“We did,” confirmed Lauren. “But, you know … now we don’t. It’s a surprisingly uncomplicated story, actually. It just kind of happened while you were away.”

“Wow.”

“Nice dress,” said Lauren, looking me over.

“Thanks.”

“Valentino?”

I smoothed the blue fabric over my stomach. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a statement, matching it with the sneakers,” Lauren said. Then she gave Nate a look. They apparently already had the silent communication thing down because he tippy-toed off toward her bedroom. Interesting …

My best friend and my brother. And she’d never said a word. But then, there were plenty of things I hadn’t told her either. Maybe we were past the age of sharing every last little detail of our lives. How sad.

Loneliness and a healthy dose of self-pity cooled me right off and I wrapped my arms around myself.

Lauren came over and pried one of my hands loose. “Hon, what happened?”

I shook my head, warding off questions. “I can’t. Not yet.”

She joined me leaning against the wall. “I have ice cream.”

“What kind?”

“Triple choc. I was thinking of torturing your brother with it later in a sexually explicit manner.”

There went my vague interest in ice cream. I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Lauren, if you love me, you’ll never say anything like that to me ever again.”

“Sorry.”

I almost smiled. My mouth definitely came close to it but faltered at the last. “Nate makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he really does. It just feels like … I don’t know, it’s like we’re in tune or something. Ever since the night he picked me up from your folks’ place we’ve pretty much been together. It feels right. He’s not angry like he used to be in high school. He’s given up his man-slut ways. He’s calmed down and grown up. Shit, out of the two of us he’s the sensible one.” She mock pouted. “But our days of sharing every last detail about our lives really are over, aren’t they?”

“I guess they are.”

“Ah, well. We’ll always have middle school.”

“Yeah.” I managed a smile.

“Hon, I’m sorry things went bad. I mean, that’s obviously why you’re back looking like shit in that absolutely exquisite dress.” She eyed up my gown with great lust.

“You can have it.” Hell, she could have all of the other stuff as well. I never wanted to touch any of it ever again. His jacket I’d left with Sam, the ring stuffed into a pocket. Sam would take care of it. See that it got back to him. My hand seemed bare without it, lighter. Lighter and freer should have gone together but they didn’t. Inside me sat a great weight. I’d been dragging my sorry ass around for hours now. Onto the plane. Off the plane. Into the car. Up the stairs. Neither time nor distance had helped so far.

“I want to hug you but you’re giving off that don’t-touch-me vibe,” she said, propping her hands on her slim hips. “Tell me what to do.”

“Sorry.” The smile I gave her was twisted and awful. I could feel it. “Later?”

“How much later? Because frankly, you look like you need it bad.”

I couldn’t stop the tears this time. They just started flowing, and once they started, they wouldn’t stop. I wiped at them uselessly, then just gave up and covered my face with my hands. “Fuck.”

Lauren threw her arms around me, held me tight. “Let it go.”

I did.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Twenty-eight days later …

The woman was taking forever to order. Her eyes kept shifting between me and the menu as she leaned across the counter. I knew that look. I dreaded that look. I loved being in the café, with the aroma of coffee beans and the soothing blend of music and chatter. I loved the camaraderie we had going on behind the counter and the fact that the work kept my hands and brain busy. Weirdly enough, being a barista relaxed me. I was good at it. With my studies a constant struggle, I reveled in that fact. If everything ever hit the wall, I’d always have coffee to fall back on. It was the modern-day Portland equivalent of typing. The city ran on coffee beans and cafés. Coffee and beer were in our blood.

Lately, however, some customers had been a pain in the ass to deal with.

“You seem really familiar,” she started, much as they all did. “Weren’t you all over the internet a while back? Something to do with David Ferris?”

At least I didn’t flinch at his name anymore. And it had been days since I’d felt the urge to actually vomit. Definitely not pregnant, just getting annulled.

After the first few days of hiding in bed, crying my eyes out, I took every shift the café would give me to keep busy. I couldn’t mourn him forever. Pity my heart remained unconvinced. He was in my dreams every night when I closed my eyes. I had to chase him out of my mind a thousand times a day.

By the time I surfaced, the few lingering paparazzi had cleared off back to LA. Apparently Jimmy had gone into rehab. Lauren switched channels every time I walked in, but I couldn’t help but catch enough news to know what was going on. It seemed Stage Dive were being talked about everywhere. Someone had even asked me to sign a picture of David striding into the treatment facility, head hanging down and hands stuffed in his pockets. He’d looked so alone. Several times, I’d almost called him. Just to ask if he was okay. Just to hear his voice. How stupid was that? And what if I rang and Martha answered?

At any rate, Jimmy’s meltdown was much more interesting than me. I barely rated a mention on the news these days.

But people, customers, they drove me nuts. Outside of work, I’d become a complete shut-in. That had its own issues on account of my brother basically living with us now. People in love were sickening. It was a proven medical fact. Customers with speculation shining bright in their beady little eyes weren’t much better.

“You’re mistaken,” I told the nosy woman.

She gave me a coy look. “I don’t think so.”

Ten bucks said she was working her way up to asking me for his autograph. This would make the eighth attempt to obtain one today. Some of them wanted to take me home for intimate relations because, you know, rock star’s ex. My va**na clearly had to be something special. I sometimes wondered if they thought there was a little plaque on my inner thigh saying David Ferris had been there.

This chick, however, wasn’t checking me out. No, she wanted an autograph.

“Look,” she said, speculation turning to wheedling. “I wouldn’t ask, it’s just that I’m such a huge fan of his.”

“I can’t help you, sorry. We’re actually about to close. So would you like to order something before that happens?” I asked, pleasant smile firmly in place. Sam would have been proud of that smile, as fake as it was. But with my eyes I told the woman the truth. That I was all used up and I honestly had no f**ks left to give. Especially when it came to David Ferris.

“Can you at least tell me if the band are really breaking up? Come on. Everyone’s saying an announcement’s going to be made any day now.”

“I don’t know anything about it. Would you liked to order something, or not?”

Further denial generally led to either anger or tears. She chose anger. A good choice, because tears annoyed the living hell out of me. I was sick of them, both on myself and others. Despite it being common knowledge that I’d been dumped, they still figured I had connections. Or so they hoped.

She did a fake little laugh. “There’s no need to be a bitch about it. Would letting me know what’s happening really have killed you?”

“Leave,” said my lovely manager, Ruby. “Right now. Get out.”

The woman switched to incredulous, mouth open wide. “What?”

“Amanda, call the cops.” Ruby stood tall beside me.

“On it, boss.” Amanda snapped open her cell and punched in the numbers, leveling the woman with her evil eye. Amanda, having moved on from being my high school’s sole lesbian, was studying drama. These confrontations were her favorite part of the day. They might have sapped my strength, but Amanda sucked all of her power from them. A dark, malevolent force, to be sure, but it was all hers and she reveled in it. “Yes, we’ve got a fake blonde with a bad tan giving us trouble, officer. I’m pretty certain I saw her at a frat party doing some serious underage drinking last week. I don’t want to say what happened after that but the footage is available on YouTube for your viewing pleasure if you’re over eighteen.”

“No wonder he dropped you. I saw the picture, your ass is wide as f**king Texas,” the woman sneered and then sped out of the café.

“Do you really have to stir them up?” I asked.

Amanda clucked her tongue. “Please. She started it.”

I’d heard worse than what she’d said. Way worse. Several times now I’d had to change my email address to stop the hate mail from flooding in. I had closed my Facebook account early on.

Still, I checked my butt to be sure. It was a close call, but I was pretty sure Texas was, in fact, wider.

“As far as I can tell you’re living on a diet of breath mints and lattes. Your ass is not a concern.” Amanda had long since forgiven me for the bad kiss back in high school, bless her. I was beyond lucky to have the friends I did. I really don’t know how I’d have made it through the last month without them.

“I eat.”

“Really? Whose jeans are those?”

I started cleaning the coffee machine because it really was getting on closing time. That, and for reasons of subject avoidance. Fact was, getting cheated on and lied to by rock ’n’ roll’s favorite son did make for quite the diet. Definitely not one I’d recommend. My sleep was shot to shit and I was tired all the time. I was depression’s bitch. Inside and out, I didn’t feel like me. The time I’d spent with David, the way it had changed things, was a constant agitation, an itch I couldn’t scratch. Partly because I lacked the power but also because I lacked the will. You could only sing “I Will Survive” so many times before the urge to throttle yourself took over.

“Lauren doesn’t wear these. Said they were the wrong shade of dark wash and that the placement of the back pockets made her look hippy. Apparently pocket placement matters.”

“And you started wearing that skinny cow’s clothes when?”

“Don’t call her that.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Please, she takes it as a compliment.”

True. “Well, I think the jeans are nice. Are you wiping down the tables or would you like me to?”

Amanda just sighed. “Jo and I want to thank you for helping us move last weekend. So we’re taking you out tonight. Drinking and dancing ahoy!”

“Oh.” Alcohol and me already had a bad reputation. “I don’t know.”

“I do.”

“I had plans to—”

“No you don’t. This is why I left it to the last minute to tell you. I knew you’d try to make excuses.” Amanda’s dark eyes brooked no nonsense. “Ruby, I’m taking our girl out for a night on the town.”

“Good idea,” Ruby called out from the kitchen. “Get her out of here. I’ll clean up.”

My practiced pleasant smile fell off my face. “But—”

“It’s the sad eyes,” said Ruby, confiscating my cleaning cloth. “I can’t bear them any longer. Please go out and have some fun.”

“Am I that much of a killjoy?” I asked, suddenly worried. I honestly thought I’d been putting on a good front. Their faces told me otherwise.

“No. You’re a normal twenty-one-year-old going through a break-up. You need to get back out there and reclaim your life.” Ruby was in her early thirties and soon to be wed. “Trust me. I know best. Go.”

“Or,” said Amanda, waggling a finger at me. “You could sit at home watching Walk the Line for the eight hundredth time while listening to your brother and best friend going hard at it in the room next door.”

When she put it like that … “Let’s go.”

*

“I want to be bi,” I announced, because it was important. A girl had to have goals. I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet. “Let’s dance. I love this song.”

“You love any song that’s not by the band who shall not be named.” Amanda laughed, following me through the crowd. Her girlfriend Jo just shook her head, clinging to her hand. Vodka was doubtless as bad an idea as tequila, but I did feel somewhat unwound, looser. It was good to get out and on an empty stomach three drinks went a long way, clearly. I did suspect Amanda had made at least one of them a double. It felt great to dance and laugh and let loose. Out of all of the getting over a break-up tactics I’d attempted, keeping busy worked best. But going out dancing and drinking all dressed up shouldn’t be mocked.

I tucked my hair behind my ears because my ponytail had started falling apart again. Perfect metaphor for my life. Nothing worked right since I’d gotten back from LA. Nothing lasted. Love was a lie and rock ’n’ roll sucked. Blah blah blah. Time for another drink.

And I’d been in the middle of making an important point.

“I’m serious,” I said. “I’m going bi. It’s my new plan.”

“I think that’s a great plan,” yelled Jo, moving next to me. Jo also worked at the café, which was how the two had met. She had long blue hair that was the envy of all.