W e only stopped once after leaving the hotel since time wasn’t on our side. It took nearly forty-five minutes to convince Landon a road trip would be okay and that we could handle ourselves back in our home town .

“Acho , calm yourself. I know how to fix an engine or repair a tire if it goes flat,” Jamie had told his assistant, who kept insisting that the guards follow behind us in one of the SUVs. “Not gonna happen,” Dash told him. Then, his voice sharper, he reminded Landon who he was. “This,” he’d said, waving a finger around the buses and the large crew working to organize the equipment. “All this is my gig. It can go away in a second if I want it to. I don’t need you treating me like I’m a pendejo who doesn’t have a clue how to handle myself .”

Landon had glanced at me, then back to Dash. The rocker’s lips stretched, but he didn’t smile. “Si, and her too.” He watched me, one side of his mouth curling before he looked back at his assistant. “I can handle her. I have before .”

“Please,” I said, through a laugh, walking away from them to get a better look at the bike while Dash made arrangements for Landon to have a cleaning crew go in and tidy Hector’s house .

It was a beautiful machine, though I knew virtually nothing about motorcycles or which were good, and which were junk. But this bike, with the Harley Davidson emblem on the tank and the matte silver color, looked like something spectacular. It had a vintage vibe to it, something that reminded me of Marlon Brando tearing down the highway in “The Wild Ones,” but it was clearly brand new. A glance at the dash told me there was only a hundred miles on it. It was squat, low to the ground, but the seats were plush, looked comfortable .

“Hola, chica ,” I heard behind me, and I greeted Isaiah with a smile when he stood across the bike from me. Hands in his pockets, he looked the motorcycle over, his expression open, smile telling me that he agreed with my internal musings over how beautiful it was. “So, you’re really down for this?” Isaiah nodded to the bike, then over to where Dash stood talking to Landon and Jose .

“I suppose I am .”

He seemed nervous, stepping from foot to foot, keeping his distance. I understood. Dash had made sure that his cousin and I were never in the same area at the same time. Even after shows, during the parties and meet and greets, Dash made sure I got introduced to industry people and a few journalists while he and the band met with fans. When they were done, and the party truly began, some beautiful girl, or several of them, would be shepherded over to Isaiah and Dash would suggest we hang in another part of the room. I wasn’t simple or stupid, and the awkward way both men acted when I was around didn’t go unnoticed .

“You sure that’s a good idea?” When I jerked my attention to him, Isaiah leaned forward, lowering his voice. “It’s been a long time and Dash.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose as though he needed to pinch away the tension there. “Dios, chica, you left a mess behind and you didn’t know it. After…everything, my primo spent years asking me every fucking detail about that night. I’ve given him the same story: we didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t planned, and it only happened once.” He looked back at his cousin, taking a step closer to me when he spotted Dash walking toward the other end of the buses. “If he knew it was all mierda , coño , I don’t know what he’d do .”

“It wouldn’t help? Him knowing the truth ?”

Isaiah moved his eyebrows up, blinking twice before he spoke. “Him knowing that I’ve lied to him for ten damn years about fucking the woman he loved more than breath?” I blushed, feeling equal parts guilt and hope. Stop it, I told myself. Don’t be stupid. Isaiah laughed, but the sound was empty. “No, chica , I don’t think that would help at all .”

“I…won’t say anything,” I told him, moving my messenger bag farther up my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter anymore anyway .”

This time when Isaiah laughed, the sound was sharp and echoed against the overhanging awning behind us and the massive buses that served like a cover to keep us from view of the parking lot. “Oh, it matters, cariño . It matters a lot .”

I tried not to think about what Isaiah meant. There was no point in wondering what might have been or what Dash thought of me now. He’d flirted, was possibly looking to “scratch and kiss my pussy,” but that didn’t mean we’d ever get back to where we’d been once. Like he said, I’d destroyed any illusions he had about love. I’d keep our secret and more, and just ride on the back of Dash’s bike to get to the truth of what he planned. Before anyone else .

“It’s…fine,” I told Isaiah, waving off his worry .

“Are you ready?” Dash asked, stepping up to the bike. He nodded to his cousin as Isaiah walked away and tried to play off the movement of his gaze, shifting between me and his cousin’s retreating back, but I’d caught it, barely able to a laugh under my breath as he fought to keep his expressions neutral .

“As I’ll ever be .”

Dash dug in his pocket, fishing for something he didn’t find, and I opened my bag, moving around my compact camera and laptop. “I think I have a lighter in here if you need a smoke before we go.” He moved his head, shaking. “What ?”

“You said you stopped .”

“I did .”

“Then why do you have a lighter?” If I wasn’t mistaken I thought I caught a glimmer of disappointment on his face. He stepped to the bike, slipping a leg over to straddle it before he sat on the seat .

“I also have a pocket knife and mace. There might be a small sewing kit and some matches too in here. Doesn’t mean I’m planning to stab you, mace you, burn you or patch you up.” I shrugged when he kept staring. “I come prepared .”

“Coño that’s right,” he said, head back as he laughed. “You were a Girl Scout .”

“Oh, shut up. Do you want the lighter ?”

“Nope,” he said, finally pulling what he looked for from his pocket. He opened the wrapper and extended it to me. “Mint ?”

“Dash Justice, God of Rock likes minty fresh breath?” I asked, taking one from the top .

“I give exactly zero fucks about my breath, but since you don’t want me to smoke, I need something to do with my mouth.” He moved down his shades with one finger, to look at me with those black eyes. “Unless there’s something else you can put in my — ”

“Can I get on now?” I asked, slapping his hand away when he offered it to me. “I can manage .”

“Ay bendito, you are stubborn.” He started the engine, pulling my hand around his waist. When my hold went loose and awkward, Dash grabbed both of my hands, pulling them in front of him, my pinky close to his dick. He moved his face toward me slow and I just made out the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “This is gonna be fun,” he said, squeezing my fingers to rub against his flat stomach, then lower, grazing his cock before I jerked them away. His laughter then was loud, sharp, only muffled when Jose came over and handed Dash his helmet. The bodyguard fixed mine, adjusted the strap, and then Dash brought my hands back around his waist. “Okay,” he shouted to be heard over the engine. “All joking aside. Hang on. I don’t want you to fall off .”

“That can happen?” I shouted, scooting closer to him. “Wait! Can that actually happen?” He didn’t answer, and I squeezed my eyes shut when we shot off, trying not to curse Dash as his laughter roared louder than the engine .

* * *

W illow Heights came into view about fifteen minutes before we reached the town limits. I recognized it from the change in the roads. One minute, Dash drove us on pavement and highways, the next he exited and we passed through Madison, skirting the main road to get to the connection of gravel and dirt that led into our hometown .

The land around Route 1 was flat, like everything in this part of the state, but wheat fields stretched out for miles and right then, just after two in the afternoon, the sky took on a glossy haze, the clouds and play of colors twisting from golds and browns to pinks and oranges. We took the stretch of road that curved and twisted toward main street and Dash slowed, head shaking as he pointed to a green and white marker near the “Welcome to Willow Heights” sign. He turned the bike toward it, the engine idling .

“Let me grab a picture,” I told him unfastening my helmet and handing it to him to hold. Five minutes later, I stood on the exhaust and angled my small camera over Dash’s head to get a few shots of the sign. “This good?” I asked him, leaning around his shoulder to show him the image. “We can use it for the article, maybe as a secondary image or something .”

He held the camera still, looking down at the picture then back up at the sign itself. “Funny,” he said, handing me back my helmet. “They call me a spic and think I’m trash for most of my time in high school and then I go off and do something with myself and now I’m something to be proud of .”

“It wasn’t all bad in high school,” I reminded him, thinking of the support he and Isaiah got at those small shows Hector let him put on at his shop. “You had people who believed in you. A few at least .”

Dash turned his head, and I could just make out his profile and the twitch moving along his jaw. “A few,” he said, closing his eyes when I adjusted in my seat and my hair brushed against his face. Nostrils flaring, he exhaled, turning the handlebars. “Let’s go see what’s changed .”

Two hours later, we discovered that not much, in fact, had changed at all. We drove through the high school parking lot and along the football field, Dash pointing out the new logo on the scoreboard and an additional building at the back of the campus. But otherwise Willow Heights High had remained unchanged. The same could be said of the town square and Main Street, as well as Crooked Creek. We sat there for nearly a half an hour, watching the trickle of water underneath us as we leaned against the stone wall and rested our feet above the water .

“It seems so much smaller now,” I confessed, wondering why we spent so much time here, skipping classes and smoking weed .

“It’s not. You’re just bigger.” Dash looked around, squinting at the scratches and carved initials on the edge of stone. “And we have no weed here to help us pass the time .”

We left when a truck pulled up next to Dash’s bike and a group of teenagers jumped from the bed, slowing in their rush to get underneath the bridge when they spotted us, a few staring closely, walking backward and gawking to get a better look at Dash as he lifted his collar and adjusted his shades .

He was quiet as we circled back down Main Street, coming close to the trail that led to Brighten Park. He caught the red light and, subconsciously, I guessed, we both turned toward that trail, watching, likely thinking of spring and all those afternoons on the small hill sharing earbuds. The last time, Jamie had called me family. He’d meant it, I was sure, and I closed my eyes, remembering the way he’d looked at me, the sweet tone in his voice when he called me florecita. This whole time, I’d been “chica.” Nothing more, nothing less; a name, probably a woman as replaceable as any to Dash. For a second, I let go of everything that kept him at a distance. I wanted a second, half of that, to touch my Jamie, to remember that day and our palms touching so I leaned forward, my cheek against his back and inhaled deep .

“You saved us,” I’d told Wills Lager that night in Paris. “Me and Jamie, everything is tied up in you and the music you made. You were our home .”

He’d probably been too drunk to understand the impact of what he’d given us, but I told that legend all the same. Me and Jamie, our lives here, all that time together, wasted now by the sacrifices I’d made .

I didn’t betray Jamie because I was cruel. I didn’t do it because I fancied myself a martyr. I did it to free us both. I did it so we wouldn’t drown each other. We were sinking, getting lost in a tide that kept us soaked and unconscious. I was the only one willing to break the surface, but to do that, it meant I lost a limb. It meant I had to be willing to swim away from him and know that the damage would wound him forever. I could still feel the burn in my sinuses from the water. Sometimes, I thought I would never be dry .

The light changed, and Dash sped forward. The park shifted behind us and that’s where I left the memory. He shifted, shoulders stiffening when I sat up, when my fingers rested on his hip and not around his waist, but then the road forked, and we slowed along Riverdale where my mother’s old Queen Anne still stood and the tension left us. There were three young kids playing in the front yard, scattering when the old woman from the neighboring house opened her door to yell at me .

“Holy, shit, look.” I pointed at her as we passed and we both watched her .

“Evil doesn’t die,” he said, laughing, his fingers keeping my palm against his chest when we both chuckled. It stayed there until we moved back up Main Street and came to a row of empty, worn buildings. The stores had been closed years before, and the city had boarded the windows with thick squares of plywood .

“Oh, that sucks,” I remarked when Dash pointed to the front of Hector’s shop. The wood obscured most of the front window, but I could still make out the bright red painted “H” at the corner of the door .

Next to the record shop, had been Fillie’s Fabrics, but Fillie Winston had died five years ago, according to my mother, just years after Mr. Wilson retired and closed up his Wilson’s Mercantile shop right next door. All three businesses sat empty now, and I frowned, closing my eyes to bring to the front of my mind how they’d once been—sidewalk full of patrons, people milling around the storefront to get inside; especially at Hector’s. Once Omen started playing and became popular, Hector’s shop was always full to capacity .

“The house should be open,” Dash said, circling to the back of the building down the alley, stopping right under the narrow stairway that led to the apartment above the shop. “Landon was supposed to take care of it.” He cut the engine and pushed down the kickstand, offering me his hand to get off the bike. This time I took it, my legs wobbling, tingling from the vibration of the engine in the two-hour ride. Dash nodded toward the stairs, and I followed him, eager to get inside and settle down .

It had been at least ten years since I’d been at the place, and my expectations were low. Hector had been nice, a little rough around the edges and generous to his nephew and his friends. He cooked tamales for us on rainy days and let us sneak shots of tequila when he had a good sale day in the shop. But he’d sucked at housekeeping, which was why, when Dash opened the door, and I spotted the pristinely decorated studio apartment, I was a little surprised .

“Wow,” I said, pulling off my messenger bag as I walked through the small entryway. Dash nodded, seeming to understand my surprise .

“Right?” He sat at the long island that separated the kitchen and living space, immediately bending down to pull off his boots. “Hector owned the building. Left it to me when he died.” Dash stood, stripped off his thin leather shirt and threw it across the island. “I lived here after…” He frowned, glancing at me, and I understood immediately what he meant .

“You moved out of your mom’s place after…graduation ?”

He nodded, shooting me a grateful grin and walked to the fridge. “Hector put me up and made me fix every busted socket and fixture.” He pulled out a half gallon of milk and drank from it, leaning against the counter. “I had a lot of shit to work out and Isaiah and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms.” He looked down at the floor, eyes going glassy as though he didn’t see a thing. Then he nodded, apparently thinking of something he didn’t share. “Didn’t want to be around him or my mom so I came here, and Hector kept me busy.” He nodded at the exposed beams that ran the length of the ceiling. “Knocked down the entire ceiling on my own, then got busy with the rest of the place.” He returned the milk to the fridge and grabbed a dishrag from a drawer behind me to wipe his mouth. “A year later, Hector was about ten grand short in his checking account, and I’d exorcised my demons.” He looked up again, smiling. “And the dry rot .”

I walked past him, our arms touching, and I stood by the island, gaze moving over what looked like hand-scraped beams and black metal brackets that edged them. The walls were made of exposed brick, no sheetrock or paneling, and the floors were eight-inch walnut planks, original to the early 20^th century age of the building .

The place was sparsely decorated—no artwork on the wall or pictures, except for a few frame photos of Jamie and Hector, some of Isaiah and Jose neatly bookending the mantel above what once had been a fireplace. A wood burning stove replaced the chimney and the same red brick of the walls covered a three-foot space under the stove .

“So,” I said, turning to pull off my own thin jacket and placed it on the brown leather section set around the stove. “Are there bedrooms or did you get rid of them too ?”

“Just one,” he said, coming closer. “I went a little sledgehammer happy when Hector died. Then Maria …”

“I heard.” I stood in front of him, touching his forearm. The muscles underneath my fingers twisted when he took my hand. I wasn’t sure what to make of the look he gave me then, but knew he appreciated my small gesture. “I’m sorry about Hector. He was a good man.” Dash nodded, and I watched a small vein throb in his neck. He’d taken off that shirt which left him in only a gray T-shirt that fit snug against his wide chest. “Well,” I said after looking too long. I stepped back, taking the plastic tie from my hair to work out the knots from the long drive in the wind. “Did Landon get groceries? I can make something.” I walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Ah ha.” There were frozen pizzas and ice cream and two large New York strips. I grabbed them and walked to the island. “Hungry ?”

An hour later, Dash sat across from me, his hair down, face clean and an empty plate and two empty bottles of Guinness in front of him .

“When did you learn to cook?” he asked, running a finger over what remained of the steak sauce on his plate .

I paused, watching how his finger disappeared between his lips, but was able to refocus, answering him before I made an idiot of myself. “College.” I grabbed my glass, downing what was left of the first bottle of red Landon had stocked. “I had four roommates in a nine hundred square feet apartment above a deli. One bathroom. We almost killed each other every week and our clothes sometimes smelled like salami, but I loved it. We were always eating because the Jewish woman who owned the deli told us all the time, ‘feh! you poor goys , you’ll die old maids if you don’t fatten up!’ So, she fed us and then forced us into her kitchen .”

“So why not make a brisket tonight ?”

“Ha! No time. Besides, that would take too long.” I learned forward, winking at him. “But my matzoh ball soup is proper and delicious .”

“Maybe one day you can prove that .”

I nodded, not sure Dash wanted a commitment, not sure I could ever give him one, even for dinner, and then sat back, smiling a thanks when he left the table and grabbed a second bottle and opened it .

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you the shop,” he said, pouring himself a glass before he sat next to me. “I’ve been tinkering with the idea of hiring a crew to go through all the vinyl in there, but there’s never time .”

“Life gets in the way,” I said, moving the glass against my bottom lip. “Always does .”

Dash offered a grunt of agreement and sipped his wine .

To our left, a large window took up nearly the entire wall. In the distance, I could make out the small hills and smaller lake that surrounded Brighten Park. Somewhere in the center of that place, I’d found my home. Four blocks over, in Isaiah’s bedroom, I’d lost it .

Coming back had stirred up emotions I’d fought hard to bury. Jamie and the guilt just the memory of him conjured inside me rose like a wave, steaming, brimming until the ache of it, of all I’d lost in this town threatened to consume me. But I breathed deep, guzzled my red and tried to bury it again .

“The album,” I said, desperate for a topic that wouldn’t bring up the past. Dash nodded against his glass, running his fingertips over the grain of the wood table .

“The album,” he echoed, leaning forward to set down his glass and look at me. “This town .”

“What do you mean?” There was literally nothing here. Memories, sure, bad and good—mostly bad—but nothing that might anchor Jamie. Nothing worthy of remembering. “You can’t mean an entire album about this hole-in-the-wall place .”

“No, not the town itself,” he said, his head moving in a barely noticeable nod. He glanced out the window, vision unfocused, unblinking. “I was a different person here. A different musician .”

“You were younger .”

“Better,” he said, jerking his gaze to me. “According to you and apparently Lager.” He stood, walked to that large window, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I met him, did I tell you that? Just once .”

“No,” I said, biting my lip. Dash hadn’t mentioned meeting Wills Lager, but the man himself had. Dash had left an impression .

He looked back onto the town, face relaxed, more relaxed than I’d seen in months. “He’d heard of this place, asked me how it was, and I was so star struck I didn’t answer. All those years listening, learning from him, all the imagined conversations I’d fantasized having with him and he asks about this place.” He laughed, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “I was so flustered by the whole experience that I just shut my mouth and watched him. Spent the entire night hanging onto everything he said, then the next month kicking my own ass because I’d been too chicken shit to say anything important to him .”

“He’s intimidating,” I offered, remembering that Paris pub and the overwhelming feeling of awe just sitting across the table from him worked up in me. “But brilliant .”

“Six hours,” Dash said, still looking out of that window. “You spent six hours with the man we worshipped as kids .”

“I did .”

“Did it change you?” he asked, leaning against the glass. “What am I saying? Of course, it did .”

I nodded, slipping back against the chair as the wine moved through my veins. “It was like being in Brighten Park with you, laying on that grass, our heads together. Words spoken, words sung from that man, Jamie, God…it was like a life lecture from some wise musical sage. He was drunk, and a lot torn up over Rita, but still brilliant. Still so…amazing.” I tilted my head, smiling when he knelt in front of me. “A master class in life, in music. In memory .”

He nodded, resting his arm on my chair. “That’s what I want to do here. Remember. Crooked Creek, the park, my mom’s old home, this place,” he waved around the room, then looked at me again. “It’s my history. The DNA pain goes deep, and it started here, the worst of it. There’s a lot of me in this place and I want to get it down .”

“I wish I could understand that.” Head shaking, I moved my hand to the arm rest, not touching him, but close to it. “Being here is…painful. I’m not in the habit of embracing the pain .”

“I am,” he said, moving closer. Dash rested his fingers on my wrist, but kept still, watching. “Maybe that’s why I kissed you in Memphis. Because I knew you wouldn’t want me and I relish the pain. That rejection hurt, but, mierda, chica, I liked how it stung me .”

I exhaled, a little buzzed from the wine and the smell of Dash’s skin. It reminded me of a dream I had once, something I did but refused to recall. I twisted my hand, locking fingers with him, and Dash looked down, shifting so that our palms touched. I didn’t know what he wanted or why. I only knew that I’d returned to wanting moments for myself. Wanting him and me and nothing else. I could forgive him, forget that we’d damaged each other, that we were likely to do it again and again, if only for moments. Maybe, if enough of them came, they’d connect, move together until there were no pauses, no breaks. Until the pain didn’t exist at all .

I closed my eyes against the feel of our skin touching. “I’m tired of being the cause of your pain.” He nodded but didn’t speak and I saw something shift behind his eyes, something I hoped would stay. “Don’t you get tired of hurting? Always hurting ?”

“Sometimes, but there isn’t much I can do about it .”

“You can regret. Maybe that’s a start. Learning to regret will help you to stop embracing the pain. Don’t you regret anything ?”

Dash nodded once, licking his lips, moving still closer until he could reach across me, hand on my hip, left thumb running along my mouth. “I regret you .”

That was a shot of pain I should have anticipated, but I was a little lost in how close he was to me, in the warmth from his body and the smell of his hair. Flashes of memory came to me, but I wouldn’t hold them for long. Not the bad ones. Not the hurt and guilt .

“You regret me because I killed us .”

Dash shook his head, expression somber. When he spoke, his voice was soft, sorry. “Because I let you .”

“I’m sorry,” I said, touching his face. There were tears brimming to the surface of my eyes, but I didn’t try to hide them from him. “I never wanted you to hate me .”

“Florecita,” he said, smiling when my face heated. “I never did. Not really .”

I didn’t believe him. How could I? He’d wanted to end me, erase me from his mind that night in Isaiah’s room, and I had never blamed him. But I wouldn’t think about his unbelievable confession. Not when he moved closer, not when Dash rubbed his nose against mine, looking a little desperate, a little hungry for my mouth .

“Te quiero besar,” he said, inching closer .

My breath got trapped somewhere in my lungs the closer he came. “Why do you want to kiss me, Jamie ?”

“Because I’ve missed the way you taste.” He laid his palm on my hip, curling his fingers in the hem of my shirt. “Because I want to never stop tasting you again .”

“Jamie…” I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe when he came that close. He rested his forehead against mine, and the mix of hot breath and red wine fanned over my face. It was intoxicating, made me a little high, and I weighed the logic of letting go of all my anger, every ounce of my rage just to feel those supple lips on my mouth again .

“Mami, bésame and stay with me. One night, for old times. One night because we loved each other so much. One night to remember .”

One night with him was a dream. I had every intention of making it a reality .