Pax was still playing PlayStation with Luca an hour later when his pocket vibrated. For a fleeting moment, he thought it might be Cliff, and he dropped his controller in a race to answer.

Another number flashed on screen, and Pax felt his earlier high take a dive.

He met Luca’s inquisitive stare with a shrug. “It’s Tony.” The band was calling.

Likely they’d just woken up after their night. Maybe they felt shitty about leaving him? Maybe they were calling to apologize.

The phone vibrated again, and he wriggled deeper in the beanbag as he answered. “Yeah?”

Luca stirred beside him, too quiet. Listening intently. Pax knew the signs.

“Bro, we just spoke to Blake and told him he’s out. For good, out. Welcome back, man. We want you to rejoin us.”

Pax wished he could find an ounce of enthusiasm. This was what he’d wanted—what he’d worked toward. But instead of joy, he felt let down. Not angry they’d ditched him, just . . . flat.

A part of him wanted to say he didn’t care to return, but while his band might not be men of true friendship caliber, they were excellent musicians.

Did Pax have to be close to them to work together? Maybe he needed to foster a strictly professional relationship with them?

They all shared respect for that.

“. . . Lone Whistle and the Deserted gig. Gonna blow their minds.”

Pax stirred. Maybe he could push aside what happened last night. The Lone Whistle gig was bigger than an injured ego. Right? The band had been his idols ever since he’d put their 1996 album Blink Jack on the record player for the first time.

Tony spoke. The band wanted to meet. Right away. Sort out what they’d play for the Christmas Eve spot.

Pax took a deep breath, looked over at Luca’s suspenseful expression, and let it out slowly. “Look—”

“The boys and I thought you should have a chance to riff a short solo in the last song. Well, we’ll all have a turn to show off, but you can end with a bang.”

The promise of those words raised Pax’s spirits. Music was his life. This could be his chance.

He murmured into the phone. “Untamed in twenty. See you there.”

Always smiling, Luca was not smiling now. A small frown cut his brow. “Are you a two steps forward, one step back kind of man?”

Pax stuffed his phone away with a sigh. “Damn. Your English is improving.”

“Why are you going back to them?”

Pax grabbed Luca’s forearm and used the anchored weight to pull himself to his feet. “It’s Lone Whistle and the Deserted. Playing with them is my dream.”

After an hour and a half jamming with the boys, Pax was more than ready to head home.

He’d been mildly distracted by a guilty pang in his gut for pretending he was 100 percent cool with the guys. It was difficult to play with the same intensity as he used to with them. Difficult to ignore the echoes of their words last night, dismissing him in his “drunken” need.

They barely even mentioned it except to punch him on the shoulder and tell him how wasted he’d been. Cue laugh.

His mind replayed the gut punch that was watching them leave, and then it replayed the moment Cliff had returned for him. How steadily he’d helped Pax home. How warm he was. How he made sure he made it to bed okay.

The neighborhood shrew. His sort of friend. There, when the guys he’d known for years weren’t.

There again this afternoon when Pax was wishing the world would suck him up.

Pax strummed, siphoning the energy from the moment that he’d played against Cliff. Played with him.

“Bro, you rocked that last song.”

Pax broke out of his reverie. He needed to get back. To see Cliff, because . . . because he had questions for him. He packed his guitar and settled the strap across his chest. “Gotta head out.”

Tony shot him a finger gun. “Hey. Till Saturday at Untamed.”

Another moment Pax should be whooping for, yet he only felt mild interest. Except Cliff, Bianca, Luca, and Henry would all be there. He’d properly perform for them. Yeah, Saturday was cool. More than cool. “Looking forward to it.”

Pax turned to open the door.

“Oh, and if you want, we can drive the truck over anytime and move your shit back to the apartment.”

Pax walked out as if he hadn’t heard Tony. He walked fast, in case Tony ran out and made the offer again. He knew he was supposed to say hell yeah, but the idea of leaving Luca and not being able to meddle with Bianca or spy on Cliff . . .

Yeah, he didn’t want to move.

Not right now. Not anytime soon.

Not . . . not at all?

“What on earth are we arguing about?” Pax said.

He’d arrived home from practice to find Luca gone. After dropping his gear, he followed his ear to the squabbling coming from next door. There was no real reason for him to go over. No particular need to distract Cliff . . . but . . . he wanted . . .

Answers to his questions.

He stood in his usual spot between ferns, wet from an earlier shower, and rested his arms against the conveniently opened window. It was just past seven. The sun was languidly setting, making the whole neighborhood glow in romantic amber light. The air tasted fresh and full of possibility, and Pax sucked in a good lungful of it as he eyed Luca and Henry on either side of Bianca before the Christmas tree, renaissance costumes on and papers crumpled in their hands.

Three heads turned to him, and all of them started talking at once.

“They can’t decide who will play Orsino,” Bianca said. She was dressed as a boy, a fake moustache hemming her top lip.

“I think it should be me,” Henry said. “I know every line of Twelfth Night.”

“I’m Italian and can pronounce Cesario!” Luca said.

“This is my ‘tutoring’ session, Beethoven.”

“Bianca asked for another set of lips.”

Pax swallowed a laugh and nodded. “Presumably we’re practicing one of the more romantic scenes?”

Bianca looked from Luca to Henry with a sparkle in her eye, loving the attention. “The last scene. The director wants to end with a kiss.”

“I see the predicament. Not to worry,” Pax said. He set his foot to the wall and pushed himself up, throwing one leg over the window ledge and into the living room. “I have the solution—”

From this position, he could see over the trio’s heads to Cliff standing inside the doorway, arms folded, watching. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt tucked into jeans. And a belt. He’d shaved off his scruff, and Pax was sure if he hauled in deep enough, he’d smell aftershave.

On his way somewhere?

Cliff pressed his lips together, acknowledging Pax and daring him to continue.

Pax jerked his attention back to Bianca and the two boys playing tug-of-war with her. “Yes, the solution is simple.”

Henry squished his nose. “If you suggest we each take turns being Orsino . . . I’m going first.”

“I’ve a much better idea.” Pax whipped the paper out of Luca’s hand with a wink. “Neither of you will play Orsino. I will.”

Cliff pushed off the doorframe and straightened.

“I’m the best choice of the three to kiss your sister, don’t you think?” he asked Cliff. Of course he’d agree. Pax was the only one who wouldn’t care for the kiss.

“You’re a bit old.”

Cliff couldn’t be serious. “Who do you vote to kiss Bianca?” Pax flipped through pages, scanning the lines until he hit the word “kiss.”

Cliff scowled at all three suitors, ending with Pax. “I think I—”

“Will volunteer? Excellent. All that’s missing in this household is a bit of incestuous drama. Shakespeare would be impressed.”

Cliff rolled his eyes and resettled against the doorframe. “Kiss her. But I’m watching you.”

Pax’s stomach gave a silly little skip.

“Let’s hurry,” Bianca said. “I’m meeting Debbie in twenty minutes.” She looked toward Henry and then Luca. A sly little look, if Pax interpreted it right.

Pax shrugged it off, and they all took their places.

Line after line, they bantered, until they approached the kiss. Pax read his line, “Cesario, come; For so you shall be, while you are a man; But when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.”

Pax swept forward, suavely taking Bianca by the waist. She crashed against his chest with a puffed giggle.

Surrounded by disapproving growls, Pax smiled at Bianca and glanced over her shoulder. Cliff watched with hooded eyes, mouth tight.

Pax pressed his lips against the edge of Bianca’s in a faux kiss, not breaking eye contact with her brother. Knotting a hand in her boyishly bunched hair, Pax pressed her even closer.

Cliff kept his expression impassive, but there was a frustrated set to his posture. Stiffer than usual. Bianca pulled away, and Pax continued to hold Cliff’s gaze until Cliff wrenched his away.

“Are you staying at Debbie’s tonight?” Cliff asked his sister.

“No, just doing dinner and a movie after.”

He nodded. A touch flustered, perhaps? “What are you watching?”

“I told you, like, half an hour ago,” she said, frowning. “Ten Things I Hate About You.”

Definitely flustered.

Pax smirked. “That’s still playing at the theatre?”

“You’ve seen it?”

“You haven’t?” Luca said, surprised.

Pax laughed and said to Luca, “He has a stick up his ass. You’re surprised?” He moved to the Christmas tree and withdrew the ornament he’d stuffed into his pocket. “Don’t worry, Cliff,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you ten things I hate about you.”

He lifted onto his tiptoes and tried to set the thin thread over a branch near the top of the tree. He liked this shiny disco ball and it would hit better light up high.

Luca and Henry helped Bianca pack away costumes while Cliff watched from the door. He couldn’t see him, but he could feel the gaze boring into his back.

“I hate how you shut doors in my face, and how you make me run,” Pax sang. The thread of the ornament broke, and he caught it before it hit the ground. “I hate how you wake up early, and how you have no fun.”

He tied the broken thread into a knot. “I hate how you are so good and right, and how you expect Bianca to do as you say; hate how you shut me up and how you always get your way.”

Deep laughter rumbled close to his neck and Pax almost jumped. He steadied himself and turned to face Cliff, grinning. “I could go on.”

Cliff pinched the disco ball from his hands and eased it onto a top branch. The air felt thicker with him standing so close, and Pax was right. There was a soft hit of aftershave. Cliff’s words whispered over the freckle under his eye, and Pax blinked. “I’m not stopping you.”

“I hate how—”

Luca snorted.

Pax jerked to where he, Bianca, and Henry stood staring at them.

“Love him or hate him,” Henry scoffed. “Both are in Cliff’s favor. If you love him, he’ll always be in your heart. If you hate him, he’ll always be in your mind.”

“Yes,” Luca said, nodded heartily. “First time Shakespeare’s made sense.”

Bianca bit her (still) mustached lip, squinting at Pax and then her brother.

“No one said anything about love,” Cliff said curtly.

Pax choked on an ill-timed breath. Mostly because the thought of love was . . . ludicrous.

Absurd.

Utterly preposterous.

Cliff shifted, and Pax mirrored him.

Pax let out a relieved breath when the doorbell chimed. “Sounds like your friend’s arrived, Bianca.”

She shook her head. “I’m meeting Debbie in town. That one’s for Cliff.”

In jest, Pax elbowed Cliff. “Someone’s at the door for you that’s not me?”

“I told you right from the beginning. I have friends.” Cliff waved a hand at the trio. “Boys. Out.”

Luca and Henry marched out of the room.

“That includes you, Apollo.”

“I’m no threat.”

Cliff rubbed his jaw. “You’re the worst one.”

Okay, Pax did rile everyone up, Cliff was right. But he wasn’t ready to leave yet. They hadn’t spoken about this afternoon, and Pax needed answers. The music they’d played kept coming back to him in waves, swelling his chest. It made him dizzy. Made him want to drag Cliff into his study and play duets until music embraced them so tightly they . . . they passed out.

Bianca edged out of the room, giving them questioning looks.

The bell dinged again.

“Should I let Anna in?” she asked.

Cliff shook his head. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

The name rang in his ears. The fresh shirt, the belt, and the aftershave made sense now. “Anna?”

“Rapunzel,” Cliff said. “From last night.”

The girl he’d danced with four times. Not that Pax had been counting.

He stepped back with an awkward laugh and bumped into the Christmas tree. Cliff clutched his forearm, saving both him and the tree. His grip soaked hotly into Pax’s skin.

“That’s why you look . . .” He scoped Cliff from head to toe and shrugged off the disappointment clouding his chest. “Does she know all your faults?”

Cliff released him, fingertips skating over the inside of Pax’s arm before dropping. “Nothing your poem wouldn’t resolve, I’m sure.”

But Pax didn’t want to recite it again. Least of all to Anna.

The bell rattled again. Jesus it was loud and disturbing. “Once was plenty,” he yelled. And then to Cliff, “Obstinate, isn’t she?”

Cliff’s lips screwed up into a smile, and he shook his head. “Something I’m rather attracted to, it seems. Add it to my list of faults.”

“The list is long enough. Wouldn’t want to be cruel.” Pax backed up another step, a Christmas tree width from Cliff. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

“Where were you earlier?” Cliff asked, quietly, urgently, like he’d been waiting to ask. “Luca was vague.”

An uncomfortable ball of guilt rose in his chest. He glanced away. “Anna’s waiting. You should . . . do what you’re doing with her.”

Cliff studied him for a moment, pivoted, and strode out the door. “Six o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll run. We’ll talk.”