I was in the middle of the bloody forest.

By my own hand, worst of all. I’d asked to come here. In fact, I’d almost begged.

I needed to get out of my own head. Away from the memories and the tantalizing glimpses of all I’d almost had.

On the plane here, I’d started scribbling a song I’d titled “Exile.” Only to find there was a famous Warning Sign song by the same name. Different concept, but still.

Even in my misery, I wasn’t unique.

And now? Now I was surrounded by trees and mountains and fresh air and I’d never felt more claustrophobic in my life.

I shifted my bags and guitar case from one side to the other. “I’m not sure about this, mate.”

Flynn Sheppard, country-rock star and my sort of new friend, clapped me on the back and laughed. “You seemed so enthused when you called.”

I hadn’t had a lot of options when it came to crashing with a buddy. I had very few of them, as it turned out. Even Flynn was a new one I’d met while discussing the drummer he’d stolen from me.

All right, not really. I’d practically driven Deuce away, since I didn’t know how to have a true band. At least I was working on it.

Assuming my new band would want anything to do with me after my flight from civilization was said and done.

Somehow out of that conversation with Flynn a tentative friendship had been born. And here I was on Flynn’s doorstep—one of them anyway, because he apparently had a couple—and pressing my advantage. But I’d needed a getaway. Fresh perspective.

Life advice from a dude who had a decade of years on me and a wealth of experience. Oh, and who also took absolutely no shit.

“I didn’t exactly know what a rustic cabin meant. This is…really rustic.” I frowned at the cabin situated on a plot of land that had only had trees for neighbors. And hulking mountains. In the distance, a river burbled. Or a lake. Some body of water.

I wanted to run for the not-so-metaphorical hills.

“I bet you didn’t, London boy. But you’re here now. Come on inside.”

“Is there enough room for us both?”

Flynn cocked a brow at me, something he did often. We hadn’t spent much time together, but we’d developed a fast friendship. Something of a miracle for me. We were opposites in many ways, and friends were scarce in my world.

Especially now.

Rather than reply, he led me inside. And grinned smugly when my jaw dropped.

Nothing metaphorical there.

From the outside, the place looked just this side of ramshackle. I’d seen a lot of shitty places, so it took a lot for me to say that. The inside was vastly different.

The great room seemed to run most of the length of the house—and it was far bigger than I’d realized upon first glance. It had probably been dwarfed by all the damn trees.

Heavy wooden furniture dominated the space. Wide planked wood floors and the walls themselves looked as if they’d been carved out of the forest. A large fireplace was filled with candles of every shape and size. Understandable, since it had to be over eighty outside. I’d left one steam bath and flown straight into another.

I didn’t miss much about London, but I missed the English summer. I wasn’t cut out for roasting.

The couch was overstuffed, perfect for catching a snooze—which I could’ve used badly after my flights. But I didn’t see anything for entertainment purposes.

“Where’s the telly?”

“That’s all you have to say?” Flynn shook his head and went to the side table beside the couch. He lifted a book as fat as a textbook. “Try reading. Your mind is starving.”

“Not all of me that is.” I rubbed my grumbly stomach. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat?”

“I stocked up for you. I know how you are.” He jerked a thumb across the room to a narrow doorway. “Kitchen’s that way. Make yourself at home. Once you’ve cleaned out the fridge, I’ll show you to your room.” Book in hand, he sat down on the couch and kicked out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle on the edge of the large wooden coffee table. “Or you know, go up the stairs and find it yourself. Second door on the right. Beside the studio.”

“Excuse me?”

He was already engrossed in his book. “You don’t like the service? Leave a complaint at the front desk.”

I had to laugh as I dropped my bags beside the door. I didn’t have much. I was more careful as I set down my guitar case.

“That’s not what I meant. Studio? Here?”

“Yes, we do get music in Tennessee.”

“My God, you’re a prickly bastard.” Exactly why I liked him. “What made you choose this area anyway?”

He gestured an arm toward the wall of ceiling to floor windows on the opposite side of the room. “Look around. There’s your answer.”

“Thank you for that bit of education. I’ll just make myself a snack. A small one, to tide me over to lunch.”

“There ain’t no lunch here unless you make it yourself. I usually grab a sandwich while I’m working.”

“Do you mean like…out in the fields?”

He sighed heavily. “On my music, London boy. Go on, get out of my hair.”

With effort, I managed not to run into the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances gleamed as far as my ravenous eyes could see. There were half a dozen cabinets made of that same planked wood, and a big butcher block island where I could envision a footlong triple decker sandwich spread out for my personal delight.

Maybe I was pregnant, because I wanted to weep at the jar of pickles sitting innocuously on the counter.

I opened the fridge and let out a groan at the well-stocked shelves. The guy really did get me. I would’ve been in the depths of depression if I’d opened it up to find the usual bachelor food situation.

Who was I kidding? It had been weeks since Margo had been returned home safe and sound—not counting the unavoidable mental scars—and depression was too optimistic a word for what I’d endured.

She’d sent me a card. An actual card in the mail, to my shitty motel room. I was still surprised I’d even received it. I’d opened it up and stared at her looping script until it had blurred.

She was worried about me.

How could that be possible? I’d been involved in the plot to do her husband harm, at least financially. I should’ve put a stop to it sooner.

Or else if you’d backed out sooner, they might have moved on her sooner. Change one thing, change everything.

Christ, Jerry was dead. I’d hated the bloke, so it wasn’t a loss. Nor was the death of his lackey. But I couldn’t deny I’d been rocked. He and my mum were a unit in my mind. And she’d plugged him full of lead.

I didn’t know her, clearly. Didn’t fully understand how much she adored Simon. Thank God in this case, because his life had been spared.

And mine, thanks to that last minute change in plans. I just didn’t know what mine was worth yet.

My mum wouldn’t be getting out of prison anytime soon. Much as I disliked her for so many things—kidnapping and terrorizing Margo topping the list—I didn’t want to see her jailed.

No matter what, she was my mum. Our mum. But Jesus, I wanted her gone.

Just…gone. For good.

So, yes, it bothered me she was in a cell. I would learn to live with it. She’d earned her due. I just wanted all of this over, and I had to think it was for my own sanity.

We’d come through the storm, and somehow we’d made it to the other side.

As if I was in a dream, I rounded up parts of my feast. A long loaf of crusty bread, mayonnaise, turkey and ham cold cuts, lettuce, tomato, onion, and of course the pickles. I chopped and layered my sandwich, finally digging in with a gusto I normally reserved only for sex.

Sex was not a thought in my head right now. But a loaded hero sandwich would be my mistress.

I might even go for a threesome.

“I’m a little worried about the way you’re fondling that bread. You didn’t do that with the rest of it, did you?”

After I’d demolished most of my meal, I looked up with my mouth full to find Flynn lounging in the doorway, arms crossed. “This is my second sandwich.”

“How do you eat like that and weigh nothing? Oh, yeah, because you’re still a kid. Try that in a few years, son, and you’ll find yourself with a beer belly and jeans that don’t fit.”

“Not with my metabolism,” I said, still chewing. “Besides, I’ve found ways to burn calories.”

He snorted. “Haven’t we all.”

“Not that. I’ve actually given up that practice.”

“Right.”

“No, I have. I’ve decided I need the increased clarity that comes with abstinence.”

“You got dumped, huh?”

I nodded. No point in denying it. I was pretty much wearing my woe as a T-shirt these days. A deserved one.

She’d been right to walk away. She was so much stronger than I was. But I was determined to get there. Even if she wouldn’t have me, I needed to be a man worthy of my own respect at the very least. I’d already spent far too many years being ashamed.

The first few days after that last time with Zoe, I’d spent in bed. I hadn’t bothered to shower or shave or do anything but rinse my mouth out with vodka when I was thirsty. It would have been easy to just stay in that small, dank room and throw the rest of my life away.

Then her words had replayed in my head.

I couldn’t waste this chance. She’d given it to me. If this was the last gift I would receive from her, I would cherish it.

Would honor it as I should have honored her.

Instead, I’d lied and denied and made things so much worse than if I’d just taken a chance and trusted her with the wretched truth of my life.

Too late now, but I’d learned.

“The girl from the beach?”

I looked up from my now empty plate. “Yes. I thought you weren’t a media hound.”

“News finds me whether or not I want it to. And I did some looking into you.”

“Did you come across my rap sheet?” I was only half joking.

“I found out enough.”

Hmm. The situation with Simon and Margo had been kept out of the news, but that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of other things for Flynn to discover. “And you still let me stay with you?”

“Did I not look in the right place or something?” He sat opposite me at the counter and pulled off a hunk of bread, slapping butter on it in a way that horrified me—and made my mouth water.

I was still hungry. Evidently, years of deep-seated deprivation couldn’t be sated that easily.

In so many ways.

“I’m not a good man, Flynn. You should know that out of the gate.”

“Have you murdered anyone?”

I jerked up my chin. “Of course not.”

“Have you ever physically harmed a woman, a child, or an animal?”

I shuddered. “Dear God, no.”

“Have you ever hurt a man who didn’t have it coming?”

I had to think about that one. “I don’t think so. But some of my youth is a bit hazy, so I can’t say for certain.”

“Sound okay to me.” Flynn shrugged and stuffed bread in his mouth.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Says who?”

I frowned. “Proper society.”

Flynn threw back his head and laughed. Roared with laughter, more accurately. “Fuck, you really care about those prigs?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Hell, no.” Flynn finally sobered and went back for more bread. Wordlessly, he pushed the remainder of the loaf toward me. When I hesitated, he added, “There’s more.”

Well, then, I wouldn’t be rude and refuse my host.

“Look, you’re an artist, right?”

I jerked a shoulder and paused to swallow a chunk of buttered bread. Glorious. “I used to be.”

“What do you mean, used to be? Didn’t you just get a record contract?”

“Yeah. I kinda skipped out.”

Flynn sat back and raised a brow. “How does that work?”

“I just left.”

“And Donovan let you?”

I shrugged. “He’s not the emperor of the world.”

“Tell that to him. He hasn’t tried to contact you? Or not him, but one of his flunkies?”

“The only ‘flunky’,” I did air quotes, “I’ve spoken to is my manager. She informed me that I could take some time off to center myself.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I shrugged. “I think she’s doing yoga now. Last month, she would’ve been telling me to get my ass back to work.”

“Is she hot?”

“Mr. Sheppard, that’s a rather misogynistic question.” I dipped my finger into the pool of butter on my plate. I probably would’ve licked it had I been alone. “She’s very attractive.”

“But you don’t care because you’ve committed yourself to the life of a monk.”

“Exactly, and she’s not my type anyway.”

“You’re a besotted fool.”

I ignored him. “Besides, who’s dumb enough to sleep with their manager?” As soon as I’d asked the question, I remembered Zoe’s cousin Lila, who hadn’t only slept with one of her artists, she’d married him.

At least that was one potential mistake I hadn’t made. There weren’t a lot.

“People have been shitting where they eat since the beginning of time.” Flynn shrugged. “What difference does it make? You fuck, you work, you keep it separate.”

I laughed into my fist. “I’m guessing you’ve been single often. Because that never happens.”

“It does if you keep your streams separate.” He moved two fingers back and forth as if that clarified everything, then unfolded his long body from the stool. “Want a beer?”

“No. I’m not—”

“Let me guess, you’re not drinking anymore either?”

“No.” Saying the word burned my throat. I missed my crutch. But I couldn’t fall into a bottle so I wouldn’t feel the loss of Zoe. No alcohol was that potent. “I’m trying out this clean living thing.”

“Minus the diet aspect?” He glanced at the counter that bore the weight of my destruction. “Not that you need one.”

“Gotta have some vices.”

“No more smokes either?” Flynn pulled out a beer from the refrigerator and popped the top.

“No. I smoked the last before the first leg of the journey here.”

It had been bittersweet, finishing the final pack. I’d known I wouldn’t be buying any more. Once I set my mind to something, there was no going back.

I was done being the version of myself that had slept around with whomever struck my fancy and drank to excess and smoked even though it damaged my instrument. Whether I used that instrument again anytime soon wasn’t the point.

I wasn’t a cat. Eventually, my lives would run out. I wanted to do some living—real living—before they did.

“That’s good to hear. So, you might be able to make some use of my studio.”

Flynn said it casually. Too casually. Even a man in a food coma could tell when someone was trying to give him a nudge. “I’m on hiatus.”

“How do you go on hiatus when you’ve barely started?”

“I’ve been working toward this career for years.”

Yes, so that wasn’t the best thing to say.

“Then why would you pick now for a break?” Flynn shook his head and tipped back his beer. “Did Van push you too hard?”

“No.”

“Love troubles got you twisted up?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m not singing.”

“Then?”

How could I tell him? He still had a semi-decent opinion of me. I hadn’t ruined it yet. But then again, how could the decent, self-respecting man I claimed I wanted to be just shove this under the carpet as if it never existed?

I was through taking the easy way out.

“Because of me, my brother and his wife could’ve been killed.”

Flynn’s expression didn’t change. “And that froze your vocal cords?”

“What? No. Did you hear me? They could’ve both died. And she’s—” I swallowed. Margo’s pregnancy wasn’t for me to tell. “I caused it.”

“You tried to kill them?”

“No.”

“You hired someone to kill them?”

“God, no. It wasn’t me. My mum and my stepfather are twisted people. Well, only my mum now. He’s dead. She killed him.”

Flynn set his beer down on the counter and rubbed it between his palms. “You don’t believe in starting at the beginning.”

“It’s a long story.”

He looked at his watch-less wrist. “Look at that, I’m not on the clock. Talk.”

I told him everything. Probably more than I should have. Once I pulled off the lid, it was as if I couldn’t keep the whole sordid story from pouring out of me. Robbing that bank back in England, getting in trouble with the police. Making the agreement with Jerry that would seal my fate to escape prison. Everything that had come after.

The only part I left out was Zoe. It was too private for me to share. And I wasn’t at all sure I could say the words in any case.

All the while, I watched his face. Waiting for it to change. Maybe even for him to point to the door and tell me to get the hell out of his place.

Once I finished, I looked longingly at Flynn’s beer, though he’d been drinking it steadily as I spoke so there probably wasn’t much left. But I knew I couldn’t—wouldn’t—go there.

I’d said it all straight to a near stranger. No softening it, no cutting corners. And I’d survived.

The next time would be easier. I didn’t have to be ashamed of who I was anymore.

Not that I was proud either. God, no. But living in secrecy didn’t change the past. It just ensured I’d never do any better.

I cleared my throat at Flynn’s silence. “So, now you understand.”

“Understand what, exactly?”

“Why it’s not really appropriate for me to return to singing as if nothing happened.”

“Let me tell you how the world works, London boy.” Flynn braced his hands behind him on the wraparound counters that wound around half the kitchen. “Most of has have to go to work no matter what trauma we go through. It’s called making a living. If you want people to treat you with kid gloves as someone who can’t man up and do his job, then by all means.” Flynn lifted his hands palms out. “Get a reputation right from the get as someone who flakes out. Go for it.”

“That isn’t—that’s not—Christ, you’ve got the way of it, don’t you?” I dug my fingers into my dry, gritty eyes. “I worked so hard to get here. It was all I ever wanted.”

Before Zoe, I’d had no other dreams. Nothing else had mattered other than making it to LA and singing.

I’d hoped to get a recording contract someday, but it had all happened so much faster than I’d assumed it would. And to be on a label like Ripper—my brother’s label—and to be able to sing with him? That had been the pinnacle.

“Simon’s not going to want to sing with me again,” I said quietly. “How can he? Because of me, he almost lost his family.”

“There were other factors in play than you. You were also the one who alerted Van and the others. You were the one who stopped it and helped change the results.”

I swallowed hard. “His wife doesn’t hate me. I don’t know why she doesn’t, but she’s been nothing but decent to me. I don’t—”

“If you’re going to say ‘I don’t deserve it’ one more time, I’m going to kick your ass.”

His deadpan response made me laugh. “Jesus. I know what I must sound like.”

“If you know, then fucking stop it already. And you know what? If Simon won’t sing with you, do what you’ve been doing since day one. Sing your-fucking-self. For yourself. For your fans. For that pretty woman who’s sent you into the woods to hide out, because I know you sure as shit wouldn’t be here under any other circumstances.”

He was a wise man.

“Why Tennessee anyway?”

“Why not?”

I nodded. It was a fair point.

“Go check out the studio. Spend some time in there.” Flynn took a last drink from his beer then pitched it into the bin. “Then we’ll go fishing.”

I rose. “Sounds good.” I frowned. “What did you say now?”

“Fishing. You have heard of it, London boy?” He mimed throwing a line into the water and reeling it back and I managed to lower my brows. “There’s a lake out back.” He jerked a thumb at the window above the sink.

All I saw were trees and more trees and a nosy brown bird staring into the kitchen from its perch on a pole that extended from a replica cabin birdhouse.

“Uh, I don’t know how to fish.”

“Shocker.” Flynn turned away. “You’ll learn. Now go on and get to work.”

I surprised myself by smiling. “Thanks, Flynn.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t send me flowers. I’m fucking allergic.”