Trey drives me home. However, he’s focusing more on me than the road, and if I didn’t find it so sweet, I would smack him. Right now, he’s worse than my 90-year-old grandmother, and I want to beat my head on the dashboard. Occasionally, he glances in the rearview mirror, which makes me check the side mirrors. There is a car following us, and I’m pretty sure it's Adam. If Ella didn't have school in the morning, I’m pretty sure Forest would be right behind us too.

I have way too many men in my life that are like brothers, and the one biological brother I have is bad enough.

“This should spice up the menu a little.” Trey wiggles his eyebrows trying to joke, but it falls flat.

I can only imagine the expression on my face, because he grimaces.

“You guys always cook better when you're giving each other shit. Sorry, but you know it’s true. And he hasn’t given you shit, nor have y’all really griped at each other, since you found Torrance with the bitch from hell.” We sit in silence at a light, tears streaming down my face.

“It’s days like this that I'm glad I don't date.”

I glance over at him and give a little snort. “You might not be dating yet, but you’re fucking. And don’t try to tell me you’re not. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been a little more social and happy than you were three months ago. And when all this is sorted out, you and I will have a conversation about that. But right now, I’m not going to pry. I know you won’t say a damn thing until you’re good and ready, anyway. And after your, ‘I’m glad I don’t date,’ remark, I know I won’t get shit out of you tonight.”

He smiles back. “You see way too much.” Trey guns it, finally driving like he owns the sports car we’re in.

With him driving the speed limit, if not faster, we make it the rest of the way to my loft in no time flat.

Trey takes my keys while we’re in the elevator and takes the lead when we exit. Adam’s arm wraps around me as we walk down the hall. Trey has us wait at the door while he quickly searches the loft. I know that he’s checking to see if Wes is here, or if he’s gone. I’m betting he took off, and it sickens me to think that he’d just give up and run away.

“Come on in,” Trey yells at us.

Adam places his hand on my lower back in support and slowly guides me inside the loft, over to the couch. As I sit down, Baggie jumps up on my lap and rubs his face against my hand. Adam walks away, and I soon hear water running behind me. The water turns off, but Adam doesn’t come back to the living room as quickly as I thought he would. In fact, by the time he and Trey come to sit down with me, I’ve zoned out.

When Adam returns to the couch, he’s carrying a glass of water and three tumblers filled with amber liquid. He sets all four glasses on the coffee table before handing me the water and sliding one of the glasses of whiskey in front of me. As soon as the water is in my hand, Baggie jumps down and climbs up in the chair across from me.

“I called Nessa on the drive here. She told me to stay as long as I need to, but to bring her home ice cream.” Adam passes Trey one of the highball glasses, clinks glasses with him, and takes a seat next to me. I stare off toward nothing, sipping the ice water.

She’s been having a lot of cravings lately.

Trey clears his throat and scoots closer to the table. “Calla, Wes left this for you.”

Cautiously he hands a folded piece of paper to me. I place my water on a coaster and unfold the note.

Calla,

I'm sorry for my behavior tonight. I'm taking some time off. I need to figure out my shit. I know this leaves you shorthanded. I will try to be back next week. Please let me have this time alone. I know Trey and Adam will watch over you and help you finish the new menu. It's a great menu! You'll do fine.

Wes

I read it aloud before dropping the paper to the ground and picking up the whiskey.

I down the contents in one swallow as tears fill my eyes again. I blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling, while Adam and Trey blankly look at each other and the letter I’ve dropped. A long breath I didn’t realize I was holding releases from my lungs.

“Holy hell… this isn't good,” Adam mumbles and tosses his drink back.

Trey looks cautiously at him.

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose, shoves off the couch, and walks back to the kitchen. He’s not gone long, and when he returns, he has the whiskey bottle in his hand. He pours himself, and me, another glass.

“It's going to be fine, Calla. He'll be back before you know it.” Trey takes a sip of his whiskey then lowers his hand holding the glass just above the coffee table.

I lift my head to face Trey and nod. There’s something brewing behind his green eyes, but right now, I can’t bring myself to analyze it. I glance between my friends and possible business partners, and wonder if Trey is right, or if I'm about to lose Wes in both ways. They both pull their expressions together in time to comfort me. At least, they try to. But I don’t fall for it. I grab the glass, and once again slam it back, letting the burn of the alcohol dull my senses. I curl up on the couch next to Adam. Neither one of the guys says anything while I lay there. In fact, the only sound that’s made is when Trey gets up and comes to sit on the table in front of me. He and Adam rub my leg to comfort me.

I’m not sure how much time passes before they have to leave. They both lightly kiss my head before cleaning up the highball glasses and whiskey. Trey places my cell on the table within reaching distance.

“Call one of us if you need us, Calla. I swear, Darlin’, we will fix this.” He kisses me one last time, but I don’t move. I just stare off at nothing as if I’m in a catatonic state.

In the distance, I hear the heavy front door close quietly behind them. I fall asleep at some point, though I’m not sure when. It’s like I’ve blinked, and one minute the night sky is showing through the living room windows, and the next, the first rays of sun are blinding me.

I reach toward the coffee table for my phone, grabbing it and Wes's letter. I read it again, and instead of being sad, I’m pissed. Even though it’s literally the ass-crack of dawn, I dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail, telling me he’s turned off his phone.

Fucking asshole. You’re fucking lucky I don’t call your brothers. And Ben. They’d track your ass down and beat the shit out of you for being such a pussy!

Granted, I can’t even remember where they all are at the moment. I can’t always keep up with their schedules. Either last weekend or this weekend is probably their bye week, but I could be wrong. I toss the phone back on the table and scream. Baggie glares at me from his perch.

“Why does he have to be a such a stubborn ass?” I yell.

I push myself into a sitting position and scrub my face with my hands. Rising, I make my way to my bathroom. The nasty cottonmouth feeling is not pleasant, and since I fell asleep on the couch, I didn’t brush my teeth last night. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat or drink anything before I feel clean. When I feel human again, I make my way to the kitchen and fix breakfast.

Instead of eating at the dining room table, I take my porridge concoction and orange juice out on the terrace, picking up my phone and the letter along the way. Baggie saunters out with me. He picks his spot on the furniture as I sit next to him, kicking my feet up on the glass table. Before re-reading the damn note, I take a bite of my breakfast. The mix of nuts, fruit compote, milk, butter, and honey hit the spot, and I scoop up another spoonful. Placing the bowl in my lap, I read through Wes’s letter again. Crumpling the paper into a ball, I throw it on the table in a huff. I take a sip of my juice and attempt to finish my breakfast before it gets cold.

After breakfast, I lace up my running shoes and head out. When I hit the lobby, I push my earbuds in my ears and slowly start jogging up the street toward UT. The closer I get to UT’s campus, the faster I jog, until I’m at my normal pace. The music on my phone changes to Everything from Lifehouse, and I’m bombarded with a slew of contrasting emotions warring inside me. One minute I want to throttle someone, and the next, I want to curl up in a corner and hide for the rest of my days. Picking up my pace, I try to drown all the emotions, or out-run them, if either is possible. In the blink of an eye, I’ve passed the campus, and unlike usual, I’m able to push bystanders on the street out of my sight and just run.

Focusing on the beat of the music, my emotions, and the thudding feeling of my feet hitting the pavement, I zone out until another song change. Slowing a little, I’m not sure where I’m headed as I round the capitol building. Meghan Trainor’s Like I’m Gonna Lose You filters into my ears. Everything's a blur until I come up to Trey's corner. There’s a small cafe on the opposite corner, and I cross the street, heading straight for it. I grab one of the small iron tables outside. As I get settled, a server walks over and takes my order. Finally, something works in my favor. I place a small order then call Trey.

“Morning, Darlin’,” he answers in a groggy voice.

“Morning. I’m just calling to let you know I’m alive.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.

The server returns, placing my bottle of water and an iced chai in front of me.

“Thank you,” I respond.

“Are you out?”

“Yes. I’m across the street from you. I was out on a run.”

“Do you want me to come down?”

“Nah. Stay in bed. As for your question on how I slept, I’m honestly not sure. But, I feel rested,” I reply.

“And have you been crying again?”

“No. I’m actually more pissed off now.” I crack the seal on the water bottle and take a long gulp. “I did think about calling Ben and Wes’s brothers to go kick his ass.”

“Are they on a bye week, or out of town?”

“Hell if I know. Yeah, I know I should know where Ben is, but I haven’t been focused on his games this season,” I admit.

“I get it. You’re okay though?”

“As okay as I can be. I’m going to let you go, so I can finish my drink and get back to the loft. We’ll talk more at work. Deal?” I pick up the chai and sip it.

“See you in two hours. You walking, or do I need to pick you up?” Trey questions.

“It’s supposed to be hotter than fuck today, so please come get me.”

“Deal. Bye, Darlin’.”

I say my goodbye and disconnect. I sit back, putting my earbuds in my ears and pushing play. Closing my eyes, I settle myself, taking sips of both the chai and water. After a handful of songs, I suck down the rest of my chai, pull cash out of my secret pocket, and leave it on the table as I grab the bottle of water and stand. I do a few stretches then start back toward my place.

By the time I make it back to the loft, the newspaper has been delivered to my door. I pick it up when I walk in. Kicking off my shoes and unplugging my earbuds, I trapse into the living room. Hot and sweaty, I start to toss the paper on the couch until I glimpse where Ben is this week. One headline reads, The Texans are in Dallas This Week.

I lean on the back of the couch and open the paper. As I flip through it, I come across another announcement about Torrance's wedding. A new sound rumbles from my throat.

“They truly are fucking perfect for each other.” Quickly, I flip past the page until I get to the latest food reviews.

There’s a picture of Belladonna front and center. I fold back the section and brace myself for another shitty review.

Belladonna had some fireworks two nights ago. The house opened its doors to a table full of food critics celebrating Owner/Chef Calla Bond's ex-fiancée, and food critic, Torrance Patterson’s pre-rehearsal dinner. Calla jokingly tried to kill Torrance's guests only once, when she brought out some fresh belladonna. The rest of the night's fireworks came from Calla's possible new menu. The spinach stuffed leg of lamb was to die for. This was the best dinner I've ever had. It tops everything Calla has done in the past. Calla has found something to bring her back to life, and whatever it is, she needs to hold on to it. She's in for a great ride.

“Fuck yessssss!” I yell, shaking my ass around the loft.

“I need to tell Wes and the guys.” I grab my cell and dial Wes first. Of course he doesn’t answer, so I leave a message.

Me: You’re being a fucking asshole. We got a new review. Call me!!!

Instead of throwing my cell like I want to, I conference call Trey and Adam. They answer, and I can barely contain my excitement as I read them the highlights of the review.