“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, pushing Beckett out of the way as I headed for the stairs. “Don’t you have a supermodel waiting for you back at your place?”

It only took thirty seconds for my claws to come out. A new record.

Stalking to the kitchen, I yanked open the cupboard while Beckett eased onto a barstool.

He picked up a wooden napkin ring we’d bought in Denmark and twirled it around his finger. “The only girl I have is you. I’ve been going out of my fucking mind. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

A bag of coffee clutched in my fist, I whirled around. “Do you really want me to answer that?” He dropped his gaze to his clasped hands. “Didn’t think so. Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

I turned my attention to the state-of-the-art coffee pot and glowered at the machine. Usually, I left the brewing to the professionals at Starbucks since my coffee tended to taste like sludge.

Starbucks.

Where I met Chase.

Yesterday …

Beckett’s gruff voice interrupted my self-recrimination over the guy I’d picked up with my morning coffee. “I came here for you. Didn’t you talk to Ash? And what about your little friend? What’s his story?”

I ducked into the fridge to grab the cream. “His name is Chase, and he doesn’t have a story. He owns … um, Nite Owl Pub on Sixth Street.”

And this building. And a lot of other things. But I left that part out.

I poured cream into two cups, cringing when Beckett’s arms slid around my waist. “That’s digging into the archives a little, isn’t it, babe? A dive bar on Sixth?”

“You got your start on Sixth,” I reminded him, the gruff edge seeping from my tone.

He rocked me slowly, the way he used to. “Is that what the guy wants? A start?”

Spinning around, I glared up at him. “Are you saying the only reason a guy would ask me out is because of who I am?”

Beckett’s hands curled around my hips, and he traced small circles on the bones. An intimate gesture he’d perfected when we were fifteen and he was trying to convince me to go all the way. “I didn’t say that. I’m only pointing out that it’s a little strange that some random guy chats you up in a bar on Sixth without an endgame. You’re pretty recognizable.” He narrowed his gaze. “What were you doing out by yourself at a bar anyway?

“I didn’t meet him at the bar. I met him at Starbucks.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“When?”

I busied my hands pouring the coffee. “Yesterday.”

“So, my girlfriend goes out and picks up some dude the day before I come home.” He leaned closer, his accusatory tone a low growl in my ear. “Nothing strange about that.”

Blowing right past the point about not knowing he was coming home, I shoved the cup into Beckett’s hand. “I’m not your girlfriend. There’s no press around, so drop the act.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that crap you fed Ash.” His mouth dropped open to protest, but I rolled right over him. “I understand why y’all offered up the story. But I read Maddy’s quotes. ‘Beckett and I are deliriously happy,’” I mocked, ditching my southern twang for a ridiculously high female voice. “‘We’re so lucky we found each other.’ Where’s your lucky girl now, Beckett? Waiting dutifully at your hotel until you square things with me? Why? We’re not together. And just so you know, Tori’s pissed. I’m not the only one who got hurt with this little stunt.”

Despite everything, I didn’t want to fight. Beckett was my first love, would always be my first love, and love still glowed between us. For a long time, I believed I couldn’t love anyone else.

“I’ll make it right with Tori. I’ll explain and—”

“No, you won’t,” I said quietly. “I’m moving heaven and earth to make sure that Tori never finds out about any of this. But she’s so raw. The producer is calling about your album. The label is pissed. You’re over budget and off schedule. That’s on me.” I tapped my chest. “I couldn’t go to LA because of your girlfriend, and now this.”

All the things I’d been keeping inside bubbled over, and I let my head fall forward.

Beckett dropped onto a chair at the dining room table, burying his head in his hands. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

I took a seat beside him and he entwined our fingers, caressing my infinity tattoo. “Maddy’s not my girl. You’re my girl. And she knew that.”

The collar of his shirt gaped just enough to see the edge of the large “T” emblazoned over his heart. As if he could read my mind, he laid my palm flat on his chest. “You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

“I’m not the only one,” I said quietly. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

With a ragged sigh, Beckett raked a hand through his hair, shoved back from the table, and started to pace. I waited, wondering whether I was giving him time to collect his thoughts or enough rope to hang himself. Eventually, shoulders slumped, he sank down against the half wall separating the bar from the kitchen. “Maddy Silva means nothing to me. Nothing.” He shook his head, as if saying it made it so. “Things got out of hand, but it wasn’t—it isn’t what you think.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. With Beckett, the cure might be worse than the disease. Still, I joined him on the floor, drawn to his side by the tether that bound us.

“Becks … What aren’t you telling me?”

Sighing, he pulled the smokes from his pocket, holding out the pack. A familiar longing gripped my chest. I’d given up the habit long ago, but the craving remained. Cigarettes and Beckett Brennin, my two strongest weaknesses.

“Take one,” he taunted. “You know you want to.”

“God, you are a bad influence.” Snatching the Marlboro, I leaned in for a light. “Oh, sweet Lord—” I groaned as I inhaled, “—that’s so good.”

Beckett lit up, then to my dismay, he steered the conversation back onto its previous course. “I miss you, babe.” He flicked his ash in the coffee cup he snagged from the table. “I can’t … I just want us to be what we used to be.”

I leaned my shoulder against his. “We are what we used to be. You’re my best friend. And that’ll never change.”

“What would Paige and Tori say about that?”

After a couple of beats, I smiled sadly. “Paige wouldn’t say anything, but Tori would correct me.”

He nodded, entwining our fingers again. “I understand why you, um, went out with that guy. But I’m back now.”

I frowned. “It’s not about another guy. You and I don’t fit anymore.” Maybe we never did. Stopping short of that admission, I added, “We’ve been on this roller coaster for too long, Becks. I just want to get off.”

He reached for the sash on my robe. “I can help you with that. In case your friend wasn’t up to the task.”

Desperation lit every corner of his face. And judging by the look in his eyes, he’d option the expired marriage license in his safe if I gave him the chance.

But why?

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you talking crazy?”

“I’m saner than I’ve ever been. Just let me prove it.” He searched my face, and finding no cracks, his mask of indifference slid into place. “Fine, Taryn. Have it your way.”

I dropped my cigarette into the cup alongside Beckett’s. Smoke rose from the bottom as the two butts sizzled and then fizzled out altogether. All heat and intensity, followed by the inevitable slow burn, dwindling to nothing.

Just like Beckett and me.

Taking the mug from my hand, Beckett set it on the bar, then helped me up. “I’m not giving up on you. Or us. And if your friend is smart, he’ll stay out of my way.”

Beckett’s ardor would cool the minute he caught sight of a leggy brunette to divert his attention.

“Well, since you showed up here out of the blue, I’m sure your schedule is a mess. Let me grab a shower and we’ll head to the office to sort it out. I’ve got a meeting at five with Harper.”

He perked up. “You got her to come here?”

“Of course I did. Isn’t that why y’all got me involved? To clean up your mess.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m just glad it’s almost over. Maybe Dylan can get his head out of his ass, and we can finish the album.”

“I thought …” Inclining my head, I studied him. “Aren’t you the one having the problem with the producer?”

“I can handle that dude.” He shrugged. “I was just taking some of the heat off Dylan.”

Maybe we were more alike than I thought. In his own way, Beckett was picking up the slack. And how long had that been going on?

I climbed the stairs and then paused on the landing to gaze down at Beckett, scratching at the place in my brain where our passion used to reside. It was tempting fate, really, but I needed to find out what was left of us.

Nothing.

It was strange, the hollow feeling. Not quite sad. Just empty.

Disappearing into my room, I locked the door.

On Beckett and our past.