Author: Cassia Leo

Adam lunges forward and swings at Chris’s face. The sound of his fist connecting with Chris’s jaw makes my stomach lurch. Chris falls backward toward the seat just as Tristan scrambles around the back of the Porsche and rushes Adam.

“Stop it!” I shout as Tristan and Adam roll around on the asphalt, fists and curse words flying in all directions.

Chris stands up from the passenger seat, rubbing his jaw, and I push him back before he can join in. “Get your fucking friend off of him!” I shriek.

He glares at me. “You should keep your boyfriend on a fucking leash!”

I step toward them to attempt to break it up, but Chris grabs my arm and pulls me back. He struggles for a few seconds to get a grip on Tristan’s arms, but he finally yanks him off and I immediately grab Adam as he gets to his feet.

“Get out of here before the cops come!” I whisper-shout at him. “Hurry up!”

His lip is bleeding and there’s a bloody scuff from where his cheek must have scraped the asphalt. I want to reach up and wipe the blood from his mouth, but a small part of me is afraid that if I try to touch him right now he’ll hit me. His chest is heaving and his hands are still balled up in fists as he glares at Tristan and Chris over my shoulder.

“Go!” I shout to break him out of his rage-trance.

Finally, he looks down at me, and the guilty look on his face kills me. “Fuck! I’m sorry.”

He kisses my forehead and takes off running toward where his car is parked down the street. I spin around and Tristan is laughing as he uses the front of his T-shirt to sop up the blood pouring out of his nostrils.

“You think that’s funny? What are you twelve?” I push him as hard as I can and he falls back against the Porsche.

He continues to laugh as he makes his way around the back of the Porsche to the driver’s side.

I round on Chris. “I never would have expected this from you.”

“I’m the one who stopped it!” he barks.

“After you started it!”

“I wasn’t driving the fucking car.”

I shake my head in disgust as I turn around and grab my purse off the top of my car. I’m shaking with rage as I pull my keys out of the purse and deactivate my car alarm. I look over my shoulder at Chris before I get inside.

“Don’t ever bring that asshole around me again.”

I take a few deep breaths as I drive down Wilmington. My phone rings as soon as I turn the corner.

“Adam? Where are you?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m fine and I’m really fucking sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

Adam’s temper has always been simmering just below the surface. I’ve known this almost from the moment I met him. I’ve seen him trying so hard to keep it under control since all this stuff started happening with Chris. But I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t scare me.

“Claire?”

“You really scared me.”

The silence that follows is charged with all the implications behind these words. Is it what Adam did that scared me? Or is it him that had me so frightened I felt as if my heart was going to leap out of my chest? I’ve never seen him like that.

Yes, it was him that scared me.

“Man, I fucked up. I messed up our last day together.”

“Just call me when you get home tonight,” I say as I pull my car onto the highway.

“I will. And I am really, really fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Chapter Eleven

Chris

THE HARSH SOUND OF THE hotel phone ringing startles me awake. My hand fumbles over the cool surface of the beside table until I find the phone and pick up the receiver.

“Housekeeping. When can we come to clean your room?”

A crack of sunlight shining through the curtains hits my face as I open my eyes sending a sharp pain slicing through the left side of my head. I blink a few times until the spots disappear and glance at the alarm clock on the table: 1:17 p.m.

“Never,” I mutter into the phone and hang up.

I turn over in the bed and my arm hits someone next to me. Fuck. I almost don’t want to look.

I haven’t gotten drunk enough to have a hangover in months, but all this shit with Claire and Abigail is bringing up feelings I thought I’d long since buried. It seems all the women in my life are determined to make my life more difficult.

Claire hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts since the incident in Raleigh. I even sent her an arrangement of her favorite flowers, daisies, with an apology note, but she’s still ignoring me. I texted her last night before the show to tell her I have some news on the adoption, certain that this would elicit a response, but she still hasn’t responded.

I turn my head to glimpse my bed buddy and find Tristan Pollock, my bass guitarist and best friend since seventh grade, knocked out with his hair covering most of his face. Tristan and I had a falling out when I took the solo deal last year, but we quickly made up when I insisted to have him play bass on the West Coast tour we did in the Spring. Now, all the old resentments are gone and I’m relieved to be waking up next to him.

I turn my head again to get a look at the other bed in the hotel room and I glimpse the back of Rachel’s head. Rachel and Jake, my drummer, have been together longer than Claire and I have known each other. She goes to every show with Jake. If I didn’t know her I would think it was because she was possessive as fuck. But the truth is that after seven years together, they still can’t get enough of each other. They’re inseparable—the way Claire and I used to be.

I grab my phone off the nightstand and check to see if there are any new messages. I scroll through the nine new texts I’ve received, but none of them are from Claire. I stare at the text I sent her last night and shake my head.

Me: Tasha gave me some new info. Come to my jam session on Saturday, I’ll fill you in. I want to apologize for being the world’s biggest douchebag.

I sit up in bed and my head immediately starts pounding to the beat of my heart. It’s the same beat I’ve used to write a million songs about Claire, and this is where it’s gotten me. I should just fucking quit already. I could get used to playing local clubs to pay the bills. I’d even get a regular job if that’s what it took to get Claire back.

I sling my legs over the side of the bed and the first thing I want to do is text her. I went more than twelve months without sending her a single text and now it’s the first and last thing I want to do every day. It’s funny that when the one person you live for is ripped out of your life you can still find a way to convince yourself it’s for the best and that you will eventually get over it.

What a joke.

Xander, my manager, set up the show we played last night in D.C. as part of this surprise tour we’ve been on for the past five weeks and I’m starting to get really fucking annoyed. Last night’s show on the mall was insane and way more packed than I expected. I don’t remember how or when I got back to the hotel room, but I do remember feeling like my life, not just my vision, was spinning out of control.

I stand up and make my way to the restroom, but Jake calls my name before I make it there.

“What?” I call back.

“I have to go first. I’m gonna puke.”

He tumbles off the bed and rushes past me into the bathroom. I barely catch a glimpse of his dark scruffy hair and man-beard before he slams the door closed behind him. The door doesn’t do a good job of drowning out the sounds of his retching.

“God, what a fuckin’ lightweight.” Rachel’s voice is raspy. She’s probably parched as hell from whatever the fuck we did last night.

I haven’t lost time from too much alcohol in a long time. It’s a scary feeling, not knowing what—or who—you did the night before. It appears as if I didn’t do anything or anyone I’d regret, but I have enough regrets accumulated from all the things I have and haven’t done this past year. Waking up next to Tristan today can’t erase all the shit that’s happened since I left Claire.

I take a seat at the desk in the hotel room and grab the pen and pad of paper bearing the hotel logo. It’s a habit. Anytime I see a pen and paper I have to write something, lyrics or notes, or nonsense. I write what comes to mind and I’ve come up with the beginnings of some good songs that way. I pull the cap off the pen with my teeth, press the pen to the paper, and write.

Dear Claire,

Remember the time you caught me changing in my bedroom before we got together? Remember that embarrassment? That longing? I feel it every fucking day. Leaving you was the stupidest mistake I’ve ever made.

I tear the sheet of paper off the pad and I’m about to crumple it up when Rachel snatches it out of my hand.

“Don’t fuck with me right now. I’ve got the mother of all hangovers.”

She ignores me as she reads the note to herself then hands it back to me. “You’re an idiot. You can write a fucking song and a note, but you can’t actually do anything.”

“Of course I can’t do anything. She has a fucking boyfriend.”

“Do you expect her to just magically want to get back together with you? Earth to Chris, girls want to be pursued. Playing hard to get only works in new relationships. You’ve known Claire too long for those games to work on her.”

I roll my eyes as I lean back in the desk chair. “You don’t understand. Claire thinks she’s in love with this guy. If I try to, as you say, pursue her, she’ll think I’m trying to fuck things up for her.”

Rachel shakes her head as she leans against the dresser and pulls her hair up into a ponytail. “You’re right. I don’t fucking understand. How could she throw that away? You guys were perfect for each other. Give me her new number and I’ll talk some sense into her.”

“Hell no. I don’t need you fucking things up any more.”

“Hey, she used to be my friend. Don’t be selfish. Give me her fucking number.”

Jake finally comes out of the bathroom and I can smell the vomit on him as he passes between Rachel and me on his way to the bed. Rachel scrunches up her face in disgust and I wait for her to make a snide comment.

“Ever heard of toothpaste?” she says as Jake pulls the comforter over himself.

“I’ve got your toothpaste right here,” he mutters, and I’m positive he’s grabbing his dick under the covers.

Rachel rolls her eyes then turns back to me. She’s not going to let this go.

“Give me her number. I want to take her to lunch when we get back.”

“I’m not giving you her number. If she wanted you to have her number she would have told me to give it to you.”

“Whatever, Chris. I’m going to look her up in the directory and you’re going to be kissing my feet when she comes crawling back to you.”

I crumple up the note before I toss it into the waste bin. “She’s changed.”

“You’ve both changed,” she says as she walks toward the bathroom door. “But I’ll bet you Jake’s drum set that she’s just waiting for you to make your move. Trust me when I say that Claire worshipped you.”

I sigh as I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Well, she’s really fucking pissed at me right now. Besides, she just wants to move on. I have to let her do that or I won’t be able to forgive myself if I mess things up for her again.”

My phone vibrates and my stomach flips inside me. Taking a deep breath, I try to drown the hope that it’s her. I pull the phone out of my pocket and smile when I see the text message.

Claire: Are you seriously trying to bribe me to go see your jam session?

“Is that her?” Rachel asks, but I ignore her as I type my response.