The next day, Saturday, is miserable. Athena checks up on me every five to fifteen minutes. It's sweet that she's concerned, but mostly I want to curl up into a ball and disappear until this hurts a little less.

Thankfully, she has a meeting for her group project on Sunday. I get the apartment to myself and I use the time to chain drink homemade matcha lattes while binge-watching Battlestar Galactica. This must be the tenth time I've seen the show, but it's as good as the first. There's something about the distrust and the suspicion and the way traitors backstab the people they've been pretending to love and support for years.

It would be easier if Ethan really had stabbed me in the back, but he didn't. He can't help how he feels. He can't help that music matters more to him than I do.

He can't help that he's unwilling to put me first.

The heart wants what it wants.

I know that, because my heart has wanted Ethan since the day he tried to teach me how to play I'm Only Happy When It Rains on his prized Les Paul guitar. He never lets anyone else touch that guitar. Only me.

He was patient with me that day. No matter how many times I missed the same notes, no matter how horribly I failed to get my fingers to form chords, no matter how many times I let the guitar pick slip from my fingers, he started at the beginning.

He looked at me like he'd wait for me forever.

Maybe he would have waited for me to throw away everything in my life to be his sidekick. But I'll never be happy like that.

I'm still on the couch, turning everything over, when Athena gets home from her group project. She's soaked wet from the rain.

Still, her eyes go straight to me. She hangs her coat on the rack, plops on the couch next to me, and slides her arm around me.

"You hanging in there?" she asks.

I nod. "Tell me I'll stop missing him eventually."

"You will, but it might take a while."

"You didn't have to add the part at the end."

She laughs. "You'll stop missing him eventually."

"When is eventually?"

"Just before never."

* * *

I pull my shit together enough to get through school all day Monday, then my Skype interview Monday evening. The lab is in Newport Beach, a twenty-minute drive from my parents' place. The drive takes a hell of a lot longer on busy summer days, but it's right across from the beach.

That's practically paradise.

The woman who will be my supervisor, if I take the job, is smart, dedicated, and funny as hell. I can tell I'll learn a lot from her. I can tell I'll enjoy working with her.

It's a perfect opportunity. It should be a great fit. Still, when she offers me the job, I ask for a week to decide. I'm not ready to make any major life decisions right now, not with my heart this broken.

Tuesday is a wonderful blur of school.

Wednesday is my birthday. The words Happy Birthday mock me as I scroll through my text messages on my phone. It's worse on social media. There must be a hundred people I haven't spoken to in years wishing me a happy day.

There are a few old friends I miss. I have to smile when I see a text from Joel.

Joel: Happy Birthday, Valentine. I recommend spending the day in your birthday suit with an attractive man in his birthday suit. Or in a business suit if you're into that kind of thing. Might make a nice change from the tattooed rock star type. Don't open the present I sent with company. I couldn't torture anyone enough to find out your preferred mode of sex toy, so I sent a mélange of options. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

There's a text from Ethan too. Just Happy Birthday, Violet. No details, no embellishment, no promises to fix this.

I'm not sure if I should be flattered or annoyed. I'm not sure what to say in response.

Before I can figure it out, the fire alarm starts beeping. I smell smoke.

"It's okay, I swear," Athena calls out from the kitchen. There are footsteps, then she's pulling open my bedroom door. "So it turns out I don't know how to make pancakes properly." She grabs a notebook and fans the fire alarm.

"Here." I open the window in my bedroom then push past her to open the window in the living room. The kitchen is a verifiable mess of batter and charred pans. "You've never been much of a chef."

"Everyone starts from zero." She takes a pot and puts it in the sink. "I'll clean this, I swear, but later. Let's go to breakfast. I'll buy you pancakes."

"I'm gonna grab a bagel on the way to class." I step into my bedroom to change into my clothes.

"No class. It's your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way." She comes into my room, waits until I'm dressed in black jeans and a black corset top, and throws her arms around me. "Yes, you're coming with me."

"I am?"

"You don't go to class in those look at my boobs tops." She steps back with a smile. "Oh, makeup, right? I'll give you fifteen minutes, then I'm dragging you to breakfast."

"Not sure I'm in the mood."

"The place has matcha green tea pancakes."

"Twenty minutes. This is a smoky eye and red lips kind of day."

"Violet, do you have other days?"

"Sometimes I do a purple smoky eye and sometimes more grey."

She laughs. "I don't mess with perfection." She lingers in my doorframe. "You gonna be okay?"

"Maybe." I grab my concealer and dab under my eyes. "Ethan texted Happy Birthday."

"Oh." Her voice drops. "That's um… that's all?"

I blend the concealer with my fingers then move on to the primer potion and shadow. It's a purple smoky eye kind of day. That means crimson lips and cheeks and maybe even big fake lashes. I need a massive shield. "That's all."

"The nerve of that guy. I guess when you're famous, you put your head up your ass."

I throw her some serious side eye.

She laughs. "Get him back. Tell him to break a leg. Actually—" She grabs my phone. "How about I tell him then I hide this from you for the rest of the day?"

"That seems wise."

She taps a few buttons on my phone. "This will show him. The bastard, wishing you a happy birthday."

"You're the worst."

"I know."

* * *

The matcha green tea pancakes are fucking fantastic. After breakfast, we take the subway to midtown and wander up from Times Square to Central Park. It's a beautiful day. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, the air is chilly but not cold. My coat is enough to keep me warm, even wearing only my low-cut corset top under it.

It's not a crime wanting to look hot. It doesn't ease heartbreak but it doesn't hurt.

Guys give me plenty of attention on our walk and during our late lunch at a mediocre chain Mexican restaurant. But none of them look at me the way Ethan does, like I fix some broken part of them, like I'm the only thing they've ever wanted.

I try to push thoughts of him aside on our subway ride back to somewhere (Athena is in charge and she isn't giving me any details), but it only works so well. My mind keeps going back to his smile, his eyes, the locked heart tattooed on his chest.

There's life on the subway. A woman is coming home from the park with her daughter. Two nannies with babies in strollers are trading gossip. A few businessmen and women are heading back to the office post lunch break.

Even in the sleepiest part of town, late in the afternoon, New York City is alive with energy.

Even at its best and most beautiful, New York City doesn't feel like home.

I miss the beach, I miss the temperate afternoons, I even miss the deep purple walls in my bedroom.

And my parents.

And everyplace I ever went with Ethan.

Athena squeezes me. "Guys are the worst, huh?"

"After you."

She nods. "Well, after me then you."

I laugh but it doesn't break up the tension in my shoulders. Athena is a great friend but friendship isn't going to soothe my broken heart.

We joke about a mutual professor (turns out marketing majors take tons of math classes) for the rest of the ride. When we get off the subway downtown, I focus on the spectacular skyscrapers, the yellow taxicabs, the crisp smell of the air, the deep blue of the Hudson River.

It's beautiful here too, but it will never feel like home.

Despite everything I hate about Orange County—the superficiality, the commercialism, the strip malls on every corner—it feels like home.

Maybe even without Ethan.

My thoughts fall aside as Athena grabs my wrist. "Careful, that cab almost mowed you down"

Sure enough, there's a honking horn echoing through the air. I take a better look at my surroundings. It's too early for rush hour.

Still, I pay attention to my steps as Athena leads me. After a few more blocks, we enter a totally nondescript bar.

It's just as average inside. The walls and furnishings are all wood. There's a small stage set up with cheap-looking instruments for a four- or five-piece band.

"Please tell me we aren't watching a live show," I say. "I'm not in the mood for a concert."

"There may be music, yes." She points me to a seat in front of the stage. "There may be men taking off their clothes. There may be revelations. There may be secrets."

I throw her some serious side eye as I take my seat.

She smiles. "If you don't like it, I'll buy you an entire cake."

"From that place across the street?"

"Let me guess: matcha and lemon?"

"What else?"

She nods. "Hope you like it. Those cakes are nearly a hundred bucks." She motions for me to sit. When I do, she goes to the bar and orders drinks.

I rest my elbows on the table. Then my arms, my hands, my head. I'm tired and I still have a million and one emotions running through me.

It's going to hurt less one day. I'm going to not miss him one day. But I'm not sure that I'm ever going to love anyone the way I love Ethan. Not any day. Not ever.

Athena returns with a vodka soda for me and a whiskey sour for her. "Ethan said Thanks. If you're wondering about his texts. To be more exact he said: Thanks, I'm going to do my best to win over the audience."

"He doesn't need any help with that."

"I suggested he strip if he has trouble."

I glare at her. "You did not."

"All the way to buck naked." She smiles. "He seemed on board."

"Athena, you did not!"

She laughs. "I did not."

There's something about the look on her face. She's got something up her sleeve. I'm not sure what it is. I trust her, but I don't like surprises.

I take a long sip of my vodka soda. It's the top shelf stuff, clean and crisp. With my next two sips, I finish the drink.

"You want another?" she asks. "Drinks are on me today."

"No. This is enough. If I get drunk, I'll start crying and I'll call him and God knows what I'll say."

"I won't let you have your phone back."

"I'll find a way." I push myself up and nod to the ladies' room. "You're a good friend. I know I never say that stuff, but you are."

"Thanks, Violet." She smiles, but she's got all this excitement in her eyes.

Strange.

Very strange.

My bladder won't allow me to contemplate the matter any further. I make my way through the room—has the light been this purple the whole time?—and find the bathroom, which is also quite purple.

What a weird dive bar in a weird location.

I wash my hands five more times than is necessary. I smooth every stray strand of hair. I touch up my makeup. I only mean to add a little lipstick, but once I get my hands in my mini makeup bag, I can't help myself.

This is a day that requires quite a shield.

But I think I'm tired of screaming fuck off to the world. I'm tired of pushing people away. Yeah, Ethan broke my heart again, but he opened me up to joy too. He helped ease my pain too.

All this agony fucking sucks, but missing out on all the pleasure he brought me would be worse.

I apply extra eyeshadow anyway.

* * *

The lights are off in the main room.

All the lights. It's dark.

This really is a weird little dive bar.

Guitar notes fill the air. They're live and they're coming from the stage. They're familiar too.

It's Stupid Girl by Garbage. And it's not just a guitar. There's the bass, the drums, the vocals-

No.

That sounds like Ethan. And it sounds like he's singing a gender swapped version of the song about a stupid boy who doesn't believe in anything, who lied to himself and wasted everything he had.

That must be a coincidence or a loneliness-inspired delusion. Ethan's show is in Baltimore in three hours. That means he's in Baltimore now.

He's not here.

It's just some guy who sounds like Ethan.

Then he's singing the next song, I Think I'm Paranoid, and I'm even more certain that it's Ethan singing. I've heard his voice a million times, a million different ways.

That must be him.

How could it be anyone but him?

The lights are still off. Nobody seems to mind but then I guess there are only a dozen people in this bar.

I know the next song the moment I hear the first note—lord knows I played that note enough times. It's I'm Only Happy When It Rains.

The spotlight turns on.

And there's Ethan, on the stage, in a Garbage t-shirt and jeans, singing his heart out.

I blink a few times.

It's still Ethan.

But… what… how?

The spotlight spreads until it's illuminating the entire stage. That's not just Ethan. That's all of Dangerous Noise. What the hell are they doing here?

From the mild reactions of the people here, it's safe to say no one recognizes them.

Ethan smiles as he finishes the song. He looks out at the dark room. "Thank you, I'm Ethan Strong. And we are Dangerous Garbage, the best Garbage cover band in all of Orange County. Orange County, California. I know you have one here too."

"And in Jersey," someone calls out.

"Could never forget about Jersey," Ethan says. "Let's hear it for the singer of the real Garbage, Shirley Manson, huh?"

No one applauds.

Fuck it, Shirley Manson deserves better than that. I applaud.

Then the spotlight is on me.

Joel jumps up from his drum kit to nod hello. Mal and Kit shoot me the same hellos but they stay in their places.

Ethan's eyes light up as they meet mine. "Maybe it's just me. I do have a thing for redheads who don't take shit from anyone."

Kit steps up to Ethan's mic. "Or maybe just one redhead in particular." He nods to me. "He's miserable without you."

"It's true," Ethan says. "I am miserable without you."

"Seriously, he's intolerable," Joel adds. "But I won't blame you if you want to get rid of his intolerable ass."

"You're supposed to be helping," Kit says.

"Who says I'm helping Ethan?" Joel winks at me. "I like Valentine better. Any chance you can play guitar, Valentine?"

I shake my head.

"I can teach you," Ethan says.

Athena screams.

God, this is mortifying. My cheeks are burning.

It's sweet too… but mostly mortifying.

"There's a special birthday here today. One Ms. Violet Valentine. Now, I know she hates attention, but it's her birthday. We have to embarrass her. It's tradition." He smiles. "Want to help get her up here, Athena?"

I glare at my clearly traitorous roommate.

She mouths sorry, I had to.

Ethan moves closer to the edge of the stage. His cheeks flush. He's sweating too.

He's nervous.

More nervous than before he filled in for Drew in front of four thousand people.

"Fuck, Violet, you coming up here? I don't mind going down." He stays confident despite the blush. "Joel's gonna ask if you used the sex toys he bought you soon."

Now I'm blushing. I shake my head. "Not yet."

"You've got ten seconds till I come down there," he says.

I stay put. "Aren't you playing in Baltimore tonight?"

"Dangerous Noise is, yeah. These guys have to leave in about twenty minutes, but I'll be here playing Garbage songs until I get kicked off the stage."

"You know enough?"

"I know enough to play all night."

"You're skipping the show?"

Ethan nods. "Turns out there's some place I'd rather be."

My heart melts. He's skipping the show for me. I want to jump into his arms. I want to jump into his arms hard enough to knock him on stage then I want to order him to go down until I am coming up there.

But it's just one show. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.

He plants his Converse-clad foot on the edge of the stage. "The New York City bug bit me. I've got a hotel around the corner."

Athena screams, "Yeah, baby."

Ethan laughs.

My cheeks burn.

He motions come here. Even though I stay put, he continues. "I'm staying a week and a half. We have three shows across the eastern seabord. I'm gonna be at all three of them, but I'm only leaving for the day. Got a car hired to take me there and bring me back."

My breath catches in my throat. "You're going to be here for a week and a half?"

"This is where I want to be." He jumps off the stage and takes a few steps towards me. "I want to be where you are, Violet. The other day, I wanted to stay. I wanted to choose you over an opportunity. I wanted to choose you over music, and that fucking terrified me. Ever since I got my shit back together, I've put music first. I thought I was giving up some part of myself if I let it fall to second." He moves closer. "But when I walked out of your apartment, I left a part of myself there. And I fucking need that part back, Violet. I want to meet you halfway. I want to be in your life, where you need me, when you need me, how you need me."

I run my fingers over the back of his hand. This is really Ethan. He's really saying this. He's really staring at me with all that affection in his deep blue eyes.

"I know you don't think I'm a fuck-up, and I'm starting to come around to believing that. But I did fuck this up. I fucked us up. And I can't live with that, not without trying as hard as I can to fix it." He takes my hand. "I love you, Violet. I'd rather lose my left hand than lose you again."

"Really?"

He nods.

"You can't." I lean in to whisper. "I need it."

Ethan laughs. He presses his cheek against mine as he pulls me into a tight embrace. "If you ask me to get lost, I will. Otherwise, I'm going to be around until you're ready to invite me back into your life."

"I…" I dig my fingertips into his back, over his t-shirt. His body is warm and hard. His strong arms make me feel safe. There's no doubt, I want to be here. When I pull back and stare into his eyes, there's no doubt that I want him here too. "Okay."

His smile spreads to his ears. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Remember that question girls ask me about my tattoo?"

I tug his t-shirt down his chest and trace the heart's ornate lock. "Baby, do I have the key to your heart?"

He nods as he pulls his shirt lower. "Yeah, you do." He points to a fresh piece of ink just below the winged heart.

It's a skeleton key with Violet written on the shaft.

I trace the design with my fingers. It's a real tattoo. It's really there, on his skin, forever.

"Ethan." I look up into his blue eyes. "You're that sure this is forever?"

"More."

My last bit of resistance melts. My entire heart melts. I slide my hand around his neck and press my body against his. "Say it again."

"Which part?"

"Give me a highlight reel."

He smiles. "I've been selfish. I've brought you into my life but it's been what works for me. I like you in my life, Vi, but I want to be in your life too. I want to do what works for you."

"I want that too."

"I love you." He presses his forehead against mine. "I love you more than I love my Les Paul."

"Is that even possible?"

"Yeah, it is."

"I love you too."

Then I kiss him like his lips are everything I want. Because, really, they are.