “Bear, you remember Arrow, right?” I ask innocently. Knowing damn well he does. “Bow, Arrow. Same shit. Did you just wink at my wife?” His eyes are narrowed, waiting for an answer. Arrow glances at me, then at Judge, not quite sure what the fuck he should do. I just shrug, tilting my head in Lyric’s direction as if to say, “You throw down and you’re on your own, bro. I’ve got a baby.” “Umm, not really at her. Just in general?” Ro states it as a question and I lose my shit. I can’t help it. I laugh so loud I startle Lyric. My laughing sets off the rest of our little group. Arrow looks between all of us and then flips us the bird. “Man, I thought Paul Bunyan over here was gonna chew my ass up,” he says, shaking his head at us and our teasing. “No, but you wink at my wife again and I might. She’s a cougar, likes them young and mysterious. Ain’t that right, baby?” Bear gathers Cora close and squeezes her from behind. “That's right. I like the quiet ones; they're the ones you have to watch out for,” she teases. Yelping when her husband smacks her ass. I look over at Willow, who watches them, smiling, and it dawns on me that these two are literally the only happily married couple I fucking know. That we know! Her parents are gone, her aunt never married, I've not seen my dad since I was three, my mom since a few years after that. Hell, even Law and Judge’s dad died when they were small and their mom never remarried. And we think Arrow is the second Christ because his mom swears she wasn't even sleeping with anyone and one day she woke up pregnant. His mom is also very free loving and a bit of a modern day hippy, so who the fuck knows? He could be like the son of Steven Tyler or some shit. “If you guys are done flirting with my wife, food’s done,” Bear says, taking Cora’s hand and walking over to the tables they have set up with grub. Willow reaches for Lyric. “I’ll take her. You go ahead and make your plate.” “It’s okay, Wills. I’ve got her. You go make plates. You know what I like.” I wink at her. “I’ll save us some seats.” With Lyric in my arms I take her little hand and wave at Willow. “Bye, Mommy,” and go sit us down while the guys head for the eats and Wills stands and just watches me for a minute before following. “Mind if I sit?” Perry asks, sitting before I can answer. “You look good with a baby,” she says. I

can tell that she has shit to get off her chest. “What’s up, Perry? I can see you wanna say something, so go ahead. But if you’re gonna say some shit like, ‘Stay away from Wills and Lyric,’ save your breath, it ain’t happening.” I look down at Lyric, playing with my fingers and then back at Perry with raised eyebrows. “Do you love her?” she asks without preamble. “I do.” “Are you clean?” “I am.” “Do you promise to never hurt her again? Hurt them?” “I promise to try.” Nodding in acceptance she smiles. “Well, then I came over here to tell you that I would like to be friends. You’re probably pissed at me for keeping her hidden away here, but I was doing it for her and I would do it again.” “No need to apologize. In fact, I’d like to thank you. Thank you for taking care of her when I couldn’t and for helping her to build a life here for the two of them. She’s the strongest woman I know, but even the strongest people need help to hold them up sometimes. So thank you,” I tell her sincerely. “Wow. You’re good,” Perry says in awe. “No wonder she gets that deer-caught-in-headlights look whenever you’re around. Willow doesn’t stand a chance.” She laughs heartily. “I love it.” Popping up she points at me. “Be good to my girls.” “I will be good . . . to my girls.” I grin, loving the way that sounds and too fucking ready to make it happen.

The boys decide that they’re coming to The Dirty Bird. I tell them to go ahead, that we’ll meet them there so Willow and I can stop at her place so she can change. “Do you mind if we go to my house and grab my Fender? I need to rip. You’re turning me into a pussy. All these ballads lately, making me feel feelings and shit,” I joke. “Seriously though, you’re fucking killing me. I need to get dirty.” Willow laughs at me; she’s doing that a lot lately. “Yes, we can stop for your baby. It is the baby, right? You didn’t get a new one?” she asks, pulling up in front of her house. “A new Fender? Woman, bite your damn tongue. Never.” I’ve had the same electric guitar since I was eighteen. Bought it from some pawn shop in nowhere Ohio, in some place that looked straight out of a Rob Zombie movie. The guy there told me it was some famous rock star ’s and I grinned, gave him every penny I had, and told him, “It’s going to be.” It’s rough as hell, beat to shit, just like me, and I love it. “I didn’t think so. I’m going to have to bury your ass with that thing.” She lets us in the house. “Sit. I’ll be down in five minutes,” Willow orders me as she bolts up the stairs. I look around her house, at

all the little touches that are so Birdie and then wander upstairs to look at Lyrics nursery. It’s hands down the coolest nursery ever. Pulling my phone out I snap a couple pictures to show the designer. I want to recreate this exact room for her at my place. I slide my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and walk casually down the hall to what I guess is Willow’s room. With just a fingertip I push open the door, grabbing hold of the top of the doorframe, leaning forward and watching her flit around the room, no clue that I’m standing there. She’s in a pair of low slung, ripped up jeans, a pair of boots just like mine except girlier, and a black lace tank top thing with a giant skull on the front, birds and roses spilling from its head. Just like a million times before, I watch her flip her head upside down and shake out her hair, making it look wild, giving her that just-fucked look that makes me want to do just that. With quick steps she goes over to the dresser and slips in her earrings. She’s added dark liner to her eyes, making them glow. As she’s puckered up, putting on her red lipstick, lipstick that’s stained my cock on more than one occasion, she sees me in the mirror. “Was I taking too long?” she asks a little breathless. “Nope.” “Oh. Well, I’m ready now.” With one more swipe over her mouth she covers the beauty mark that dots the center of her bottom lip making me have to adjust myself thinking about all the times I’d wiped off the pretty color at the end of the night just to see it. “Stop looking at me like that,” Willow demands. “Like what?” I ask innocently. Feeling anything but. I don’t bother adjusting this time, letting my cock swell against my fly, the piercing biting into me and evident, I’m sure, against the soft denim. “Like you want to eat me.” “I do want to eat you,” I tell her in a throaty voice as she sidles past me. “Don’t, Stone.” “Don’t what, Birdie?” Following her down the stairs, I watch her ass sway. “You know what.” She grabs her leather jacket out of the front hall closet and turns her back on me to slip it on. While she’s faced away, I slide my hand into her back pocket, molding my fingers and palm to the rounded cheek. She startles and then stills. “What are you doing?” Willow practically hisses. “Your phone was coming out of your pocket,” I say casually. She raises her arm in the air, her phone clutched in her hand. “Oh, well, it must have been something else then. My bad.” Like I didn’t just get caught up in the moment and totally feel her up, I slide my hand out and ask, “Should we go?” Willow glares at me over her shoulder and walks out the front door leaving me to follow. And I do, grinning all the way.

Willow STONE RUNS INTO THE HOUSE to grab his Fender while I wait in the car. We’re running late as it is, and I

don’t trust going in with him after what went on at my place just now. He can’t help himself anymore than I can help responding to him. In less than three minutes he comes jogging out the door, minus his baseball cap and in a different shirt. Squinting his eyes, he stops at the hood of the car. Rolling down the window, I pop my head out. “What’s wrong?” “Headlight’s out. We’ll take the truck and I’ll fix it tomorrow,” he tells me, coming around to the driver ’s side and opening the door for me. “Shit. That’s the third time in the last couple months,” I complain as I gather all my stuff. “I’ll look at it tomorrow, don’t worry. Probably a bad connector or something.” “When’s the last time you had to wrench on anything?” I ask on our way into the garage and his truck. “Not that long actually. I bought another truck a few months ago to work on, keep me busy on the days when I felt like I was going stir crazy.” Helping me into the truck, he hands me his guitar and closes the door. “That’s really awesome. We had so much fun with this one.” And we had. So much. Back when things were easy, before all the fame and crazy schedules. Not that I believe that’s what went wrong, just that things were easy before all of that. “Yeah, we did. I should have the truck shipped over. You can help me with it.” He looks over and grins. When he fires up the truck, the rich sounds of Chris Stapleton fill the cab. “Whiskey and You.” The sorrowful, melody gives me chills before the words wrap around my heart and squeeze. Stone turns it up and softly sings along as he navigates the side streets to the bar. I lean my head against the glass and watch him. The song is beautiful, haunting, and hits close to home. He’s been surprising me with his choice in music lately. Not this though, there’s not a musician alive who wouldn’t appreciate the brilliance of Chris Stapleton. Just that Stone isn’t usually a ballad guy, and he’s been embracing the hell out of them, despite all his protests. The song is ending just as we pull into a parking space.

As the last note fades, Stone kills the ignition and we just sit. Letting the poignancy of the song wash over us for just a moment longer. “You’re letting your country show again. Sam Hunt the other day, Chris just now. Better be careful, cowboy,” I tease, to throw some lightness on us because if we gave into it, we could sit and pick apart how that song is too much of him and us and all that we’ve been through. “You know me, little bit country, whole lotta rock and roll.” He flashes me hand horns and sticks his tongue out Gene Simmons style. Instinctively picking up what I need from him. “Oh my God, you're so obnoxious,” I laugh when he nods in agreement. With a wink and a promising smile, he gets out of the truck and I have to remind myself that I can resist him. That I can’t make this too easy for him. That he’s hurt me over and over and even though I’ve forgiven him for what he did when he wasn’t himself, I don’t know that I can ever forget. And that’s our biggest obstacle right now, although I’m not even sure how true that is anymore.

The Dirty Bird is packed when we walk in. Wall to wall bodies. Stone puts a hand to the small of my back and flips his guitar to his back as we make our way through the crowd, waving at Bear who is already behind the bar and stopping here and there to sign things people thrust at him. Seems like word is out that Wrecked is in town and they like to frequent The Dirty Bird. Carleen stops as she walks by. “The guys are on the roof. They’ve been waiting for you.” “Thank you,” I shout over the noise. Tugging on Stone’s hand, weaving through the mass, I don’t stop until we’re at the door to the roof. Dane is standing there, looking all aloof. The boys must have picked him up on the way. Probably smart. He cracks a small smile when he sees me that looks more like a grimace, but it’s huge from him. I pat him on the chest as we pass and head up the stairs. “There’s a rooftop?” Stone calls from behind me. “Yep, we only open up when the weather is nice, and this is where the stage is if it’s open. I love it. It’s like doing an outdoor concert and then they pipe the sound throughout the whole bar so once we meet capacity up here they can still hear the music downstairs.” We come out on the roof and I scan the area for Law’s tall ass and find them sitting at a table next to the stage, kicked back and laughing when we join them. “Hey! There you two are. We thought you got lost.” Judge pulls out a chair for me, but I shake my head. “I’m going to grab a tea. Do you guys want anything?” I look at the array of glasses on the table and smile that they’re all just water or pop. That even with Stone not here they weren’t drinking. He’s lucky to have such amazing support. “Nah, we’re good, Wills,” Arrow answers, raising his water glass up, a slice of lemon floating in it like he’s a little old lady at the country club instead of a bad ass bass player in a bar. “Stone?” “Just a bottle of water is fine, Birdie.”

“Be right back.” It’s warmer up here than I thought it’d be. I remove my jacket and toss it over a chair and make my way to the bar, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail as I go. Once at the bar I stand on the bottom rung and boost myself up so that Pete, the bartender working up here tonight, sees me. He nods that he does and I hop back down only to connect with a solid chest. I stiffen, panic rising, until Stone braces his hands on either side of me, pressing into my back. “I’m digging the new ink. What’s it mean?” he rasps in my ear. When he kisses the tattoo on the back of my neck I forget the question altogether. The feel of his lips on my skin, his breath warm on the spot his mouth just was. I try to shake my head of the dreamy fog it’s lost in, but I can’t. From where he’s pressed against me I can feel every ridge and muscle, the hard metal of his bar belled nipples, his belt buckle, and the obvious hardness of his cock swelling against me. Stone’s testing all of my limits tonight. Pushing and pulling my emotions, making me feel one way and then another lest I be overloaded and back away. Same thing with his touches. Giving just enough that I don’t shy away, yet making me want to chase after more. He’s an assault on my senses. “It’s a Caim symbol,” I tell him though I’m pretty sure he can’t hear me. When he leans over my shoulder and puts his ear to my mouth, I know he didn’t. Out of habit, I brush back the hair falling over his eye before repeating, “It’s a Caim symbol.” My voice is breathy, I can hear it. The butterflies in my stomach taking flight when he presses his mouth to my ear again. “What does it mean? Something, right?” My eyelids flutter closed as I prepare to explain it to him. I’m not sure how he’ll take it. Turning my head just slightly, I glance up at him, pulling his head down again so that he can hear me. “It’s Gaelic, a circle of protection and sanctuary. A reminder that I’m safe and loved even when I’m at my lowest,” I tell him a little self-consciously. Not because of the meaning and why I got the tattoo but because of our very public setting. With a deep breath he nods and pulls back, running a finger over the red, braided, and interwoven lines of the circle. Over and over, following the pattern as if he’s memorizing it. The spell of the moment is broken when Pete comes over. “Hey, Willow, sorry, it got crazy for a minute. What’ll it be?” he asks, removing dirty glasses and empty bottles from the bar. I haven’t quite snapped out of my Stone induced stupor, so I look at him kind of blankly for a moment, just staring and blinking. Stone must realize the effect he’s having on me because he shouts in an amused voice, “Two bottles of water and a tea set up for Willow.” He then moves to my side so that he can see me better, that knowing smirk kicking up his mouth. “What kind of bar has hot tea?” I’m grateful for his change-up once again. “The kind I work at.” I smile and shrug sheepishly. “Cora spoils me a little.” “Good. I knew I liked her.” Pete slides our order across the bar and Stone hands him a fifty, waving off the change. Jerking

his chin, he motions for me to follow him back to the table. When we get there, I notice that there are a couple girls sitting there, which isn’t surprising. These guys are rock stars. Hot as hell, crazy talented, rich ass rock stars. There are always going to be women around. Always has been. Law is sitting backwards on his chair, arms crossed over the top, talking animatedly to one of the girls and Arrow. Judge sees us and stands and holds out a chair for me, smiling tentatively. I pat his hand to let him know I’m fine. He’s so cute to be worried about my feelings. My chair is right next to Law’s, and when I sit he pats my leg as if to say “It’s okay.” They’re all being ridiculous. I just roll my eyes and wait for Stone to give me my tea fixings. He sets them down and takes the seat right beside me, pulling it as close as he can without being on top of me. “Do you have everything you need?” he asks, gesturing to my tea paraphernalia. “Mmm hmm,” I murmur, putting it all together, not paying any mind to the chatter around me until I hear one of the girls say Stone’s name not so quietly to her friend, causing him to tense next to me. Poor guy. I glance up at her, and she’s got that look on her face, the slightly crazy one where I’m not sure if she’s going to throw her panties at him or ask if he’ll sign her tatas, but I’ve seen this look. Know it well. The pang of jealousy is quick and fleeting. Stone doesn’t have to know that though; I’m going to let him sweat it out. While he shifts next to me, waiting for the girl to pounce, I scan the crowd for Bear. I go on in less than ten minutes. He asked me if we could try this new idea of his out, and we’re testing it tonight of course. As I’m taking a sip of my tea I see Stone start patting his pockets like he’s looking for something. “What did you forget?” “I need a lolli. I forgot to grab one out of the glove box,” he says sullenly. “Do you have your cigarettes? You can smoke out here.” His face lights up like it’s Christmas and he looks around and confirms that people are in fact smoking. I swear he might break out into a jig he’s so excited. I can’t help but laugh at him as he digs a smoke out in record time and lights it, inhaling with a blissful grin on his face. “Oooh, can I have one of those?” the crazy looking girl chirps. She jumps out of her seat and comes around to where we’re sitting, bumping Ro with her hip and then perching on the very edge of his seat. He moves his leg to give her more space or to avoid touching her. I’m not sure which. Stone takes another cigarette from the pack and hands it to her while putting his arm around the back of my chair, pulling me into his side, jostling my tea. He wipes at the droplets on my leg, apologizing. “Sorry, Birdie. It didn’t burn you, did it?” he asks, but before I can answer there’s a throat being cleared delicately. We both turn to Crazy to see that she’s leaned forward, shirt gaping with the cigarette between her fingers in front of her pouty mouth. “Do you have a light? Pretty please?” she coos, smiling at him coyly. I can’t help but watch in amazement. It’s like a train wreck or the intro scene to really bad porn. Maybe a little bit of both. Stone opens his mouth to say something I’m sure is not going to be nice, but I interject. Smiling brightly, I take the lighter off the table and lean across him to light her cigarette for her. She appears startled at first, but I don’t let my smile waver until she sullenly thanks me and walks back to her seat

in defeat. “Well-played, Wills,” Stone says on a chuckle. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” Tossing the lighter on the table I go back to sipping my tea like I didn’t just act like a semi-jealous girlfriend. “Hey, Willow, did you tell Bear we were coming? They have a kit up there and everything tonight,” Law says, pointing to the stage which holds a keyboard, drums, and three different guitars. “No, that’s the set up that always stays here on the roof. He has like a shed thing that goes over it and keeps it all insulated or whatever when the rooftop isn’t being used. This way he doesn’t have to lug anything up and down,” I explain. “Smart. I might have to come up there and fuck around with you tonight,” he says, pulling sticks out of his back pocket. He never leaves the house without them. It’s kind of adorable unless he’s drumming all over everything, which he sometimes does. “You can fuck around with me any time, Lawson.” I wink, making the boys get a little rowdy. They’re so dumb. And way too easy. I’m just about to get up and go look for Bear when I see him hop up onto the stage. “So how the hell are you? First night this season we can open up the rooftop. Always my favorite. To celebrate that, we have a few surprises for you guys tonight.” That’s met with wolf whistles and applause. Once they quiet, he goes on, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Wrecked is in the house.” The rooftop explodes with applause. “Shhh, shhh. We get it, you’re excited. I haven’t even asked them if they’ll play a couple songs for you guys tonight, but I know people. I’m sure you’ll get to hear you some Wrecked before the night is over or I’ll kick their asses out,” he booms, making them go wild again. “Before all that though we have The Dirty Bird’s very own Willow Avery here to sing for you guys tonight. And she’s agreed to let you pick the songs.” Bear looks over and waggles his eyebrows at me. I throw my head back and groan. He caught me at a weak moment the other day when he suggested this. I’m already regretting it. He motions for me to come up there. “Come on, Willow. Let’s see what you’re gonna sing for us, eh?” With one last sip of tea, I get up and go to make my way to the stage when Stone grabs my wrist to stop me. I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder when he tugs gently. “Sing pretty, Birdie,” Stone says with a wicked grin. That glint in his eye telling me he remembers what usually comes next. “Then I’ll fuck you pretty.” I try to nonchalantly clench my thighs. Well, shit.

Stone POOR WILLS. I SHOULDN’T HAVE sent her up there like that, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve been telling her that

same thing for as long as I’ve been telling her that she’s my rhythm. Can’t be helped. So there she stands up in front of everyone, next to Bear, thinking about what I didn’t say, but she knew I meant. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. “You and Willow seem to be getting along pretty well,” Law says, sitting in the seat she just vacated. “We’ve had some talks, cleared some air, but it’s not gonna happen overnight. But it will happen,” I promise. “With your determined ass? I have no doubt.” He slaps my back. “I just keep getting up in her face and reminding her that I’m me and I’m not going anywhere.” “Did you really bust out Beiber on her the other day?” Law asks amused. “You sang Justin Beiber?” Ro asks from across the table, smiling like a fucking clown. I flip him off which only makes him cackle. “She fucking told you?” I groan. They’ll never let me live that shit down. “Oh yeah, she told me,” he boasts. “I was just fucking around, thought it would win me some points. It won me a damn challenge instead.” “This is gonna be good. What kind of challenge?” “I have to come up with two songs to sing to her, a cover and an original,” I tell him. “An original? You just wrote her a whole damn album,” Judge quips, turning his back on the two girls that I was certain were gonna get me in trouble with Wills. I raise my hands. “What do you want me to tell you? That’s what she said. Birdie threw down the gauntlet, now I gotta bring my A game.” “You finish that one song?” Ro asks. I know which one he’s talking about, and I appreciate his discretion with the chicks at the table. Before I answer, Judge turns to them, “Sorry, ladies, you’ll have to excuse us, we’re about to have a band meeting. Come say bye before you leave tonight though. It was great meeting you beauties,”

He’s all smooth like. That’s why he’s the manager. I was just getting ready to tell them to go find some other dick to chase after. “I finished it, just have to get you guys in the studio to finish it up,” I tell Ro once the girls are gone. Law and I glance up at the stage when Bear comes back to the mic after chatting with Willow. “Okay, when you all came in you filled out a piece of paper with what you wanted Willow to play, right? Well, she’s gonna reach into this bowl and pull one out, and whatever song is on that paper she has to sing.” The crowd cheers, Willow scowls. It’s cute. This should be interesting. I mean, there’s nothing the girl can’t sing, but to do so on command should be fun. “Holy shit. Did she agree to that?” Law asks. “She said something about it the other day, but wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do,” Judge answers. “Did you guys put anything in?” I ask, looking around the table. Arrow shrugs, “I put Heart in there. She kills ‘Barracuda.’” “Yeah, she does.” We all nod in agreement. The bar is quiet as everyone watches her dip her hand in the big glass bowl. She pulls out the slip of paper and sputters out a laugh, “Tori Kelly? Seriously. Which one of you assholes thinks I can sing Tori Kelly? And she better not be in here somewhere ready to punk me,” she demands which is answered by a wave of whistles and shouts to sing. Willow looks at Bear, “I hate you.” He blows her a kiss and hops off the stage. She sits down on the stool and brings her Martin over situating it across her lap. After a second, testing notes, tightening strings, she launches into a fucking epic acoustic version of “Hollow.” I mean epic. You can hear a pin drop as she sits there, eyes closed, the wind blowing chocolate-colored strands of hair across her face as we all sit in awe of the beautiful picture she creates, the beauty that comes out of her mouth. And when she hits the last note, the place goes wild, like we just won the fucking Stanley Cup, and that’s saying a fuck ton because Canada. The boys and I stand up, fingers in our mouths, whistling louder than anyone. Law lets rip, “OWWWWWW!” making her blush. Her eyes land on mine and I mouth, “So pretty,” and wink, making her pink blush turn crimson. Fuck me, I love her. How did I live without this for the last couple years? How in the fuck did I let it all slip away from me? After Willow has done a few songs, one with me even and another with Law for some percussion, she’s choosing her last one for the night before we go up there and play for a bit. “I have to admit, you guys, this has been fun,” she says into the mic as she unfolds the paper. She wrinkles her nose. “Prince. Seriously?” “I’ll take that one,” I say in a rush, standing from the table, pushing Law to his feet and kicking Ro’s chair to follow. Law grabs my shoulders from behind and shakes me, “I know what we’re doing,” he singsongs

“This gonna be the cover part of your challenge?” I nod that it is as he walks past me and heads behind the kit, sticks already in hand, Arrow following, grabbing up the bass. Pointing one of his sticks at me, “I approve!” Law yells from his seat at the drums. “You sure you can handle Prince, rock star?” Bear calls out from the bar. I flip him a double bird and leap onto the stage to his deep belly laughs. Wills puts her guitar in the stand and hands me my Fender. “Better you than me, I would have butchered Prince,” Willow says grinning. “Sing pretty,” she tells me, catching her bottom lip between her teeth to try to hold back the shit-eating grin. “Go sit and watch how it’s done,” I say with a smirk catching her off guard with a kiss to her cheek. Using the bottom of my shirt, I wipe the frets and then plug into the amp hoping like hell the sound will be okay since we clearly didn’t have time for a sound check. Knowing Bear though, all this shit is spot on. “You know what we’re doing right, Ro?” I ask as he plugs in. “I figured it out right before Law told me,” he says, offering his hand for a quick fist bump. Sure that we’re on the same page now, I walk over to the mic stand and raise it up, buying me some time to get the crowd quieted down. “So, I’ve been singing to this woman for a lot of years now. I mean, it’s the only weapon I’ve got. I’m a fucking rock star, I need to use that shit to my advantage, right?” The audience breaks out into applause and calls of agreement. I look over at Willow as she sits at the table, clinging to Judge’s arm, her head against his shoulder, watching me with the sweetest, sexiest smile on her red painted lips. “Well, apparently she’s not a fan of all the songs I choose to sing to her, so she threw down a little challenge. A challenge I accepted. I think she’ll like this one though. I said on the way here that she was turning me into some kind of pussy, all these ballads I’ve been laying on her. Told her I needed to slay the shit out of something dirty. This will do.” I wink at her and pull out the only guitar pick I’ve never lost, rubbing my thumb over the initials on it. The minute I strum out the first couple chords, the room explodes. The cheering so deafening it nearly drowns me out. They quiet when I put my lips to the mic. My eyes locked on Willow. “I never meant to cause you any sorrow . . . I never meant to cause you any pain . . .” I grin at Wills look of surprise, and point a finger at her when I start the next verse. “I only wanted one time to see you laughing . . .” By the time I hit the first chorus the lighters and phones light up the whole rooftop. People swaying from side to side, singing with me. And Wills, my beautiful fucking Birdie, standing there, with her face pulled tight, nose scrunched, lips pursed, mirroring my own as I shred, feeling the notes clear to her soul, same way as me. Like it’s a living breathing thing. And I can guarantee that as sure as my dick is hard right now from the music coursing through my blood, that she’s wet. That insider knowledge of her body and how music, my music, affects her, makes Willow mine. Now and forever. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. Stepping back to the mic, I wail, “Honey, I know, I know, I know . . .” Pulling from that place deep

inside where my music lives, letting the emotions and the high of knowing this is what I was born to do take me soaring into the stratosphere only reachable when I’m playing. Eyes squeezed closed, face screwed tight, my fingers fly over the strings, caress the fret, digging in and owning the moment where I’m one with the song, where nothing can touch me. It’s the realest feeling in the world and the only high I ever want to be on again. On my last riff, the whole place loses their mind. I can even hear the crowd downstairs, their screams echoing up the stairwell, egging me on. Slowly I open my eyes, immediately landing on Willow, and I’m positive I just crushed the fuck out of her challenge.

Willow AFTER LAST NIGHT AT THE Dirty Bird and Stone’s ridiculously hot performance, the one that had me

wanting to jump his damn bones right on stage, I needed a little break from him. He’s overwhelming in all the best and worst ways. For as long as I can remember. It’s not Stone’s fault. Artists are all the same. We feel too damn much. Our emotions are raw. Everything we do we do with passion because that’s what makes us artists. Whether we paint, sing, take pictures, design clothes, play an instrument, we do it with passion. That is both a blessing and a curse. Especially to someone like Stone who doesn’t know how to shut it off. He’s always on. Always full out passion. When he left me at my door last night, I was a quivering mess. Every one of my nerve endings screaming from even the slightest touch. A simple brush of his arm against mine. I was reeling from uncontrollable need. A desire I’ve never felt with anyone else and know I never will. He asked to see me today although I know he wanted to come in and lose himself inside me. He was showing restraint and it means more to me than he’ll probably ever know. I told him I have classes all day, a little white lie . . . I only have one. And after promising not to drive my Jeep at night until he can look at it, he left. And then ten seconds later he came back. I was still leaning back against the door, Cora watching me try to get myself together from the couch when he rapped on the door. Startling me and making me jump. When I opened the door he kissed the hell out of me. And then left again like he didn’t just rock both of our worlds. Groaning, I flop onto the bed making Lyric giggle from her spot amongst the pillows, abandoning them to crawl onto my chest. “Hey there, my little songbird,” I sing. “You ready to get dressed and go make music?” She slaps her little hands against my cheeks happily. “Let’s go get pretty,” I say, scooping her up and snuggling into her neck as we walk into her room to get ready for our day. Lyric squeals when I tickle her under her little chin. Placing her on the changing table, I buckle her in place and pull out all her baby business. She claps her hands, drawing my attention to her and then signs for me to sing. We’ve had a woman in class with us for the last couple months signing as we sing, and teaching the children to

sign as part of our therapy, and Lyric has picked it up rather quickly. Way quicker than I have. I’m just thrilled she’s finding ways to communicate. “You want me to sing?” I ask making a sweeping motion with my hand up and down my arm. She smiles her little toothy grin and claps some more, and once again I’m amazed at how happy she makes me just by being here. By being happy and teaching me that she’s who I’ve been put on this planet to love more than anyone else. As I change her and put a little bow in her thick dark hair, I sing “Love Me Tender,” our favorite non-lullaby lullaby. Delighting in the way she sways in time to my singing. She’s such a musical baby. I’m sure it has so much to do with the therapy sessions she sits in on nearly every day, but I also like to think that she inherited my love for music and that it’s something we can explore together as she gets older. With a flourish, I finish the song and unbuckle her, both of us smiling contentedly as we get a start on our day.

With a happy but sleepy Lyric on my hip, I head out of the school, classes over for the day, and make my way to the Jeep. I’m just buckling Lyric in when I notice a large package on the passenger seat. Worriedly, I scan the parking lot to see who might have left it, if they’re still there. I’m about to pull the baby out of her seat and head back in when I recognize Stone’s writing. I close Lyric’s door and climb behind the wheel, firing up the Jeep and reaching for the envelope taped to the top of the box, pulling the note card out. Birdie, I’ve been holding onto these, wondering if I should give them to you, knowing that some will probably do more harm than good. Here are the letters I wrote to you while I was in rehab and after. I wish I had some for the months before but I was too busy being a selfish prick to think about doing something like this. Anyway, read them or don’t, they’re yours and you should have them. I can’t remember what’s in a lot of them, but always know they were coming from a good place even if at times it doesn’t seem like it. Love you always, Stone With a shaky breath, I lift the lid on the box and see rows and rows of letters. Hundreds. Instantly I wonder if I’m strong enough to read them. If I’ll survive the look inside his mind, his heart, while he was working on his sobriety. This is a huge statement coming from Stone. Leaving himself open and vulnerable, at times even weak, I’m sure is not something he would normally go out of his way to do. Closing the box, I put the Jeep in gear and drive home. “What do you think, Lyric, should we read them?” I ask watching her in the rearview mirror while I wait at the light. She looks at me like I’m crazy and then signs for me to sing. “You’ve got a one-track mind, little girl,” I sigh, knowing damn well I’ll be spending my evening reading the damn letters.

It only takes a few minutes to get home and carry a sleepy Lyric in the house, setting her in her play yard while I run back out to grab my guitar and the box of letters. Depositing both next to the couch, I call for takeout and start building a pillow fort on the floor. If I’m saying home to torture myself with an onslaught of feelings, I’m doing it comfortably like a ten-year-old child. Once that’s finished, I go and make some tea and a little dinner for Lyric since I doubt she’ll appreciate the curry I just ordered. Back in the living room, I place my armful on the tray sitting on the ottoman and pluck Lyric out of her enclosure. Propping her up on a comfy stack of pillows I flip the TV to the music station and spoon some yummy summer squash into her little open mouth. “You really do look like a little bird,” I laugh. She answers with loud smacking noises and points for more. Happily, I oblige, spooning and swiping up excess as we sing and dance to Sia on the music station until all of her food is gone and her eyes droop contentedly. Making sure she’s comfortable, I settle back against the pillows propped against the couch and reach for the box and my tea, sitting them both beside me. Just as I’m about to grab the first letter, my phone pings, making a nearly asleep Lyric jump a bit. Perry: I’m coming over unless you’re doing the nasty. I heard about last night. Me: I’m not doing the nasty, but you can’t come over. I’m reading. Perry: Why? What the hell are you reading? Me: Letters from Stone. He left them for me. Perry: Ooohhh, can I read them? Me: NO! Perry: Fine. You suck. Call me if you need me xo Me: xoxo There is no way I would ever let anyone read these. With a deep breath, I take the first letter out of the box noting the date and look at the next few to see if they’re in order, and they are. Carefully I slip a nail under the sealed flap and pull the first letter out. Wills, Where are you? You weren’t at home. They told me you wouldn’t be but I didn’t believe them. I wanted you to be home so fucking bad. I tried calling you but the phone was disconnected. Doesn’t matter now though, I can’t have a phone in here. Law convinced them to give me a notebook and something to write with though. I’ll write you every day until I get out. I promise, things are gonna be different. I’m gonna be different. Clean. I love you so much. Love, Stone

Already there are tears making it difficult for me to see. Blinking them back rapidly, I neatly fold the letter and slide it back into its envelope, reaching for the next. Willow, I hate it here. They treat me like a criminal. Where the fuck are you? I need you. I can’t do this shit without you. Nobody knows where the hell you are. Or if they do they’re not telling me. Where are you???? Stone Birdie, We had to cancel the last leg of the tour when I ended up in here. I didn’t care at the time because I was so fucked up. Now though, it bothers me. I let everyone down. I let myself down. I let you down so long ago and I continued to do so day after day. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you Love, Stone Wills, I feel muted. Like I’m in a fog. Everything is happening around me but it’s like I’m just watching it from this dulled out place where the colors aren’t bright enough and the sounds are too loud. I hate it. I hate myself and I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts. Love you. Love, Stone The third has me swallowing back a sob that by the fourth I can no longer contain. Crying openly, my tears drip from my chin on the paper, leaving ink stains as I push forward. Glad that I was so easy to quit. That all the promises you made were bullshit. I needed you and you fucking bailed. Whatever. I knew the real reason I left. He didn’t. And for that I feel just the smallest twinge of guilt. No matter that people would call me stupid for even feeling a modicum of guilt, I do. Reaching for the next and then the one after that, I sit for forty-five minutes reading letter after letter until the doorbell rings, startling me. I place the letter I had just pulled out aside and swipe at the tears sliding down my

face. Looking out the side window, I see that it’s my takeout and open the door. The delivery man does a double take at my appearance. I had since thrown on leggings and a baggy shirt to go with my top knot and puffy, tear-stained face. “Umm, are you okay, miss?” he asks nervously. I nod at the poor guy and hand him the money for my food including a fat tip and take the bag from him. “Thank you,” I mumble, closing the door and going back to my forest of pillows. Balancing a container of spicy curry on my lap, I pick the abandoned letter up eager to see what this one will say. If it will be hurtful and blaming like some or sincere and heart wrenching like others. When I finish reading it I take a deep even breath and reflect on his words. The way I could feel his pain leaping from the page as he described what it was like to have to sit through sessions filled with loved ones baring their souls and seeing me. The clarity he gained from being in rehab was in every line, every word and my heart felt lighter even as it sank. Careful not to wake a peacefully sleeping Lyric, I weep silently into my hands. I cry for me, I cry for Stone. I cry for us and all that could have been and for all we endured at the hands of the other and still came out on top. Stronger. Better. More resilient versions of us. I cry until my throat is sore and my eyes are gritty and then I cry just a little bit more. When there is not a drop left for me to cry, I pick up my phone and text him. Me: Can I see you tomorrow? Stone: You can see me anytime, Birdie. Me: I don’t have classes or anything tomorrow so whenever. Stone: I’ll bring breakfast. Sighing deeply, I put the phone down and look at the stacks of envelopes around me. I made it through all of them and while some of them were downright painful, others were eye opening. Heart lightening. If I wasn’t so emotionally spent right now I would have begged him to come tonight, but I’m just too raw for that. I need the night to process everything. To accept my feelings and what they mean moving forward. Am I ready to forgive him completely and move on, put it all in the past and build a life together? The life we had always planned on? I’m not sure. I do know that I want, more than anything, to be in his arms right now. Somewhere I never thought I’d be again. So for now, I’ll just start there.

Stone HOW EARLY IS TOO EARLY? I wonder, standing in front of my dresser, a towel slung low in my hips,

water dripping from the tips of my hair onto my shoulders. Pulling clothes out of my closet, I toss the towel on the bed and dress. I’ve been up since seven, just killing time until it’s a decent hour to go over there. I’ve done my workout, fucked around with some music, made some phone calls to Austin. There’s not shit else to do so, eight thirty will have to be late enough. I jog down the stairs and out to my truck, practically skipping like a little bitch I’m so stoked. I’m not sure if she read the letters and that’s why she asked to see me or what, but I’m taking it. Grabbing my hat at the door, I pull the brim down low and dip out without Dane. I’ll hit the auto parts store first and grab whatever I might need to fix her headlight and then over to Spun to grab some breakfast stuff. About a half an hour later I’m walking into Spun trying to not make eye contact with anyone. I was recognized twice at the auto parts store but thankfully made it out of there with everything I needed without it becoming a fucking circus. “You trying to blend? Because I’m not sure it’s working,” the chick from the other day, Kim, I think, teases. I chuckle, “I’m doing my best and failing epically.” With a sympathetic look she asks, “Are you meeting Willow here?” “No, I just need some of her favorites to go and whatever other shit you throw in there. I told her I would bring breakfast.” Kim nods and smiles, “Sounds good. Here are your coffees. I’ll get your stuff together while you fix ‘em up.” Cups in hand, I walk over to the coffee station and put seven sugars and seven creamers in Willow’s, same as she’s been drinking since she was in high school, and just two and two for me. I like my tea sweet, my coffee not so much. Sliding those little sleeves on the cups, I go to the counter and wait. Within a few minutes she has me all set to go, wedging my coffees in a cup holder and placing it inside a huge paper bag. “There. That’s on me. Enjoy your breakfast,” she beams. I look in

the bag and see all that she’s put in there and pull out two crisp one hundred dollar bills and put them in her tip jar. “Have a good one, Kim. Thanks for breakfast.” I toss her a wink and stroll out. Next stop, Willow and Lyric. When I pull into her drive I see another car there, a Mercedes with a French flag dangling from the rearview mirror, and instantly I’m on edge. Snatching up the bag with our food, I climb out of the truck. Just as I clear the drive, I see Joaquin walking down the pathway from Willow’s house. I stop him with a stiff hand to his chest and glance up at the house and then back at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He pushes my hand off him. “I came to see Willow and Lyric. You just missed the baby by the way; Cora came and got her.” Smiling smugly, like he has inside information. “And you can drop the whole jealous boyfriend act, she told me you guys aren’t together,” the prick says, pleased with himself. “Yet.” “What?” he asks confused. “Yet. We aren’t together yet,” I explain, staring him down. A thought occurs to me. “You knew who she was when you sought her out, didn’t you?” “Not at first, no. But I figured it out really quick,” he admits. “So you knew she was mine and still you went after her?” “I knew you two had broken up. Just like I knew you were in rehab on the other side of the world, and I knew that she didn’t want you to know where she was.” Cocking his head thoughtfully, “You really think you’re what she needs, Stone? What Lyric needs? Some druggie rock star who can’t keep it in his pants?” he scoffs. Tightening my hold on the paper bag in my hand, I take a step forward and get right in his face. “I’ll let that shit slide because you’re all pissed off because I was right about Willow never being yours to begin with, but know this, next time you talk about shit you don’t know anything about, you’ll be singing through a wired jaw.” He blanches. “Try me,” I dare between gritted teeth. Rocking back to glare down at him. “Stone?” Willow calls out cautiously from the door. “Coming, Birdie,” I answer. Smirking at his face pinched in irritation. “See ya around, Joaquin.” Whistling, I amble up the walk to where Willow waits, looking apprehensive. I kiss her softly on the cheek. “It’s okay, I didn’t hurt him,” I assure, slipping past her into the house. I’ll wait to drill her about why he was here after she closes the door and we don’t have an audience with a hard on for me to fuck this up so he can swoop back in and save the fucking day. Walking into the kitchen I calmly start removing the stuff from Spun, placing it all on the counter. “That looked pretty intense out there,” Willow says from behind me. “What’s he doing here at nine in the morning, Birdie?” My voice is laced with more accusation

than I intend. “Are you insinuating something, Stone? What is it that you’re really asking?” she huffs out, stalking into the living room, angrily picking up pillows from the floor, leaving me no other choice but to follow. “Are you asking me if he spent the night? If I fucked him knowing that I asked you to come here?” Now she’s pissed. “Don’t put words into my mouth,” I tell her lamely although that was exactly what had been racing around my fucked up mind. Probably born of guilt. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, making a little shelf for her tits to set on, drawing my attention. “He came here, if you must know and since you asked so nicely, to assure me that he wouldn’t tell anyone about Lyric and to ask if we were going to have to make other arrangements about his song rights, you dick. I c—” “Say it again,” I cut her off. “What? Say what?” “Dick. I always loved when you said dirty shit.” My intentions aren’t to throw her off, but fuck me if I can help it. With that one little word, her pissed off little rant, and those perfect tits of hers, I was done. “Oh my God. Did you hear anything I even said?” she demands but she’s not bullshitting me. I hear the fight in her voice, but it’s not her fighting with me anymore. It’s her fighting me. Her reaction to me. “I heard every word. I’m just done talking about it.” I shrug. “I’d much rather talk about how I’m dying to get in between your thighs and have been for the last two years.” I watch as she swallows, shifts from one foot to the other. Just slightly. But I notice. I notice everything about her. I notice how her breathing has changed since our conversation took a turn, how her leggings leave no room for her to be wearing anything underneath, how every movement causes her tits to jiggle around under that too big Wrecked tee, letting me know she doesn’t have anything on underneath that either. “Did he see you like this?” I ask, suddenly. “No, I had a robe on. Why would it matter? I’m covered from head to toe,” she says. “You’re naked underneath my shirt and those tights,” I tell her, mostly to get her worked up again. “They’re not tights. And how do you know?” “Because I look. I watch you move.” Walking around the couch I put myself right in front of her, grinning when she takes a deep breath. “Every time you bend down to pick up a pillow and chuck it, these sway,” I say softly, running a single digit from the slope of her breast down, letting my nail catch just slightly on the rapidly hardening nipple. “Stone . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t move away from my touch. She stands there. Still. Waiting. I let my finger finish its descent ending at her waist, causing her to inhale sharply. “Don’t be afraid of me, Birdie.” The words are more of a plea than any I’ve ever said. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if she were afraid of me after what happened to her. “You weren’t afraid with

Joaquin . . .” It’s more a question than a statement and it kills me to say. “We never . . . he never . . .” She trails off shaking her head. My back straightens. “You didn’t fuck him?” I’m alert, watchful. I’ve been driving myself insane since the moment I first saw them together and all this time they hadn’t been sleeping together? “No. I couldn’t do it,” she murmurs, glancing away. Hooking her chin, I bring her gaze back to mine. “Why?” My eyes locked on hers I wait, my breathing rapid. “He wasn’t you,” Willow whispers. Letting her eyelids flutter closed in resignation she repeats, “He wasn’t you.” Without pause, I yank her into me, her hands flying to my chest for balance, and cover her lips with my own. The sense of relief flooding me is so overwhelming. All the longing and jealousy, taunting and teasing all bubbles over into this kiss. My hands are everywhere, sliding up her sides and under her shirt, skimming the sides of her tits before meeting at the smooth skin of her back. Tongues lashing and teeth nipping, I rock into her. When she meets my thrust it’s all I can do not to come in my pants. Little more than a kiss and she has me hard and so fucking ready. I need to slow down for her, for me. Catching her bottom lip in between my teeth I pull back, taking it with me for a beat before letting it go. With glazed over eyes she watches me, trying to bring me into focus. I feel a confession coming on. Pressing my forehead to hers, I take a deep breath, wishing like hell I had a cigarette. “Wills, I want to tell you something.” It’s very near a pant, I’m so breathless from kissing her. She stiffens in my arms and I immediately feel the walls going up. “I don’t want to discuss the women you’ve been sleeping with, Stone. I just don’t want to hear it,” Willow says, trying to push away from me. How she knew this is what I was going to bring up is beyond me. Wrapping my arms around her, holding her tighter, I demand, “No. No, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about how I haven’t fucked a single chick since the night you left. Haven’t even looked at one in passing.” I bend at the knees, trying to catch her eyes. It’s a battle but she finally looks at me. “Let’s talk about that.” I see the doubt flash in her eyes and I can’t blame her. “Stone, don’t lie to me. Not now.” “Serious as fuck right now, Wills. No more lies between us ever again. I haven’t touched another woman since that day. Not one.” When she looks away again, unaccepting, I know this is going to be a difficult discussion. I take her hand and lead her over to the pillows strewn all over the place. Pulling the ones from the couch that she already picked up. Letting go of her just long enough to unzip my boots and slip them off, I toss my hat to the side and pull her down to the nest she built. With her lying there in a mound of multi colored pillows I stretch out at her side, propping my head with my hand and just look down at her. She’s tense, on edge, and I’m going to make it worse before I make it better. Not wanting to drag this out any further than I have to, I place my hand over her stomach, not so much to pin her there but to feel her.

“Fucking around on you is one of my biggest regrets. I regret it more than the drugs, more than losing you even. I have excuses, but is there really ever an excuse to make it okay?” I shake my head, “Not to me there isn’t.” She turns her head to face me. “It doesn’t make it okay that I don’t remember a single one of them or that at the time it was happening, had you asked I would have bet my career that it was you I was with.” I let out a disgusted laugh. “Drugs will make you believe anything. Make you believe you’re invincible, that your actions don’t hurt people, that you can stop any time. They convince you of anything you want to think is true. Wanna be king? Do enough coke and you’ll believe that you are. Believe you can fly? Take just one more pill and you can. It’s all a great big mind fuck. And then you wake up, and that dream you were living in for the time you were high is nothing but a nightmare, until you get high again.” Blowing out a breath, I push her shirt up just slightly and trace my fingers against the soft skin now exposed to me. Watching my hand while I talk. “When you left, the part of me that cared about what people thought went with you. I holed up in my hotel room, getting as high as I possibly could, not letting anyone in other than whatever dealer I found on the road.” My eyes close briefly. “I don’t even remember when I first started using or why. Maybe I had no choice, destiny or whatever, since my ma was a junkie? But I loved the way it made me feel, so I convinced myself that I could control it. Not be like her because I’m better than she was. A rock star with the world by the balls. And then shit got away from me. I got high because I liked it and it felt good, and when I wasn’t, I was down and pissy, until I got high again. When you left me, I couldn’t even bring myself to pretend that the other women were you anymore. I didn’t even use for the same fucking reasons. Something changed inside my jumbled, fucked up mind, and I was using to numb the pain of missing you. My whole damn world imploded and I didn’t even realize it. My lips rise in a sad smile. “I threw you away to chase a high that would never be enough. A high that even at its peak, could never make me feel as good as you did. I knew it. I knew it instantly. So stoned and alone was the only way I wanted to be. Then once I got sober,” I shake my head and snort out a breath, “there’s no way I was letting myself fall into that trap again. All I wanted, all I want is you.”

Willow THE SINCERITY BEHIND HIS WORDS, in his voice, are all the affirmation I need. The permission my heart

and head needed to get on the same page when it came to Stone. Never taking my eyes from his cool grays, I roll, pushing him to his back and straddle him. My hair hanging down, cocooning us. I can feel his fingers flexing into the flesh of my hips and I have an instant pang of self-consciousness. “I’ve changed,” I murmur softly. My eyes darting away from his to look down at my body, hidden by my clothes . . . for now. “You say you’ve changed, but Birdie, you’re not that different. You’re still the Willow I fell in love with all those years ago. You’re just a better version of you now because of Lyric.” His words are spoken with conviction and they make me want to cry at their beauty, at their truth. But he misunderstands. “I mean, my body. I’ve changed. I’m not—” He sits up abruptly, putting us chest to chest, my legs wrapping around his back. Stone reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head, letting his hands drag along the length of my outstretched arms. No words are spoken as he kisses the curve of my shoulder, the crook of my neck, and ever so briefly my mouth. Moving us so that I’m once again flat on my back with my legs locked around his hips and him on his knees in between my legs. Gently he reaches behind him to my feet, pulling them forward, placing a kiss to first one arch and then the other. My breathing is labored at best. I feel dizzy with want, crazed with lust, as I watch this big, tattooed god silently worship my body. Still with a roaming gaze, he says nothing as he reaches for my waistband and peels my leggings from me, throwing them over his shoulder when I’m finally free of their confines. Before him, naked, bared, body and soul, I can only watch in awe as emotions flit across his face. A man who shows his feelings with words, not actions, a broody bad boy intent on using touch to tell me how beautiful I am to him. With hands that tremble slightly, he runs his callused fingers along my thighs, spreading me as he gets ever closer to my center. I watch as his thumb sweeps through my pussy, through the lips to dip into the wetness his touch has caused. He shudders slightly and our gazes clash.

His eyes search my face, making sure that this is okay, that I’m okay. I’ve never been more okay. Not a single feeling of fear or doubt is present. It’s just us. Not wanting to break the moment with words, I nod to let him know I’m okay. I’m rewarded with another pass of his thumb, this time he pushes it into me, making my back arch. Slowly, once, twice, three times before he brings it to his mouth and I watch as the pad of his thumb disappears, his lips wrapping around it. A low moan rents the air, only I’m not sure if it’s his or mine. Reaching for him, I grasp the waistband of his jeans, slipping the first disc free and then grabbing both ends of the denim, pulling, savoring the popping of the button fly coming undone. Stone reaches behind him and pulls his shirt over his head tossing it in the direction my leggings went. Bare-chested he stands, his ink a beautiful mural on his tanned skin, the metal through his nipples winking at me in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. I watch in familiarity and a sense of newness as I take him in. I let my eyes trail over him, lingering on the tattoos that mean something to me as well as to him. He has an angel at the stairs of heaven on his arm, leading to his shoulder that he got when my Aunt Rose died. A cascade of roses at the top going over to weave that tattoo with another on his back. Then my favorite. A guitar, the body of it trees, a forest, with the neck a sound wave of me saying “I love you” taking up his whole flank. But the newest addition, the coordinates. Looking at them, I’m reminded of his gift to me and Lyric and my heart feels impossibly full. I’m brought back to the moment when the pillows shift from him removing his jeans. Once he rids himself of them he stands straight, looking his fill of my body spread before him just as I do him. His cock is full, the ring of his piercing joined by the newly added barbell through the head of his cock, making me pulse. He was right, his piercing is my favorite thing ever. My eyes feasting on him, he strokes over himself leisurely, without shame, in no hurry. Happy to let me watch. Until he snaps and breaks the spell of silence we are basking in. “Your body has changed. In all the ways that matter, it’s even more beautiful than before,” he rasps out, kneeling and running a finger over the still pink line of my Caesarean incision. Folding at the waist to place a kiss on it, my hips lift instinctively at his nearness to my pussy. “So greedy,” he teases. Laying down he crooks his finger at me. “Bring it up here, Birdie. I need to kiss that pretty little thing before I make you fuck me for singing so pretty the other night.” The gravel in his voice skates over every one of my nerve endings. The goose bumps covering my skin a testament to what his voice does to me. Still watching his hand work over his cock, the piercings playing peek-a-boo between his fingers, I move to where he lies and throw my leg over him, straddling him at his shoulders. With slightly shaky hands I smooth the silky dark strands of his hair back so I can watch as he devours me with his gaze, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Both of his hands land on my ass, lifting me and bringing me closer to his waiting mouth. He strains forward and runs his nose up and down the lips of my pussy, inhaling my scent, the cold metal of his nose ring a shock to my overheated skin. “Nothing in the world smells better than your pussy when you’re wet for me. All that want has its own scent. I would wear it if I could,” he teases, smiling up at me. “You’d smell like pussy,” I tell him.

“Mmmm, I would. But I’d smell like your pussy,” Stone murmurs just before pulling me fully onto his mouth. Tongue swirling against my clit, pulling it into his mouth and abandoning it with a pop to delve into the wetness caused by him. Groaning as it hits his tongue, the vibrations make me rock against him, chasing after more of the sensation. His fingers flex into my flesh as he draws me more firmly onto his face, going straight for my clit with that magic tongue of his, he works me over, knowing the right amount of pressure to apply and when to let up. My head falls back, my long hair tickling the globes of my ass, “I’m so close, so fucking close, Stone,” I pant as I ride his face shamelessly, his hands urging me forward and allowing me to fall only so far back. His tongue flat, allowing me to take my pleasure from it at my own pace and I do. I take and I take until I come, legs trembling uncontrollably in wave after wave of pleasure, all over his beautiful face, that’s buried even deeper between my legs now, taking control of my orgasm. And he doesn’t relent until I beg him to stop, unable to take one more swipe of his tongue on me. Stone grins and places one last kiss to the very top of my pussy and ever so slowly slides me down his body, my heated flesh leaving a wet and fiery trail until I’m over his thighs lifting just enough for his cock to slide between us. With his bottom lip clamped between his teeth, gripping my hips, he rocks, gliding his pierced head through my dampened lips, the jewelry glistening from my come. “Birdie. Fuck, Birdie. Look at us,” Stone groans. “Look how fucking pretty that pussy is with my cock all over it. Mmmmm.” He closes his eyes for a second but I’m not able to. He’s right—the sight of us, him slicking through me, rubbing me in such a delicious way is so, so pretty. I’m incapable of looking away. “Please. I’m ready. Please don’t make me wait anymore,” I beg. “I’m gonna need you on top, Birdie. This first time, I’m gonna need you to fuck me.” I gaze down at him, seeing the seriousness creasing his forehead. “The next time, the next time I’ll be the one fucking you.” Without breaking eye contact, I reach between us, taking him in my hands, reveling at the weight and heat. Lifting on my knees, I rub the pierced head of his cock over my clit and then to my entrance, slowly sinking down on him, wincing at the stretching that brings with it a twinge of pain. “Easy, Wills,” Stone soothes. Pressing his thumb on my clit he rubs slow circles, helping to make his entry easier, and as wet as I already am, his easy touch makes me even more so. Inch by inch, until I’m completely filled by him. Doing a little shimmy, I hum low in my throat. “Oooh. That new barbell . . .” Stone grins wickedly, “You like that, huh?” He gently pistons his hips while simultaneously pulling me down. “Ahhh, I thought I was fucking you,” I murmur breathlessly. “Then fuck me, Birdie,” he rasps. It’s all the encouragement I need. I ride him like it’s our first time. Like it’s our last. Like we haven’t been connected like this in way too long. And when we come together, in perfect rhythm, it’s beautiful and raw and dirty. Just like him.

Sore in the most delicious places, in the most amazing ways, I stretch lazily. Content. More than content. After Stone fixed my headlight and Cora brought Lyric home, we made dinner and put the baby to bed, together. Like a real family. And then Stone brought out the watermelon lollies. Smiling at the memory, I roll over to see the other side of the bed empty. Disappointed, I get up and pull on a pair of sweats and pull a cami over my head, leaving the room in search of my daughter and Stone. As quietly as I can, I poke my head into the nursery to see Lyric sitting up with her little stuffed bird. When she sees me, she grins and hops up, reaching for me over the rails. “Good morning, little song bird,” I say, unable to contain my own smile. “Should we go get some breakfast? Maybe Stone is making us some coffee. No, you don’t want coffee.” Tickling her little belly, I head out of her room and downstairs. “Stone?” I call. No answer. “Stone?” Walking into the kitchen I peek out the front window and see that his truck is gone. I place Lyric in her highchair, sprinkling some puffy cereal on the tray for her to munch on. “Where in the world is he, Lyric?” I ask, feeling a sense of dread settle over my heart. The number of times I’ve gone to bed and woken up without Stone was too many to count toward the end of our relationship. Going to the little built-in desk in the corner of the kitchen I grab my phone from its charger and swipe the screen to pull up the message it says I have. Stone: Sorry I had to leave. Something came up. Had to go to Austin. I’ll call you soon. Don’t be mad. I love you. That’s it. A text telling me not to be mad. Which just makes me mad. Even if he did say he loves me.

Stone TWO DAYS IN AUSTIN TO get everything squared away because of some bullshit technicality. In those two

days I haven’t answered any of Willow’s calls, only leaving cryptic texts and calling her when I know she can’t answer. Not the best way to go into this whole thing, but if I speak to her she’ll ask what I’m doing, what’s so important that I left her warm and naked in her bed without so much as a morning quickie. My plane just touched down in Toronto and I’m hoping that customs isn’t a bitch because I’m ready to see the girls. Just as I’m walking through the terminal, Dane dogging my every step, my phone flashes with Willow’s face. Now that I’m back, there’s no reason to not answer. I need to find out where she is anyway because that’s where I’m headed. “I was just getting ready to call you.” “Where are you?” Willow asks, her voice thick with tears. “Wills, are you crying? Why the fuck are you crying?” “Where are you, Stone?” she asks again, sniffling. “I’m at the airport in Toronto, where are you?” “At the studio. Can you come?” “I’m on my way. Are you okay?” I ask her. Worried that she’s crying. “I’m fine. Just get here,” Willow says and disconnects the call. “What the ever loving fuck?” I mutter. It takes me forever to get to the studio, but when I do I find Willow and Lyric in the first sound booth, sitting in the mixing room. Willow’s listening to something with her eyes closed, Lyric asleep, head on her mama’s shoulder. I open the door and hear my voice through the speakers. “Willow’s Lyric, two voices alive under my skin. Yeah, Willow’s Lyric my rhythm from within.” “Where did you get this?” I ask quietly, since they didn’t hear me come in. Willows eyes fly open, tensing until she realizes it’s me. She mutes the music, swiveling to face me, then gently placing Lyric in the little playpen in the corner.

“I was looking for something I recorded the other day and came across this. It said Willow on it so assumed it was mine.” I nod. “It is yours. Yours and Lyric’s.” I tilt my head in the baby’s direction. “There’s more than the song on the disc,” she says, watching me. Her eyes red rimmed and a little puffy from crying. Confused as fuck, I’m not sure what she means. “I only did the one song. I was hoping the guys could come add to it.” She’s shaking her head no. “It’s not a song. It’s—it’s you talking to Bear,” Willow says, a look of guilt flushing her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to listen but it just played.” She trails off as I stand there and try to remember what he and I talked about that day and why it would make her call me crying. “Where have you been?” The question comes out of nowhere and catches me off guard while I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck Bear and I were talking about. “I had shit to take care of, Wills. I had people to see.” “A woman?” she spits out in an accusatory tone. “What? Where the fuck did that come from?” I demand, snorting out a breath at how off base she is. “Well, what am I supposed to think, Stone? You just walk out and avoid my calls for days. Got what you wanted and the chase was over, huh? Made it too easy for you I guess,” she all but snarls. “Easy? Woman, I've stood by and watched you on the arm of another man. You think that shit was easy? I've been here every step of the way knowing I deserve every little bit, and more, of whatever shade you threw at me. And still I stayed. Made sure you knew I wasn't going anywhere.” Throwing my arms out to my sides, I inform her, “None of this has been easy. For either of us, Birdie.” “Love’s not supposed to be easy, Stone,” she says softly. “I never expected it to be. I just wanted you to see that it's worth it. That we're worth it.” Tapping the corner of the envelope against my thigh I watch as her thoughts dance over her face, through her eyes. Stubborn woman. “You can try to stop loving me, Birdie. It won't work because I'll never let you forget why you shouldn't. Not loving you isn't an option for me. You're always going to be the only one I want to make music with. The only one I want to fall asleep with and wake up to. The only one I want to have my bad ass kids with, and you know they will be.” I chuckle softly. “So you go ahead and try. I'll be right here to make you fall all over again.” Willow stands there with tears pooling in her whiskey-colored eyes, her lip clamped between her teeth. On steady legs she walks over to the mixing board and presses a couple buttons, and after a few seconds Bear ’s voice fills the air, followed by my own. “Do you mean everything you said? About Lyric and making a home with Willow?” “God damn right. Every word.” “Are you planning on taking her away from here? From us? I mean, if she’ll have you.” “I’m all done being first. I put my dreams ahead of everything because music, ya know? And Wills let me because it was our thing. She may not have wanted in the band, but we made music . . . together.

And then I let the devil get me. Let addiction take everything that meant anything to me and just leave me empty. I’d been lost for a long time. But not anymore. I have purpose. I found my rhythm again. Willow is my rhythm. I finally feel whole again. Unbroken. If Willow says this is where she and Lyric want to be, then this is where we’ll be. We can work shit out with the band and the label. If they don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. If I learned anything in rehab, it’s that we only get this one life. We may get a couple redo’s but you gotta make them count. I want to make this one count.” She stops the recording. “Did you mean it?” Her eyes are wide, disbelieving. “Every damn word,” I repeat what I told Bear. Willow still looks torn. Like I’m going to take it all away any second, “Wills, stop fighting me.” Exasperated, I run my hand through my hair. “Stop fighting me and let me be your man. Let me be a dad to Lyric. I want us to be a family. I'll stop touring, I'll do whatever. Just stop fucking fighting me.” Frustration and a little desperation lace my words. “Tell me what you want, Birdie, and it's yours,” I plead. Shaking her head no, “I don't want you to give up music and touring. It's who you are, what you were born to do.” With sad eyes she continues, “I know I love you. And I also know I've changed. My pain has made me stronger. I won't let you walk all over me again. To hurt me and Lyric, or yourself.” “Good! Good, God damn it. I promise that I won't fuck this up again. And if I do in any way, you give me hell. Don't take my shit, Birdie. You're the only one who’s ever called me on anything. Don't stop now. You walked away once. I won't make you do it again. I promise you—fuck, I promise me. I won’t.” Every word I’ve said is truth. I want to be a better man for them. I want to be a dad to Lyric and give her sisters and brothers, and I want us all to be a family. Convincing Willow that I mean it is another story though. “What do you want, Wills?” I ask her softly, running a hand over her loose hair, brushing it over her shoulder. Eyes on me, tears still shimmering, she says, “I think more than anything, I just want you to mean it.” Smoothing a finger along my jaw she lets her hand drop way too soon for me. “I just want you to love us and promise not to hurt us. And more than anything, I want you to love her and me unconditionally. Because we’re a package deal now,” she adds, unnecessarily. “Promise. All of it. I can even prove it.” Handing her the large manila envelope in my hand, I take a step back to give her some space. I took a chance doing this, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. “What is this?” she asks, her brow furrowed. “Open it,” I urge. Nerves getting the best of me, I pull out a lolli and unwrap it without taking my eyes off of her. Rolling it around in my mouth nervously, I watch her read. Her eyes growing wider and wider, her bottom lip trembling more and more with every page she turns. When she finishes, she looks at me with wild eyes, holding the papers up. “These are adoption papers. For Lyric,” Willow says, dumbfounded. I nod in agreement. “How? W-why?” she stammers.

That was the easiest question that she’s asked all night. Taking the lolli from my mouth, I answer honestly, “Because I love you. Both of you.” Her eyes close, tears slipping past her lashes to run down her cheeks. Taking advantage of the moment I reach into my pocket for the ring that’s been burning a hole there. “Birdie?” Her eyes flutter open and she gasps, her hand flying to her neck, covering the coordinates bar dangling there. “I’m not asking you now, because as ready as I am to have you be my wife, you need more time and I respect that. I hate it, but I get it. My fuck-ups weren’t little, not something we can get past without some work. I want you to hold on to this though.” I take her hand and slip the canary yellow diamond on the ring finger of her right hand. “I don’t deserve you. I never have even on my best days, and I damn sure didn’t on my worst. But I love you. More than anyone else in the world ever can and that’s gotta count for something.” Her watery smile gives me hope. “I want to be your family. Want the three of us to be a family, and I want to add to it. I want to teach our kids what real love is, what it looks like, and that people can make mistakes. But that they can also learn from them and be better for it.” Grazing my finger over her lip, pulling it from between her teeth, I smile. “I wanna make babies with you, Birdie. Make music and love. Sing pretty and promise to always fuck you prettier.” Willow laughs and I give her the rock star smirk. “My heart doesn’t beat in rhythm when you’re not around. I need you, to be me. I’m your rhythm, and you’re for damn sure mine.” Popping the lolli back in my mouth, I gently pry the papers from her and set them on the chair. Taking her hands, I wind her arms around my neck, resting my forehead against hers just taking a second to be in the moment, Willow doing the same. With her scent surrounding me, I feel content as fuck. Like all the shit we’ve been through was so we could be right here. At one time I swore she was my everything, and still I threw her away to chase a high that would never be enough. And now, I love the two of them more than I love myself, and they’re the only high I’ll ever need. I’m more sure about that than I am anything else in my life. And for an addict, to quit being selfish and admit that he loves not only one person but two more than himself is a huge damn declaration. Two years ago I was sitting on my couch, high out of my mind and positive I was going to die, ready for it. If anyone had told me then that this is where I’d be now, I’d call them a fucking liar. I don’t deserve a chance at a happy life with them. But I’m sure as shit not going to let it go. Willow breaks into my thoughts. “You know you can’t leave us, or cheat on us, or any other awful thing, right? I mean, we’re going to be the only sure thing in your life forever. Can you live with that?” she asks, pulling the lolli from my mouth and popping it into her own. Her pretty lips wrapped around the stick drawing my attention. She has no idea how fucking hot that is. Shaking off the inappropriate need to see her lips wrapped around something else, I get serious, “Never again, Wills. Took me losing you and almost offing myself to realize how fucking stupid it all was. You’re all I’ve ever needed. The fame, the money, all that other shit . . . fuck that. It’s always been you. I won’t lose sight of that again. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and into the next because it’ll take at least that long.”

She watches me intently, most likely trying to find even the slightest hesitation. After what seems like an eternity, she nods. Surprising the hell out of me when she slips the ring from her right hand to her left hand, and beams up at me around that fucking lolli before she tosses it aside. “Marry me.” I close my eyes for a beat, not believing what just happened. This isn’t how I saw it going down, not for a second. When I open them she’s still there, still smiling. “You’re sure?” I rasp, my voice little more than a whisper. “I need you, to be me.” She shrugs, tears shimmering in those whiskey-colored eyes of hers as she repeats what I’ve always told her. “We need you.” Wrapping her in my arms, I place a kiss over the ring, each corner of her mouth, and then finally the beauty mark dotting her bottom lip and tell her, “You’ve got me.” And just like that, my heart started beating in rhythm again, a steady cadence that I had been missing and vowed to never lose again. The End

A note to Readers Let me first start by saying thank you. I know that you have so many choices out there and I am humbled and grateful that you chose me. I can’t thank you enough for that. Ever. This story started out as a thousand-word final paper for one of my English classes a couple semesters ago. It was while I was writing Love Hurts. I never expected anything to come of it but the characters wouldn’t leave me alone. They screamed and pulled at me, often times pushing Deacon out of the way until I just listened. I knew that I would have to finish their story at some point and that it wouldn’t be a pretty one. Not entirely. I knew that I would write about things that people hated, were afraid of. But I didn’t have a choice. This was their story. I like to joke and say that I made a list of all the things people hate to read about, drugs, rape, cheating, love triangles, and that’s what I set out to write, checking each box as I went. I promise I didn’t. In fact, the thought of what I was writing, the fact that it was so different from what I had written previously, made me nervous. I found myself warning people about how different it was whenever they asked what I was working on now. I’m not sure why. I was just anxious, more so than with my last series, about how it would be received. I still am, but now it’s out in he universe and therefore kind of out of my hands. I hope that you loved it. To victims of sexual abuse. I wrote this story the way that I did to show that even though women are victimized, they don’t have to live the life of a victim. We’re stronger than we sometimes think. We carry our scars on the inside where no one else can see. Our healing starts from the inside out. Always know that you ARE strong enough. You ARE worthy. And it is NOT your fault. What you are is a survivor. What you aren’t is someone cowards victim. To those who have struggled or are struggling now with substance abuse. You are not your addiction. You have the power within you to get clean and stay that way. I believe in you. Just believe in yourself. Believe that you can do it. Be your own cure. If you’ve already kicked addiction in its ass I applaud you. I’ve seen first-hand how hard the battle it is, but you did it. Be proud of that accomplishment and live each day reminding yourself that you are stronger than any drug. Mandi

First I need to thank my husband and my boys. I’m a wife and a mom first and foremost but he believes in me and encourages me to chase this crazy writers dream. He just smiles at me and tells me, “it’s okay, Sug.” When the house is a wreck, the clothes aren’t folded and we’re eating takeout for the third night in a row because I’m on deadline. I would be so completely lost without you, Ran. I love you more than you’ll ever know. And to my boys who miss me even when I’m in the same room but know without doubt, that I love them to infinity and beyond. To my girls, Jayda and Kaitie. I miss you both so much and want you to never stop dreaming and reaching for the stars. Love you. To my mom and dad, sister and brother who support me blindly because I won’t let them read. Addy There aren’t enough hashtags in the world to thank you for being my #notdeadopie You’re always there to light the fire under my ass and keep my going. Your friendship means the world to me. I love you a ton and couldn’t do this without your support. I’ll be your faith, you be mine. #TheTinaToMyAmy #Wildfire #ELC Becks Beta Babes Who, Stephy, Thistle, Goldie, Mellie, Cora, Nini, Jilly, Candace, McKinley, You bunch of ladies mean the world to me. I torture the hell out of you with little bits of story and you take it with a smile. You’re always there when I need you and have helped to make each of my books what they are. Your support is invaluable as is your friendship. Thank you. I love you all a ton. And to Lucy, Leigh, Jenn, Melissa and Sarah for adding an extra set of eyes to make sure I put my best foot forward. Thanks for not hating it! Bitchesnachos The three of you begin and end just about every single one of my days and never is there anything

but love between us. That’s what friendship is supposed to look like. #stillnotgonnaswallow #warmandfuzzy #timezones #PFD Carleen You hate to feel feels almost as much as I do but I need to take a second to tell you that this story would not have been nearly what it turned out to be without you. This story is just as much a part of you as it is me. Thank you for your help, your dedication and your friendship. Law is yours. Love you a ton. Coco Your encouragement and friendship and wicked awesome care packages make my word go round. Love you to bits, chick! Corinne My OZ. What more is there to say? You’re always there to answer all of my stupid questions. And there are a lot! I love you a ton and your never ending support means the world to me. Cunty friends for life. FYW Thank you ladies so much for your encouragement and support. You’re all a wealth of information. I’m constantly learning new things from you that help me to hone my craft. And thank you CD Reiss for being the crazy amazing investigator that you are, putting this Chicken Little at ease time and time again. #WednesdaysWeWearPink Jude Thank you for always letting me vent and for being the best Trailer Park Tart there is. I love you more than words! #WhatACunt #Potty Lauren Not only are you an amazing, AMAZING photographer but you’re also an amazing friend. One of my dearest and I’m so thankful for you. I can’t wait for our next project and I for sure can’t wait to house crash your new place next summer. I love you a ton. Lisa My world traveling, world class editor who puts up with my crazy issue with tenses and my dislike of commas. You’re the best! Mandi’s Lovers and Fighters

You guys are hands down the best. I can’t thank you enough for all that you da and for your dedication to getting my name out there. Thank you, I couldn’t do this without you in my corner. PVPPC We’ve come a long way and your support is unwavering. I love you all a ton and can’t thank you enough. Perfectly Publishable Christine, you my friend are amazing. You go above and beyond for me each and every time and thanks just isn’t enough. And please feel free to always leave me Voice messages because I can’t get enough of your accent. Stephy Poo There aren’t enough ways to say thank you for all that you do. There isn’t a single job description I could pin on you that would cover every aspect of the tasks you take on. You’re amazing and one of my very best friends and I adore you. Love you, my friend. Sommer Thank you for the amazing cover you created. You’ve helped to bring my story to life. You nailed it right on the head and were so patient with me. I can’t wait for our next project! Thundercunts You ladies make my world go round and brighten up each and every day. Even when you make me catch a case of feelings. I love you to death. #patpat TRSOR Thank you so much for helping me to make this release all that it has been. You guys are a force! Especially my twinsie! To all of my girls on IG who keep me swooning over their incredible talent, I love your faces! To our little Life . . . ish family, Lisa, Lexy, Jade and Addy, you ladies are the best and I’m so glad we decided to do this thing together! Love your faces# #teatime To the members of Mandi Beck’s Books, Dirty Love, Life…ish, TBR and Top Shelf Thank you for always being there and interested in what we have to say. Especially to those of you who suffer through my Monday Morning videos. You guys are my happy place!

To the Bloggers both big and small! You guys are the heart and soul of the book world. Nobody works harder. Thank you for all that you do and for taking a chance on us authors. I always feel like I’ve forgotten everyone. Not just someone, but everyone so if you feel forgotten I’m sorry. None of this can be done alone. Thank you for helping me to realize my dream.

Mandi Beck has been an avid reader all of her life. A deep love for books always had her jotting down little stories on napkins, notebooks, and her hand. As an adult she was further submerged into the book world through book clubs and the epicness of social media. It was then that she graduated to writing her stories on her phone and then finally on a proper computer. A nursing student, mother to two rambunctious and somewhat rotten boys, and stepmom to two great girls away at college, she shares her time with her husband in Chicago where she was born and raised. Mandi is a diehard hockey fan and blames the Blackhawks when her deadlines are not met. She is currently working on the next in the series along with trying to keep up with whatever other voices are clamoring for attention in her mind. Goodreads Facebook Twitter Website Instagram Spotify

ALSO BY MANDI CAGED LOVE SERIES Love Hurts Love Burns WRECKED SERIES

Stoned Judged (Coming Soon)

N othing can kill a mood faster than having your cock in some chick’s mouth when the woman you love is calling. I sit in the chair, head thrown back, thinking about whether I should answer the call or not. I haven’t heard that ringtone in two months. Never did I think that I would miss hearing Iggy Azalea telling me how fucking “Fancy” I am. That’s my girl though—she’s got jokes. Two months, two fucking months, and she calls now? Snorting, I shake my head, debating how badly I want to hear her voice and know what she has to say. Bad enough to kick this bitch out? I don’t know who I’m trying to bullshit. There’s nothing—nothing—I want more than to talk to her, to hear that raspy, sexy voice that I’ve missed so much. Fuck, just thinking about it is making me harder than I’ve been all night. I need to make a decision before this chick thinks that it’s her that has me going solid in her mouth. My mind made up, I sigh. We’ve gone long enough without speaking. I just want to talk to my girl, see where her head’s at. I don’t even care if she’s calling to bitch at me, as long as she’s calling. Does that make me a pussy? Oh well if it does. I need her and clearly she needs me.

“I can’t believe that you’re allowing this to happen, Deacon.” “It’s the Princess, Mav. She loves all of this shit. Always has, no matter how hard we tried to beat it out of her growing up,” I tell him, shrugging in acceptance, thankful that we didn’t succeed. “Yeah, but she also likes cool stuff. Like sports. Indie couldn’t do a hockey-themed party?” he snorts, mildly disgusted. Shaking my head, I slap him on the back and walk away, heading into the house. Let him tell Indie he doesn’t like the party. I’d have one less brother, but it might be worth it to see how that whole conversation plays out. I’m not even sure what the theme is supposed to be. There’s lace. A lot of lace and feathers…and leather? All over my house. How the fuck does she come up with this shit? Not that I’m complaining. It’s actually really sexy. I don’t have time to explain that to my dumbass brothers though. I bound up the stairs two at a time, needing to get ready for this party. I hope like hell that I’m able to stay cool. Today is not the day for me to beat the shit out of Frankie’s douchebag boyfriend. It’s getting harder and harder for me to see them together. I’ve always struggled seeing her with other guys, but I couldn’t do shit about it. Not without coming clean about how I feel about her, so I’ve just learned to grin and fucking bear it. Well, that noise is getting old and I’m getting sick as fuck of fighting the urge to claim her ass. I’m not weak, but this thing with Frankie has me frustrated as hell. I’ve been a total prick to be around lately and don’t have time for any of the bullshit right now. I’m leaving for my next series of fights and the Elite Warriors Federation doesn’t give a fuck if I have sand in my vagina over a woman or not. I am a professional MMA fighter and they expect me to act like it. I can’t afford any distractions right now—not even the Princess, who is a huge distraction. Striding into my bedroom, I go straight for my music system, firing it up and setting it to shuffle. I enter the bathroom knowing Indie is going to be pissed. I’m sure my playlist isn’t what she had in mind for her little sex-themed party. Jumping out of the shower, towel slung low on my hips, I head back into my room and the walkin closet, rubbing another towel over my head, drying my hair. After being in the military and told

that I had to wear my hair short, I’ve rebelled since I was discharged and now wear it long. Even though it’s kind of a pain in my ass, especially in the cage where fuckers like to pull it like a bunch of girls. I pull a pair of boxer briefs out of my dresser, slip into them, and finish dressing before throwing my boots on. I see that Frankie is at it again when I open the vanity drawer. Shaking my head, I grab one of the pink hair ties she has replaced my black ones with, yet again, and shove it into my front pocket along with my phone. Checking my watch, I realize that guests are probably arriving and head to the safe in my office to grab Frankie’s present. I look in the bag with the two blue boxes that I picked up earlier in the week and smile as I flick the light off and head downstairs. Indie is at the landing, stabbing her fingers at the panel that controls the sound system. “What are you doing, woman? Why are you being so rough with my shit?” I growl at her, swatting her hands away. “The DJ is trying to set up and do a sound check but all anyone can hear is your shitty music!” she shouts. Glancing down at the bag I hold, she jerks her chin in my direction. “Is that her gift?” “Yep.” “You gonna show me?” “Nope,” I say as I walk past whistling. “Are you wearing that? You know he’ll be in a suit, right?” I don’t even bother looking down at my worn jeans and plain, black Henley. I don’t need to dress up in a fucking suit in order to look good or impress anyone. Who the fuck wears a suit to an outdoor party at the end of May anyway? Douchebags, that’s who. I keep walking but yell over my shoulder, “You say that shit like it matters, Jones!” Running a hand through my still-damp hair, I flex for her, causing my shirt to strain against the muscles rippling beneath. “Doesn’t matter what he wears. I’ll still look better.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation. Laughing, I wink and make my way outside. Two hours later, the DJ has all of Frankie’s favorites playing. Some of it I love, some I tolerate, and some makes me want to put a bullet in my brain. The Princess has really eclectic taste in music— probably because she’s a dancer. Not a stripper, but an actual trained dancer. She did teach a pole dancing class at the gym for a while though, which I found to be fucking hot as hell. She’s amazing -she has a studio in the gym our dads own, teaches classes, and even competes, though not as much as she used to. Looking around at all of the milling guests and the ones still arriving, I still don’t see Frankie. Mav and Sonny are at the bar that’s set up on the patio, talking to Indie and one of her friends that I’ve met but has one of those names that you can never remember. I make my way over to them and ask, “Where’s the Princess?” “Apparently, Annnddrreewww had something important come up at the office. Some hush hush important client or some shit,” Indie snarls.

Seething in anger, I begin to shake, “Fuck that! Fuck him! It’s her birthday, this is her damn party!” I grab my phone from my pocket and toss it to Indie. “Call Frankie and tell her I’m on my way!” I turn but before I get very far Indie grabs my arm and holds up her hand to shut me up when I go to speak. “Slow down, hero.” She places the phone in my hand but doesn’t let go, forcing me to stay put. “I already called and she’s on her way now. That was about five or ten minutes ago, so she should be here any minute.” Slipping my phone back into my pants, I try to reel in my aggravation. I fucking hate this guy! “God, he’s such a fucking tool,” Sonny says, before he takes a pull from his beer. Everyone nods in agreement, but I don’t say anything, just grab my drink from the bartender and break away from the group and head back toward the house. I want to be the one to greet her when she arrives. The kitchen door opens and I see her. She stands there before me and takes my breath away. Jesus fuck. I stop my advance and take her in. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her long, blonde hair is pulled to the side in some fancy ass braid which falls over her shoulder. Icy eyes done up with dark makeup, making them look smoky, almost as if they’re glowing, blue flames. She has this short, gray dress on that hugs every single one of her curves. And my girl has curves on her tight little dancer ’s body. I don’t know what the material is, nor do I give a fuck, but it looks soft and drapes off of her shoulder. The way it hangs leaves the skin there bare, with glimpses of her tattoo playing peekaboo. Continuing my perusal, I let my gaze linger on the hottest set of legs I’ve ever seen. For someone that’s only five-foot-two, her legs are unreal. On her tiny feet are light pink, fuck-me heels that make my dick instantly hard. I’m so fucked. Bringing my gaze back up, I rest on her face, “Hey, Princess! I was getting worried about my birthday girl,” I tell her, not acknowledging the prick standing beside her. “I know. I should’ve called, Deacon, but I didn’t think we would be this late,” she says apologetically. Not even glancing at him, I gesture with my head. “Come, give me some love.” Arms open wide, I smile when she lets go of Andrew’s arm and walks right into mine. Wrapping my body around her tiny frame, I look Drew right in the eyes and smirk. I pull back just far enough to grab her wrist, making sure that he’s watching as I bring it up to my mouth and place a kiss there. Take that, fucker. I watch him watching us for a second longer. To say that he is pissed would be putting it mildly. My smirk morphs into a smile as I look down at my girl. “Happy birthday, Frankie,” I say, squeezing her tighter to me. “Thanks, Deacon. I really am sorry that we’re late,” she says in that throaty, sexy as fuck rasp of hers. “No worries, babe. It’s your party and doesn’t start ‘til you get here, yeah?”

I loosen my hold on her, allowing her to step back next to Andrew, who immediately pulls her into his side making the muscle in my jaw tick. I still haven’t said shit to him. I guess he’s a bigger man than me though because he’s the one to finally break the silence. “Yes, I apologize. I had something that couldn’t wait come up at the office and it took longer than I would have liked. I’m in the middle of a very important case.” Glancing distastefully around the room, he continues in that pompous ass voice of his, “Thank you for throwing this party for Francesca. I have been so busy at work lately that there was no way I would have been able to throw something together.” The condescending tone he uses makes me want to break his fucking face. Turning away, I lead us through the house and toward the party. Stopping on the patio I turn back to them. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be a prosecutor for the D.A., can we? No worries though, I wouldn’t have let you anyway, Drew.” He hates when I call him that, which only makes me use it as often as possible. “This is a tradition and you don’t fuck with tradition. I’ve been throwing Frankie her birthday party for as long as I can remember. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say as I glance over at Frankie and wink before I swing my gaze back to his beady, hate-filled eyes. I love to remind him of my place in her life every chance I get. Meeting his cold stare unblinkingly, I convey my message, That’s right, asshole, you may be here with her, but make no mistake about whose girl she is. He breaks eye contact and I smile. Point one for The Hitman. Sitting at the bar, where it appears my brother has taken up residence, I take stock. The party is going really well -- they always do. Frankie loves everything that Indie has chosen, just like she does every year. If there are two people that know her, it’s me and Indie. There is no question that she would like anything that we put together. I did however hear Drew say something about it being crass or risqué or some shit like that. Fucking prude. He probably fucks with his socks on and the lights off. Fuck. I don’t even want to think about it. I look over at Sonny drinking his bottle of Furious. “What the fuck does she see in that guy?” I ask, shaking my head in confusion. “I don’t know, brother. She’s never really had a type. Even still, he’s definitely not right for her. Indie said that Frankie told her that Drew hates her tattoos. Wants the Princess to get them removed— even offered to pay for it,” Sonny conveys, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “You’re kidding me, right? She’s not going to do it, is she?” Chewing thoughtfully, he swivels his stool in my direction. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Indie said that she flew off the handle at Frankie, was telling her what bullshit it was and all that. Frankie said that she’d think about it. Indie thinks that he’s trying to mold her into some country clubber so that she fits in with his associates down at the State Attorney’s office or something.” That pisses me off on every level. I’ve been the one to take Frankie for all of her ink. It’s our thing and some of my fondest memories. I have more of my body covered in ink than not, and so

many of them have something to do with her or a memory that includes her. When she told me that she wanted some work done, I jumped at the chance to share that bond with her. Now this asshole wants to erase it like it’s dirty or something? No fucking way! Not on my watch! I’m lost in thought when I see Andrew make his way to the DJ and say something to him. The DJ nods his head and pulls out a mic, handing it to him. What the fuck is he doing? When the song ends, the DJ waves his hand as if to say “All yours.” Drew clears his throat, thanks the DJ, and starts talking. “Francesca, can you please come up here, darling?” “Darling?” Really? I hate this motherfucker. I. Hate. Him. All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears, drowning out everything around me. My eyes following her every move, I watch Frankie glide up to the stage. As soon as she reaches him, he takes her hand and smiles at her. Then he drops to one knee. What the holy fuck is going on right now? I don’t even realize that I’ve taken a step toward them until I feel both Mav and Sonny press their hands to either side of my chest and push back a little. I don’t acknowledge them, or anyone else for that matter. I just stare at the train wreck in front of me, feeling my heart race, threatening to beat right the fuck out of my chest. I can see his lips move, imagine what he’s saying, the promises, but I can’t actually make out the words. Still, I hear nothing but the sound of my own blood, a deafening roar through my head, and to myself I just keep repeating, “Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes.” I see her nod her head yes and watch him slip the ring on her finger, stand up, and wrap his arms around her, kissing her. I’m not sure whether I want someone to kill me or I want to be the one doing the killing. No, I know what I want. And it’s not his pretty boy ass standing next to her, where I should be. Love Hurts is AVAILABLE NOW