From that moment on, I have had episodes when stressed, crying jags that tear me out of sleep and leave me decimated. I hate them, but they won’t stop. With a shaky sigh, I flop back on my bed and curl my knees to my chest. I’m freezing cold, from the inside out. The heavy duvet doesn’t help. Nothing will. I’m alone and terrified of some unnamed thing that lives inside me.
Other people have experienced deep, personal losses in their lives. I haven’t, not really. Not the death of someone I love with all my heart. And I do love Jax. He’s a brother to me. I didn’t lose him, but it was close. Too close. It shattered something in me. I hate that I can’t control this. No matter how many times I tell myself everything is okay now, I can’t actually feel it. Nights like this, when it all comes crashing back in, are the worst.
I’m so cold, so empty. Scared. I’m scared. Because I am alone, and I don’t want to be. Not right now. I want arms to hold me tight, the warmth of another body pressing into me. But there isn’t anyone I want in my bed with me either. There’s the rub. I want something that doesn’t exist.
Before, I’d have called Jax, just to hear his voice. Sweet man that he is, he’ll always answer the phone. He never asks why I am calling; somehow, he knows. He simply says, “I’m here, Bren. I’m still here.” That’s enough for me. I’ll tell him I love him and hang up. We never speak of it, never tell the others. But now, Jax has Stella. I can’t call him and wake her too. Besides, I need to cut the cord.
Doesn’t make the emptiness end, though. For a brief, mindless second, I consider calling Killian. He truly is the closest thing I have to a brother. Growing up together, we’d often have sleepovers. We thought nothing of curling up together in bed and talking about our dreams. His were always grand and colorful but focused on music. Mine were generic—my own horse; kissing Justin Timberlake; making Becky Todd, my archenemy at age ten, eat dirt. Killian’s dreams came true. I followed along for the ride.
But Killian has someone too. He’s curled up with Libby now, telling her his dreams.
Do I even have dreams anymore?
Heaving myself out of bed, I make my way into the kitchen. I know my apartment so well now, I navigate it easily in the dark. Making myself some warm milk with cinnamon and honey and heating a hot water bottle, I stare out the windows to where the city glitters like white diamonds against an indigo sky. It’s a sight I’ve never tired of. But tonight, any excitement I usually feel is gone.
Unbidden, I hear his voice in my head. It’s a promise. A promise, Bren, of how fucking good it can be if you just let go of your pride.
“Jesus.” I still can’t believe Rye said all that. It’s like some bizarre nightmare. Any time one of our friends even joked that Rye and I were hot for each other, Rye would react with such offended dignity that I started to develop a complex—nipped only in the bud by returning his disdain with equal measure.
Unease prickles over my skin. He talks of pride. Pride is the only defense I have to protect myself from him. Pride and vigilance. I never let myself slip with Rye. Never let myself think about him as anything other than…What are we to each other? I don’t even know how to define it. He wasn’t exactly my enemy, but we certainly weren’t friends.
He doesn’t even know why I started to hate him. He only thinks he does. The truth is far more complicated and painful.
Unbidden the memory comes to the fore as sharp and cutting as it was when it happened.
“Happy Birthday, Brenna.” Lacey, a sound engineer, gives me a lingering smile as I make my way through the party. There’s been a spark of interest between us, but I push it aside and keep my responding smile light.
“Thanks.”
Disappointment flickers in her gaze, but she simply nods as I keep walking. I feel a little bad about it, but since one disastrous and humiliating band meeting where the guys grilled me about my freaking sex life, I made an ironclad rule not to get involved with anyone on the payroll. Scottie once reminded me of the old adage: Don’t shit where you eat. Gross, but true. Getting entangled with someone you have to work with day in and out isn’t a good idea.
I wish the guys took that to heart. One full tour under my belt, and I’ve already had to deal with tearful encounters with various staff members who fooled around with my bonehead friends. I love them, but they’re idiots most of the time. Well, I love three of them. The other one… Nope, I will not think about him.