Logan pulled into Jackson Hole around four o’clock. He’d only stopped to use the bathroom and gas up. It’d been a long drive. Winding through the main part of town, he was impressed at the way it had built up so much. Jackson Hole had become huge in the blink of an eye. Making his way home was a slow process. He found himself taking time to appreciate all the changes he didn’t remember happening in the town where he’d grown up.

He needed to talk to his father. Dread had surged within him throughout the drive. His father was an alcoholic—functional when he was a kid, and then not functional when Logan had gotten into high school. Logan didn’t even know if his dad would be here. He had to talk to someone who could give him the lay of the land.

He’d decided he didn’t know anything about Paris. Obviously, they hadn’t gotten married like he’d planned.

As he drove past the center of town, he saw the sign for “Smith Insurance: Friends You Can Rely On.” He smirked, thinking Shane’s company hadn’t changed since high school. He wondered what he was doing in this alternate reality. Maybe he was there? No. Shane had never wanted to do what his dad did. He would find out about Shane later; right now he had to focus at the moment. He pushed on, winding through the older streets downtown until he got to his house.

Well, not his house. That had clearly been bulldozed, and a fancy new house stood in its place. He parked and got out, tentatively shutting the door and moving toward the house. It wasn’t huge, just a modest home, but as he ventured up the steps and knocked on the door, the pit of his stomach had that feeling like something was very, very wrong.

He had been standing there just long enough to start feeling uncomfortable when a young lady balancing a baby on her hip opened the door. She covered her mouth. “Oh my gosh, you came here?”

Logan’s heart raced. “Where’s my father?”

The woman stared at him. “I heard on the news you’d left Kim in LA.”

It was weird having people know things about him in such a public way. “My father?”

Before she could answer, a black truck pulled noisily up to the curb. The window rolled down to reveal Shane, definitely older than Logan had last seen him. “I saw you drive into town. Get in, Logan, we need to talk.”

Logan stared at Shane, hesitating.

Shane gestured to the truck. “Come on, now, hotshot.”

Hotshot—that’s what Shane had always called him. It was the first comforting thing he’d heard since waking from the coma.

“I’m sorry,” the woman at the door said.

Tentatively, Logan moved down the steps and went around to climb into the passenger side of the truck, a bit freaked out at seeing this older version of Shane. Logan had some wrinkles around his eyes, but he was in the best shape of his life; he’d never been cut in high school like he was now. Shane was Shane, but different. Still pretty in shape, but not Logan’s in-shape. He looked exactly like his father.

Shane took off with a jerk, yanking the steering wheel sharply as he took the turn onto Main Street. “So you came home.”

“What’s going on, Shane? Seriously, the last thing I remember is being in that stupid huddle.”

Shane turned and pulled his sunglasses off. The steel of his blue eyes looked the same, yet it was different. He was different. “What is your game, Logan?”

“Game? Game? I … what are you talking about?” It hurt, the way Shane looked at him like they weren’t friends. Best friends.

Shane turned onto the old highway that led toward Jackson Peak and gunned it. “I can’t … Is this some game, some ploy to get Paris back? Isn’t All-Stars enough? Is this your ticket away from Kim, or just some publicity stunt?”

The part of his head that he’d landed on had ached, but now it burned like it was on fire. He rubbed it, suddenly woozy, and sucked in a breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

Shane swerved, and Logan saw they were pulling into the insurance business. A wave of nausea passed over him and he felt sweat break out on his face.

Shane parked, then helped him out. Tugging Logan’s arm around his shoulders, Shane brought him into the office. “The secretary’s gone for lunch, so maybe we can sneak you into the conference room without a big to-do.” He swore. “Man, you’re heavy.”

Logan noticed the remodel of the insurance office had been extensive. “It looks good in here,” he said weakly, and then cringed as another stabbing pain pulsed through him.

“Shut up,” Shane said more softly, hauling him into a large room. They headed for the corner of the room, passing a large table and its surrounding chairs, and Shane gently set him down on the floor. “Hold on.” Shane left the room.

Logan leaned back and closed his eyes and felt throbbing pain through his head and down his shoulders.

Shane returned, lifting Logan’s head and stuffing something soft beneath it. “Dad has a catnap pillow. He’s out today.”

Logan was grateful for the comfort and put his hand on his stomach, hoping he wouldn’t throw up. Not that he had anything to throw up. He hadn’t really thought about food. “I never thought you’d sell insurance.”

The sound of blinds closing rattled and Shane called out, “Yeah, bet you didn’t.”

Logan didn’t know why Shane sounded like he hated him. What could have possibly happened over those eight years that would come between him and Shane? He felt like he’d just been gut-punched.

“Have you eaten anything? Drank anything?”

Logan steeled himself against the mental image of the new house falling from the sky and crushing his old house. The woman—Kim, his fiancée—pushed herself to the forefront of his mind, followed by the anger on Shane’s face when he’d first rolled down the window. Logan opened one eye, seeing Shane pull something out of a small fridge. “What kind of a jerk did I turn into?” The pain in his head assaulted him again, and nausea made him clutch his gut. “Argh!”

Shane returned and lifted him up, pressing the water bottle to his lips. Logan didn’t want to drink, but he managed a couple of gulps. The nausea lessened. Logan lay back down, keeping his eyes closed. He heard the crinkle of a wrapper, and then a honey-sweet protein bar prodded at his mouth.

“Eat,” Shane ordered, much quieter this time. “I don’t know if a protein bar will be too hard on your stomach, but I don’t have a ton of options here. I know if I take you anywhere, press will swarm you, and needless to say this really isn’t the predicament I wanted to find myself in today.”

Logan took a bite. Protein bars, in his experience eight years ago, were more like cardboard than anything, but this one wasn’t so bad, and he finished it on his own.

Shane sat him up. “Another drink.”

Logan gulped it down. “Why are you helping me if you hate me so much?”

Shane swore, gently helped him down, and then rushed out. “I’m getting you some ibuprofen and Tylenol.”

Logan lay there, his eyes still closed. Luckily, the pain and nausea quickly abated. He felt around in his mind, focusing on the central part of the pain at the back of his head, which now felt a bit soothed. Bracing himself with his hands and using his stomach muscles, he pulled himself to a sitting position, and then scooted back and propped himself up on the wall. He grabbed the bottle of water and chugged it down. He hadn’t really thought about eating; he’d just gotten up in the middle of the night and left.

Shane came back in, and Logan was once again surprised to see his friend now looked like a man.

“What?” Shane frowned, handing him the ibuprofen and Tylenol. “Are you having any flashbacks to sophomore year in college when I’d come help you after your big nights out drinking?”

Logan took the ibuprofen and Tylenol and swigged it back, finishing the water. “What are you talking about?” Logan had watched his father drink himself into oblivion. He’d sworn he’d never be that way.

Shane stared down at him, trying to decide if he should believe him or not. Even if it had been eight years that Logan had forgotten, he and Shane had known each other their whole lives.

Shane clenched his hand into a fist and glared at Logan. “I cannot believe you’re here. I can’t believe it.” He moved to the large window in the conference room that overlooked Main Street. “You know how we always used to be in tune growing up? How on the nights you’d come stay at my house because your dad was in one of his rages, I just … felt it?” He put a hand to his stomach. “Right in my gut. I’d get up and get the sleeping bag out and unlock my window. It would never fail, you would be lying in it on the floor in the morning. Remember that?”

“Uh, yeah, because for me that just happened last week.”

“What?” Shane narrowed his eyes. “Well, it happened to me right before I looked up and saw your Mustang on Main Street.”

Logan leaned back against the wall. He didn’t know if it was the food or the water or what, but the pain in his head was going back to the dull ache instead of the massive pounding. “Dude, the last thing I remember is getting ready to go into the championship game. We were in two plays and had come in for a huddle. Remember how I passed out?”

Shane seemed to be thinking, and then he snapped his fingers. “Oh my gosh, you did pass out before the big game.”

“Did we take state?” Logan sat up, suddenly invested in that game.

Shane grunted. “Yep.”

Logan felt elated, putting up a fist.

Shane hesitated, then reluctantly followed suit, and they fist-bumped.

“What?” Logan asked.

“You really don’t remember the last eight years?”

Logan shook his head. He wasn’t as jittery as he’d been in the hospital yesterday; he was getting more used to this new world. It felt better now that Shane was here. “Nope.”

“What did the doctors say?”

“They said it could come back at any time. There’s not bleeding or anything.” But Logan chafed at what felt like helplessness, and he squirmed just thinking about it. “There was talk that maybe I was repressing something I didn’t want to remember.”

Shane casually sat on the floor in front of him. “This is crazy.” He stewed in silence for a moment, and then he went on. “I can’t believe I saw you drive through town. Man, it’s like our lives are so connected. I’m never gonna be able to get away from you.”

Obviously, from the hatred in Shane’s eyes, it was bad. So he approached it a different way. “Look, dude, obviously we’re not friends, and for the life of me I can’t see a life where we’re not friends, but would you mind filling a guy in? I woke up to this crazy woman, Kim …” He said the name softly, still unable to believe she was actually his fiancée. “Also my supposed agent, and then they took me to this mansion, which was cool, but what happened? Where …” He threw up a hand. “Where’s my dad? What happened with Paris?”

Shane scrunched his face into a tight frown and then massaged his temple. He’d always done that, and Logan found the gesture somewhat comforting.

“What happened to my life?” Logan asked, a bit afraid after the crap show he’d woken up to.

Shane leveled him with a gaze. “Okay, I guess if I’m the one to give you Cliffs Notes, then I’m the one. Fine. So, let’s see. Your dad passed away.”

“Oh.” Logan blinked and turned away. It wasn’t surprising, not really. For the life of him he didn’t even want to ask how it happened. He always feared his dad would drive drunk and hurt somebody.

“And Paris is here. Divorced.”

Logan’s heart thudded painfully. Everything was different. He knew that. Waking in the hospital and his house and the other woman proved that, but a new wave of nausea took hold.

“Are you okay?” Shane leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

Logan brushed his hand away. “No, I’m not okay.” He slumped against the wall. “Talk,” he ordered.

Shane let out a long, shaky breath. “Fine. Let’s see. We were both given scholarships to UC Berkeley. We played together for two years, then my scholarship was yanked and I came back and went to Billings and finished my business degree. And I work with dear old Dad.” He said the last part sarcastically.

Logan’s mind was churning. He would have made fun of Shane if things had been different, but he could feel Shane wouldn’t think he was funny. “We both played football?” he asked, unable to stop the happiness inside of him, and he put up a hand to give Shane a high five.

Shane half-heartedly high-fived him back.

“That is awesome! We did it!” Logan leapt to his feet, noticing almost all his pain was gone from his head.

Shane stood too, looking unsure. “You did it. You went pro.”

“Didn’t we celebrate, have fun? Didn’t we have a blast in college?” Logan’s mind was whirling. “I can’t believe it. We did it! All our work paid off.”

Shane shook his head. “It wasn’t that great.”

The elation leaked out of Logan like air from a balloon. Everything he heard just added to the clutter in his mind. How could one of the biggest dreams he and Shane had had all growing up turn out so horrible?

For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Then Logan blurted, “Okay, then what happened with Paris? Why didn’t I ask her to marry me? Did she marry some jerk?” Logan ran a hand through his hair. “Why am I marrying this other woman?”

The top of Shane’s lip quivered, almost suppressing a snarl. “No. You didn’t marry her. I guess the jerk part is debatable.”

“Dude, what is all this anger? Look, if you need to punch me for something, just do it. I mean, I don’t know what happened, but will you just fill me in on the blanks, please? Then we can get rid of all this crap between us and be back to being us, right? Maybe this is a good thing.”

“Shut up.” Shane’s anger deepened to something close to hate. It reminded Logan of the look Shane gave Bill Durkham when they were in seventh grade and the ninth grader had started picking on him in front of Lila Kennedy, the girl he’d been sweet on.

Logan felt a surge of the deep, caveman-ish adrenaline that any man feels when another man looks like they want to kill him. Shane didn’t just want to hit him. Shane would kill him. The realization took him aback. Shane had been everything to him, everything.

Shane shook his head again and turned away from him. “This is unbelievable.”

“Just tell me.” Logan was past the blame game now. As quarterback, the thing that had always given him the edge was to be able to look at the field and make decisions about how to get the ball down it. He’d been good at it, taking in the information and then making instinctual decisions, but if he didn’t know the playing field, he couldn’t make any calls. “Tell me,” he said with a bit of anger in his own voice.

Shane’s nostrils flared, and his eyes turned to steel. “Fine. I’ll give you details. I told you, we went to UC Berkeley. You were a star. Paris, she went to Juilliard.”

Logan smiled. “She got it.” He thought about trying to fist-bump Shane or high-five again, but he didn’t look in the mood.

Shane didn’t stop. “Your dad died after our sophomore year. You came back for the funeral. I was cut from the team by then and we weren’t close.” He said it matter-of-factly.

“Why?” Logan demanded, feeling like this couldn’t be the reality. “How could we not be close? You’ve been like a brother to me.”

Shane’s upper lip curled into a brief sneer. “Because you changed, Logan. Okay? I don’t know how to sum it up in a sentence. You…everything was different.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Man…”

Another round of silence. Logan could not understand this reality. It made absolutely no sense to him. “Paris?”

Shane shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t know what all happened between you and Paris, but after your dad passed away at the end of sophomore year, you guys broke it off. It was done.” His sadness morphed into a scowl. “You blew it with her on your own, okay? You.” He pointed at him. “It was your fault.”

Logan gritted his teeth. “Where is she?”

“She’s here.” Shane flexed his hand and massaged his palm.

“Just spit it out!”

Shane swallowed and tensed as if bracing for a fight. “You guys split summer after sophomore year. She dated this artsy guy at Juilliard. They were going to do the concert circuit all over the world, and then her mom got diagnosed with cancer and she ended up coming home. They split.”

“And?” Logan was hyper, jittery.

Shane stared out the window. “I married her. We were married almost four years, and now we’ve been divorced a year.”

Logan froze. All the energy buzzing inside him dropped dead to a flat line. He stumbled back and found one of the conference chairs for balance. “You moved in and married her?” His voice had come out raspy, and his mouth was dry.

“Logan, don’t act like that. If you would have thought about anyone but yourself, you would have noticed that I loved her too. Always had, but it was always you two and me. When she came back from Juilliard and you were living the high life.” He pointed at Logan in a stern way. “Believe me, you’ve been living the playboy high life, dating movie stars, buying cars, organizing events with all the billionaires in Jackson.” Shane slammed a fist down on the conference table beside him. “I married her. And I loved her!” He was full-on yelling now. “And you know what, Logan? It was good. Great. Perfect. Until you had to hire her company to organize your stupid event where you prance around Jackson like royalty.” Without warning, he grabbed Logan’s shirt and pulled his fist back.

Logan didn’t react. It was like he was living in a movie and watching himself from a distance.

Shane flinched and then let him go, shoving him back at the same time. “Gahh!”

Logan stumbled, but caught himself.

Shane cursed, and his eyes were bright with emotion.

Logan held to the chair and sucked in a ragged breath. Had he noticed his best friend loved his woman? No. No. None of this made any sense. He forced himself to breathe and stand. “So you married the woman I love?” Logan didn’t know what he was supposed to do. What he wanted to do was full-on fight Shane, but he didn’t.

Shane’s words echoed in his brain. It was your fault. Then his mind flashed to his father’s face. His father was dead. With a heavy heart he pulled the chair back and sat, yanking in a breath. It didn’t surprise him, but it still hurt. He blinked, and Paris’s face flashed into his mind. He’d just kissed her, right before the game—standing outside of the locker room, his helmet in his hand, his other arm around her waist, pulling her into him. The feel of her against him. The way he wanted her. He slammed a fist onto the table. “No!”

Shane turned back to the window. He scoffed. “Yeah, welcome to reality.”

Logan tried to process it all. “Why did you divorce her?”

Shane turned to face him, the steely look back on his face. “Well, I screwed up, too.” He let a derisive laugh and pulled out his cell phone, checking the time. “In fact, I need to go pick up my son—our son—from school, and we’re leaving on a family vacation with my new wife.”

A phone rang. Not a quiet ring, but a blaring ring.

Shane swore, and then turned to leave. “I have to get this. Hold on.”

Logan watched him go and sat there for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do. Not waiting for Shane to return, he fled the conference room, rushed out the door, and started into a jog. The ache was still in his head, but it was manageable now. His old home wasn’t far from here, and he could pick up his car there.

His mind was clear: the only thing he could do was find Paris.