Backstage at Trix, the venue for that night’s show, Nick gripped Jazz’s hands. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m about to puke.”

“You’re not going to puke. We ran through the entire setlist back at the cabin and you only flubbed a few notes. Completely unnoticeable notes, I might add. With me beside you, everyone’s going to be too busy admiring my fingerwork to even notice yours.” The smile he flashed her didn’t do a thing to mitigate Jazz’s nerves.

She flexed her fingers and tried not to think about how she was holding Gray’s beloved Epiphone. She tried not to think at all, period. That was the only way she was going to get through tonight.

As soon as the show was over, she could—and probably would—collapse. But right now, she had to do this for Gray. She would make him proud of her and offer up every song she played tonight to whatever god happened to be watching out for them. And in every spare moment, she would continue to pray as she had since that afternoon.

Please take care of him. Please let him know how much I love him. Please bring him back to me.

Every hour that passed without contact from him increased her dread. There was no universe where Gray would’ve gone this long without calling her. He would never miss a show.

So he must not be capable of contacting her. That didn’t mean he had OD’d. Once she’d realized he had taken Harper’s catering truck, she’d started weighing other scenarios. It could’ve been a car accident. Not a fatal one—God, no—but one where he had to deal with cops and other drivers and damage. Maybe his cell phone wasn’t working. Dead battery. He might’ve run a light and gotten a ticket and fought with the police. Even imagining him in jail was preferable to any of the other scenarios scrolling through her mind.

Deak strolled up beside them and lifted an eyebrow at Jazz wearing Gray’s guitar. “So you’re our second guitarist tonight, huh? And the Brooklyn Dawn chick is filling in on drums?”

“Yes,” Nick said, answering for Jazz. “Jamie. She’s really good. Plus, she’s super hot. Jugs for days, man.”

As usual Deak ignored their guitarist and his sexist commentary. “And what’s this about Gray borrowing Harper’s truck? She’s meeting with a new client tomorrow—”

“He had a family emergency and wasn’t able to get back in time,” Jazz said, reciting the speech that she and Nick had settled on. “He’s really sorry for the inconvenience and promises to pay her for any loss of business. It was unavoidable.”

“Another family emergency, hmm? Can we talk alone for a minute?”

“There’s no need for that,” Nick began.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” She shot Nick a calming look and led Deak a few feet away. Before he could speak, she held up a hand. “I know it all sounds weird, but please, Deak, just bear with me tonight and let’s get through the show, okay?”

Evidently, he heard the plea in her voice because he nodded and pulled her into a hug. “I hope like hell that whatever’s going on doesn’t get you hurt,” he said gruffly.

She hugged him back and forced a smile as she stepped away. “Me too.”

“You sure you’re okay to play tonight? That’s a lot of material for you to learn when you’re used to being behind the kit.”

“I started on the guitar way back when. It wasn’t that hard to pick it up again.” It had surprised her how easy it had been to play, especially since she’d had Nick at her side instead of Gray. But maybe he was helping her from wherever he was. He’d always given her a little extra boost, so why should tonight be any different?

So what if she didn’t know where he was? He was out there. Okay. He had to be. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to function. She would know.

“All right, if you insist.”

“I do, thanks.” She patted him on the arm then headed toward the stage, where the ladies from Brooklyn Dawn were trying to get her attention.

As always, Jamie wore a kickass outfit—lots of leather and denim paired with thigh-high boots and huge silver hoops. On another night, Jazz would’ve been jealous of her killer style. Tonight all she could do was lean in to give her a quick hug and a quiet “thank you.”

Jamie was more of a guitarist than a drummer but Nick had said she’d offered her help without hesitation. Lindsey, Brooklyn Dawn’s keyboardist, had done the same. The pretty blonde wore a less flashy ensemble of an off-the-shoulder top and fitted pants but her beauty turned the ordinary into extraordinary. Nick had suggested Lindz add some piano accompaniment to a couple of their songs to make it seem more like a joint band collaboration, and Jazz had agreed. Why the hell not? Maybe if they crammed more people on the stage, she would stop looking at the spot beside Nick where Gray should be.

The spot she would be filling soon.

“Thank you too, Lindz,” Jazz said, giving the blonde a quick hug as well. She hadn’t talked too much to either of the girls before, but from the sympathetic looks they were giving her, she had to wonder how much Nick had told them about her missing fiancé.

Not that it mattered. They were there to help get them through the show. The rest had to wait until she’d put this night in the rearview mirror.

“No problem at all. We’re excited to jam with you guys.” Jamie slipped behind the kit without removing her boots and Jazz did a double take.

Wow, she was going to play in those? That chick was no joke. Many of the drummers Jazz had known over the years were like her and preferred to play barefoot. But Jamie appeared supremely confident so Jazz had to assume she knew what she was doing.

“Absolutely. This is going to be one hell of a show. We already know a lot of your classics, so to get to play with you is incredible.” Lindz squeezed Jazz’s hand and moved off to take her spot behind the keyboard.

Jazz dampened her dust-dry lips and looked down at the guitar she wore. It was too big for her and she’d probably be sore from playing by the end of the night.

But nothing could touch the numbing pain in her chest. It was slowly moving outward to encompass the rest of her body. She wasn’t even nervous about what she had to do anymore. Her only thought was Gray.

When Nick joined her onstage, she struggled to give him a smile. He’d coached her through this, and someday she’d thank him for all his help. Right now getting through each minute taxed her to the point that speech had become impossible. She had no idea how she was going to sing.

“Jasmine, look at me.”

She looked. She couldn’t do anything else.

“Gray’s going to watch this tape later and be so fucking turned on by watching you kill it on his guitar that he’ll probably nail you in ways I haven’t even thought of,” he said, surprising a laugh out of her when she’d been sure the laughter inside of her had run out.

“I needed that. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, show me up. I’ve never dueled with a girl before. Sounds fucking hot.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the house lights went down and Simon swaggered on stage to greet the crowd. “How are you beasts doing tonight? A little cold out there, so we’re ready to make it hot up in here!”

After the cheers died down, Simon tugged his old school mic up to his mouth and whispered, “Guys, I’ve got a secret. We lost our motherfucking guitarist, so we got ourselves an amazing replacement. Y’all give it up for our sweet Jazzy stepping out from behind the kit.”

The cheers and whistling from the audience made it easier for her to step forward and give a bow. She didn’t quite manage a smile, but at least she didn’t freeze. The anxiety had bled away into a dull resignation. This was her band, and she would make it work.

Nick let the first few licks of “Taste of Candy” rip, her cue to shake off the rust and join him. She allowed the muscle memory to take over and focused on just getting out the right notes in the right order, following Nick’s lead. He glanced over at her every couple seconds, almost like a papa duck checking on his duckling. It made her smile and try that much harder.

She wouldn’t let Gray—or Nick—down.

Jamie had no trouble keeping the beat on the drums, adding her own sense of flair to the rhythm. Speeding up in places, slowing down in others. She had a sense of the dramatic and made damn good use of her hi-hats, slamming on them with a vigor that Jazz had to appreciate. The girl was fucking amazing with her black hair flying everywhere and that demonic grin stretching across her face. There was someone who was enjoying herself, not just getting by and getting through.

Lindz offered her own contribution to the music, providing a texture they hadn’t had since the days Margo sat in with them on their first big smash, “The Becoming”. Lindz didn’t have the same aggressive attitude that Jamie did but she was no less showy than her bandmate, easily bantering with the crowd in the few moments that Simon took a break to guzzle water and suck on throat lozenges. Guess his “scratchy throat” complaint hadn’t been a fib after all.

Jazz just played her part, even going back to back with Nick on “Ripcord” as Gray always did. Having those firm shoulders behind her offered her a place to sag when she wasn’t sure she could go on another second. Sweat dripped into her eyes and soaked her hair. The lights seemed way too bright, hazing her vision. Her arms vibrated from the unfamiliar stress of playing, and her whole body felt sore from crying. She tried her hardest to lose herself in the music, to let the hard, driving beats of the songs she loved carry her away, but there was no song that could distract her from the montage of terrifying images rolling through her mind.

Gray, hurt and bleeding. Those beautiful eyes forever closed. When the pictures hit her, stealing her breath and a cry from her throat she couldn’t swallow back, Nick was there, dragging her through the songs with him, willing her to play. His solid form at her side helped her forge on when she didn’t think she could pluck another note. When her voice ran hoarse because she was using all of her energy to try to hold back her sobs.

“You’re doing fucking amazing,” he whispered in between songs, nudging her arm in his version of a fistbump.

She shook her head, so disappointed in herself that she would’ve been on the verge of tears even without the Gray situation. She heard every missed note and hated that her fingers weren’t as fast as they’d once been. Years ago she could’ve handled this setlist without difficulty.

Tonight she was a liability.

“You are. Keep your eyes on mine and keep playing for Gray.”

She did, because she had no choice.

At the end of the show, after they’d played their final encore and taken their bows, she rushed backstage to dig out her phone. She’d latched onto the hope that maybe he’d called her during the time she was onstage. Perhaps he’d even made it back to the cabin or their apartment. Band camp was technically over as of today, but she and Nick couldn’t go back to the apartment when they didn’t know if Gray might return to the cabin. Well, she couldn’t.

Gray hadn’t called.

She didn’t expect Nick to go back to the cabin with her but he did. As soon as the driver dropped them off, he unlocked the door and stood by as she ran from room to room, her momentary hope dwindling once again as it became clear that Gray hadn’t come back. The light she’d left on for him only illuminated that she and Nick were completely, totally alone.

She stayed an extra couple of moments in the bedroom she and Gray had been intimate in, staring at the rumpled sheets and his suitcase. She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and bury her face in his clothes, to make sure his scent never left her for even a moment.

When she couldn’t stomach looking around any longer, she wandered back into the living room and dragged the bands off her braids. She flung them in every direction, not caring where they landed. Her makeup was probably smeared from sweat and tears and she didn’t give a shit.

“Come here,” Nick said from the couch. “You look like you’re going to fall over. You’re too fucking pale.”

She sat next to him, mainly because her feet felt like blocks and she doubted she could make it the few feet to the armchair.

“Have you eaten today?”

“No.”

“You need to. I can make you a sandwich.”

“Not hungry.” Truth was, she was starving. It felt like her body was attacking her stomach lining for sustenance.

“If you faint on me, you’re only going to piss me off. Give me five and I’ll make you some bologna and fucking cheese.”

“Nick.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’re going to have to call the police.”

When he swiveled his head to look at her, a sound broke from her throat. “It’s heading toward twenty-four hours. I’ll have to file a m-missing person’s report—”

Saying nothing, he hauled her into his lap. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with dry sobs. She’d reached the point where she couldn’t even cry.

“It’s going to be okay. You have to believe me. My sister said she’d see what she could find out—”

“From her druggie friends. She’s digging through all the popular gutters, right?”

She hated the judgmental words tumbling out of her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to hold back the rage that was geysering up in tandem with the gut-curdling panic and misery. She didn’t want to think the worst. The very idea of Gray getting high in some random place—or worse, overdosing—made her want to scream. But what else was she supposed to think?

He’d walked out on her and left her alone in their bed. Naked. Wearing his ring. He’d promised her forever and then he’d gone off to be with someone who offered him something she couldn’t. Probably that blonde babe, Cricket, who smiled so prettily while she was sharpening the knife to hold at Gray’s throat.

Nick’s hand moved up and down her back as if on auto-pilot. “She’ll figure it out. She knows Cricket—”

A thump from the doorway had Jazz lifting her head just as the door burst open. A guy wearing the clothes Gray had left in that morning stumbled through, his head tilting just right for her to glimpse the bloody gash that curved from his temple to jaw.

Horror bolted her in place. She couldn’t be seeing what she thought she was. His torn, bloodied clothes were barely hanging on his body and his face was more black and blue than its usual color. There was so much blood. So much.

But when he managed to raise his head and fix his eyes on the scene on the couch, the racking laugh that left him sounded all too familiar. “Isn’t this cozy?” he mumbled through cracked lips.

“Oh my God, Gray.” She stumbled up, her paralysis finally giving way to action. She’d made it halfway to him with Nick right behind her when Gray barked out a command.

“No. Don’t fucking touch me. Fucking liar.”

She stopped so abruptly that Nick crashed into her back and almost toppled her. He grabbed her hip to right himself and Gray laughed again, the sound so agonizing that Jazz covered her mouth.

“I fucking dragged…myself back to you, and you’re here…with him.” Gray sagged against the wall, his eyes closing. “Hope you’re fucking…happy.”

“Happy?” she screamed, unable to stop herself. Relief rushed through her veins, mixing with something far more dark and destructive. “What the hell happened to you? Where did you go this morning?”

It was only when he shifted that she noticed the unnatural bump on the top of his shoulder. At her gasp, Nick grabbed the phone off the side table and pushed it into her hand.

“Call 911,” he said.

“No,” Gray whispered. “No cops.”

Nick moved forward to offer his support to Gray. “She’s not calling the cops, man. You need a doctor. Your arm’s fucked up—”

“I said no fucking cops.” Gray jerked back from Nick hard enough to crash into the wall. Jazz swallowed a moan at the pain that telegraphed across his face before he slid down to the floor, his ass hitting the carpet almost as hard as he’d hit the wall. “I just need to sleep it off.”

“Sleep it off? Are you crazy? You’re barely conscious.”

“Oh, I’m conscious.” Gray’s bleeding lips stretched into a macabre pantomime of a smile. “I’m conscious of what brought me to…this goddamn point. Never fucking changes.” He coughed, his shoulders heaving.

She hurtled forward and fell to her knees in front of him, helpless to stop the tears. “Let us help you,” she said, reaching out to touch his jaw with tentative fingers.

“You help me? Fat fucking chance. You and Nick are what got me here.” He wiped his sleeve over his mouth. “Wanna know when I started this? Try the night you walked out of that closet at the club with this bastard.” He jerked his thumb at Nick and shut his eyes.

She glanced at Nick in dawning horror and cupped her hand over her mouth again. The nausea was back, worse than ever.

If Gray was telling the truth, if he’d started doing coke the night he had seen her and Nick come out of that closet before their concert, that meant this was all her fault. She’d done this to him. To them.

Nick shook his head minutely and crouched at Gray’s side. “Listen, man, you need help. Let us take you to the hospital.”

“Why?” Gray gripped his side, his pain so obvious that Jazz stumbled back and whirled away to try to get control of her traitorous stomach. “Want…me out of the way? Easier for you then.”

“Oh, Jesus, when you get cleaned up, you’ll regret saying all of this, so I’m going to chalk it up to your injuries and ignore it. You can’t make me cry with your taunts, but you can make her cry, so maybe stuff it for a while until you know what the hell you’re saying, huh?”

“Big frigging savior, aren’t you? Saving her from me.” Gray laughed again, his breath wheezing through his teeth. Jazz moved her hand from her mouth to her belly, pressing there to try to calm the incessant rolling within.

When she was reasonably sure she was under control, she turned back, only to find Gray staring at her through narrowed eyes. “I got a phone call today,” he slurred. “Guess who? Mommy fucking dearest.”

“Oh, Christ, no.” Had he gone to see his parents and not his dealer? If so, what had happened to him? She gripped the arm of the couch and sat down, incapable of standing. “You don’t understand—”

“I never answer her calls, but something told me to today. You knew about my…brother, and didn’t tell me. What else you keeping from me, baby?”

“It’s not like that. It’s not. I wanted to tell you—”

“You always want, you just never…do. I don’t fucking care anymore. Get off me,” he roared at Nick, who didn’t move.

“Your shoulder is dislocated, at minimum,” Nick said, his voice so calm that Jazz didn’t know if she envied his strength or wanted to kick his ass. “If you ever want to play again, you’ll let me drive you to the hospital.”

When Gray didn’t respond, Nick searched through Gray’s pockets and pulled out the keys to Harper’s truck. “Take these,” he said, tossing them to Jazz. “Go start the truck and we’ll be right out.”

“But I can help—”

“Go,” Gray and Nick said in unison, making her eyes burn.

She knew she didn’t have any right to feel hurt. Gray was in agony, and yes, he was angry—for some good reasons and for some stupid ones—but his reaction was marred by pain. She couldn’t take offense at what he said in this state, and besides, it didn’t even matter how he felt about her just then. The only thing that mattered was getting him help.

Nodding, she rose and swayed, digging her nails into the arm of the sofa to maintain her balance. She glanced up to see Gray staring at her, his lips parting as if he’d been on the verge of saying something. As if maybe he wanted to know if she was okay. Then he firmed them and looked away.

She rubbed her thumb over the key fob in her hand and hurried outside, forcing herself to focus on what she had to do next. One foot ahead of the other, down to the truck. Start the vehicle and wait for the guys to appear. She quickened her steps, skirting the hood. She wouldn’t analyze, and she wouldn’t think. She’d just—

Something was on the hood, easily visible because Harper’s truck was white and the substance was dark and sludgy. Mud maybe? She dipped her fingers into the wetness before she thought better of it. The coppery scent of blood hit her nose.

Blood. Gray’s blood.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, barely making it to the grass before she emptied her stomach.

* * *

In the darkness, he could smell her.

Watermelons and wildflowers, fresh cut grass and sunshine. Her hair tickled his cheek and her heartbeat matched its rhythm to his, occasionally speeding up and slowing down before syncing with his once more. Her comforting weight on his chest abated his pain, more effective than any medicine. When she was with him, he could breathe again.

Gray opened his eyes, his mouth already curving in preparation of seeing her. But she wasn’t there. The room was empty and dimly lit, illuminated just enough for him to make out the curtain pulled shut beside his bed. His hospital bed.

They’d taken him to the freaking hospital and left him alone.

As you asked them to.

He tried to lift his arm and groaned at the fiery pain between his shoulder and neck and the drag of an IV pulling on his forearm. Fucking hell. He tried to sit up to pour a glass of water and only managed to make it halfway to the jug on the bedside table before the myriad aches in his body forced him to be still.

Nope, no water. No anything. He was just going to lay there and listen to the guy moaning in the next bed and try to find his sense of gratitude that at least his soreness was manageable. Mostly.

The next time he woke, the room was full of light. The curtain beside his bed had been pulled open and his neighbor in the next bed was gone. He hoped he’d left on his own two feet.

Pale sunlight streamed in through the small window, making him blink. Maybe he could try reaching for the water again—

The click of high heels on tile caused him to turn his head. And inwardly groan. “Need some help?” Lila asked pleasantly.

“No.”

He slouched against his pillows and rued the day he’d ever met Deacon McCoy. If he hadn’t gotten friendly with him at some dive club, he wouldn’t have ever tried writing with him. If he hadn’t tried writing with him, they wouldn’t have penned “The Becoming”, the song that ultimately became Oblivion’s first hit. Then he never would’ve met Nick and Simon, and he wouldn’t have joined this godforsaken band.

That he loved, goddammit.

“Sure about that?” She stopped beside the bed and poured a cup of water before offering it to him.

“Didn’t we run this scene before? I get messed up, you play angel of mercy and give me water and bail my ass out.”

“That won’t be happening a second time.”

He finished drinking and crushed the cup in his fist, grimacing at the pain that traveled up his arm. “Yeah, well, I’m not asking to be bailed out. Worst they can do is fucking kill me, and then I won’t have to think about any of this anymore.”

Like how he’d discovered his brother was dead, and that Jazz had called his mother, probably to tell her all the ways he’d failed. That Jazz had let him propose without telling him. Then walking in to find his Jazz in Nick’s lap, her eyes so blue and desolate as she clung to the man that Gray could never quite stop being jealous of even when it made no fucking sense.

She wore his ring yet all he could see was Nick’s arms around her. Her head on his shoulder. Her hair caught in his fist…

“You’re really that much of a ball sac, hmm?”

He blinked up at Lila. “What?”

“You heard me. I won’t call you a pussy, because pussies are damn fucking strong. Right now you’re being the kind of nut I could twist into a knot between two fingers.”

“Are you seriously talking about my balls?”

“Not your balls per se. I’m comparing you to a nut sac in general. Weak, small and wrinkly.”

He shook his head. “Your bedside manner needs a lot of work.”

“Actually, I think my bedside manner is great. You’re lucky I’m even here. No one else is.”

The reality of that dried his mouth. He’d suspected it was true, but to hear it was another thing. “Yeah, so? What do I fucking care?”

“So you’ve broken up with Jazz then.”

Even the words made him grip the sheets in a sweaty fist. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then you’re still together?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

She sighed and pulled a chair up to the bed. “What happened?”

“What do you think? I fucked up, lost control and got my ass kicked—”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s supposed to be my job to feel sorry for you.”

He didn’t expect to be able to smile. “Are you going to tell me how bad they are?” He glanced at the shoulder where the bulk of his pain was radiating from. Well, not the bulk, but a lot. “My injuries, I mean.”

“You’ll live,” she said shortly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re in rough shape but most of it is surface. You have a couple of cracked ribs and various contusions. The separated shoulder will probably require a sling and possible physical therapy. You won’t be playing up to Grayson Duffy beast level for a while, but you’ll get there again. The rest just requires sleep, a healthy diet and less contact with fists.”

“Planning on it.” Relief rushed through him. With his current level of soreness, he definitely hadn’t been sure what the prognosis for his shoulder would be.

Looked like he wasn’t permanently out of commission. Whether or not he’d have a band to return to…well, that was anyone’s guess.

“Back to Jasmine.”

“Sure. Why not? I’m already in hell.”

“You think she believes that you went to get high and tangled with the wrong people.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“It’s probably a good supposition, yes, because you didn’t tell her any differently.”

“Oh, and I suppose you believe something else?”

“Yes, I do. Through my magnificent powers of deduction after I saw that pretty ring on her finger, I decided I wasn’t going to go with the obvious answer and did some checking around. Imagine my surprise when I located a jeweler near your apartment who sold a ring just like the one Jazz is wearing a mere two days ago, for a princely sum that equals roughly half of what I’d transferred into your account.”

“What’s your point?”

“Oh, you are a prideful one. Normally, I respect that. In this case, you’re being a jackass.”

He tried to cross his arms and paid the price in the form of a shoulder spasm that would’ve buckled his knees if he’d been able to stand. “Thanks for the support,” he rasped. “You can leave anytime now.”

She lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow. “I’m dismissed then?”

“Yeah. Just like you warned me I would be if I screwed up.” He gestured with his good arm. Even that movement pulled at his bad shoulder. “Take a look at me. Well and truly fucked. So consider this me resigning from—”

“I realize you had other things taking your attention three nights ago, but I wonder if you’ve given thought to who might’ve taken your spot at Trix?” she asked, smoothly interrupting him.

He reached for the sheets again, pulling them tight around his hips. “Three nights ago?”

“Yes. You were on some pretty powerful painkillers and you slept like the dead. I’m guessing you needed it. You probably didn’t get a lot of rest the last couple of weeks, what with all that blissful bonding you and Jasmine were doing before you flamed out in a blaze of so-not-glory.”

“Who played for me?” he asked quietly, though he already knew.

As soon as Lila had posed the question, he remembered the feeling of Jazz’s calloused fingertips brushing over his skin. She’d never used a pick with any regularity, preferring to run her fingers down to bloody stubs no matter how many times he admonished her.

Damn stubborn woman that he loved more than his own life.

“I see you already know.” Lila brushed invisible lint off her pale yellow skirt. “From what I’ve heard from your bandmates, she barely kept it together long enough to get through the set. But she did it for you, and she did a damn fine job. She and Nick concocted this stupid story about your granny again to save your ass. Little did they know they shouldn’t have bothered. Guess you must like the smell of bacon frying in the morning.”

Shame wound through his stomach, curling upward to encompass that hollow area in his chest that somehow still contained his heartbeat. He’d been so certain it would stop when he’d been lying in the fetal position in that shitty parking lot where Cricket’s bastards had left him. His own fault for thinking they’d stick to the verbal deal they’d set. The money he’d offered hadn’t been enough, so they’d taken their payment another way.

When he was lying on the ground, beat all to hell, he’d had plenty of time to replay where he’d gone wrong. He hadn’t been dead yet but he hadn’t been fully alive either. He’d been caught in a sort of purgatory, the option to die or to live in his hands if he chose quickly.

And he’d chosen the same way he always did. His choices always took him back to Jazz. He would’ve dragged himself there on his hands and knees if he had to.

He nearly had.

“She was in his lap,” he murmured. “I’d just been beaten all to shit, and God, I hated myself in that moment. But when I hauled myself in the door, he was holding her, and I just fucking lost it. She’s—”

“She’s your drug, worse than any line of powder because you’ll kill each other and claim it’s in the name of love.”

He started to argue until the truth in her answer sunk deep into his bones, way beyond where he could reach to fish it back out again. “Yeah,” he said finally, rubbing his forehead to try to alleviate the ache brewing behind his eyes. So many damn aches. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“She shares your addiction, by the way. She’s no more capable of cutting the cord than you are.”

He made himself meet Lila’s surprisingly understanding blue eyes. “Is that…is that how it is with you and your husband?”

“God, no.” Her light laughter shocked him. “Maybe it was once,” she said after a moment. “I was young back then and idealistic. But life changes you, and now I scarcely remember what it was like to love that desperately. That even if you gave every breath, every beat of your heart, it still wouldn’t—couldn’t—be enough.”

He nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“You need help,” she began, holding up a hand when he started to argue. “Hear me out. I don’t just mean for the coke. You need help to bring some balance back into your life. Your life, Gray, not hers. Because if you don’t have a life worth living, you have nothing to give her. Do you understand that? If you’d died, where would she be right now?”

His eyes filled and damn if he didn’t hate himself even more for it. “Better off,” he whispered.

“You don’t truly believe that. I don’t believe it either, not for a second.” She grabbed hold of his hand and resisted his attempts to pull free with a shockingly firm grip. “The way you feel about her is the kind of love most women dream of. That, my friend, is some epic Titanic type shit, right down to Jack giving up the damn piece of wood, no matter how moronic that appeared to the more logical viewers in the audience.” Her mouth quirked. “Us rational types might make fun of behavior like that, but we still wish with our whole hearts that one day, someone might fall that madly in love with us.”

He frowned. “I never saw Titanic.”

“Figures.” She laughed. “Perfectly good waste of an analogy.”

“Jazz told me she hated that movie.”

Lila sighed. “Kids today. Romantic subtext is completely lost on the lot of you.”

He snorted. “Yeah, because you’re so much older than we are.”

“Maybe not chronologically, no.” She let go of his hand to open up her dainty purse that was the size of Jazz’s wallet. A moment later, she withdrew a slim silver case and sifted through the business cards inside until she found a cream-colored one and handed it over.

“Visions?” he asked, reading the line beneath the rolling hills that made up the company’s logo.

Addiction treatment and recovery.

“You’ve figured out what it is, so I won’t bother explaining. I will say that I’ve known several of the guests there, and they’ve made remarkable progress.”

He shifted on the bed, trying futilely to get comfortable. That was difficult to do when it felt like his bones were being held together with a substance about as solid as gelatin. “Guests like your husband?”

She glanced away. “No. He doesn’t believe he has a problem, so he hasn’t sought treatment.”

“Yet you remain married to the guy.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge unless you’re ready to hop on the bus to Visions yourself. It’s easy to see the flaws in others, much harder to recognize them in ourselves.”

He tipped back his head to stare at the ceiling. It was only then that he noticed the cluster of balloons in the corner, decorated with get well wishes and cartoon characters. “Who sent those?”

“Everyone.” She smiled. “Your bandmates and assorted friends and family have been in and out of this room constantly while you’ve been napping.”

The surge of hope nearly stole his breath. Hell, it did entirely. “You lied to me?”

She patted his hand. “Selective truth.”

“If I ask if she’s been here, does that prove I need to go to Visions?”

“No, it proves you love her, and for good reason, because she’s barely slept since you’ve been in this white-walled prison. I finally sent her home an hour ago to get some rest. She’s worn out and on the verge of getting sick.”

“Good. I mean, I’m glad you sent her, that she went.”

“Me too.” Lila picked at her nails. “So how long are you going to evade the question?”

“I didn’t realize there was one.” He let out a breath. “I’ve gone a few days without any blow.”

“You’ve been unconscious for most of them.”

He dropped his head to the pillow. “I’m not your husband—”

“Hey, am I interrupting?”

Gray glanced up at Nick’s brush of knuckles against the doorframe. It wasn’t even close to an actual knock, but Nick expending even a modicum of effort in the manners department was big. Gray started to respond until he realized Nick’s gaze was locked on Lila.

“Your husband, hmm?” He smiled blandly as he walked into the room without waiting for an invitation. “I must’ve missed that you have one.”

She angled her chin. “I must’ve missed that it was any of your business.”

Nick’s smile never faltered. “Everything’s my business, sweetness.” He shifted his attention to Gray. “You look semi-alive.”

Gray cocked his head, wondering if the pain meds he was on had influenced what he thought he’d just witnessed. Even now Lila and Nick were so noticeably not looking at each other that they might as well have been in a staring contest. What the hell?

Too bad Jazz wasn’t there. She’d be able to weigh in—yeah, like that wouldn’t be the least bit awkward.

It was all so fucking awkward.

“I’m okay,” Gray said, tucking the card Lila had given him under the sheet. He had no intention of going down that road with Nick, today or any other day.

“Your color’s better. Gray’s not a good color for you.” Nick grinned at his own joke. “See what I did there?”

“Impressive.” Lila rose to her feet. “Think about what we discussed, Grayson, and get back to me when you’ve made a decision.”

“What if I already have?”

She tucked her bite-sized purse under her arm. “Then my original terms for your loan repayment stand. You didn’t use the money as intended, so you’re out.”

“Wait a second,” Nick began, shocking Gray into silence.

“Butt out,” Lila snapped. “If you were such a humanitarian, you wouldn’t have caused trouble for him and Jasmine at every turn. I know what the hell I’m doing.” She strode out of the room and shut the door. She didn’t slam it, but it was damn close.

“Goddamn women.” Nick grabbed the chair Lila had vacated and linked his fingers between his knees. “So about what you saw the other night—”

“I know it wasn’t like what I thought. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”

“Yeah, and that news about your brother…I’m sorry, man.”

“Me too. Not that the fucker’s dead, mind you, but that I had to find out like that. That she knew and didn’t tell me, probably because she thought it would send me headfirst into a mirror.”

“Was she wrong?”

“Christ, I don’t know. If a line was in front of me right now…” Gray shook his head. “Fuck, I am sorry he’s dead, but acknowledging it makes me feel as if I’m betraying Jazz.” He glanced at Nick. “You know what happened?”

“Yeah.” Nick locked his linked hands behind his neck. “You only had one brother. I get it. My sister and I aren’t exactly the Olson twins, but she’s still my fucking sister. I still shared a freaking womb with her.”

Gray snorted out a laugh. “Olsen twins gone really wrong, maybe.” He sobered and rewound something in his head that Lila had said earlier. “Have you been around much the past few days?”

“Aww, worried that I don’t care?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

Nick jerked a shoulder. “I’m tired of looking back. Time for us to look forward, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Gray scrubbed his hands over his face and smothered the groan that nearly escaped him. A bit early for moves like that just yet. He dropped his hands and decided he didn’t have much to lose.

Lies. All fucking lies. He could lose everything.

“Did my parents come?” he asked quietly, not meeting Nick’s eyes.

“Yeah. I saw Jazz talking to them.”

“Okay.” He forced out the breath that had gotten lodged in his throat. “Okay.”

“You could talk to them yourself, you know. It doesn’t mean you don’t love her.”

“What does it mean then?”

“It means you’re human, and sometimes you need someone. That simple. And that complicated.” He paused. “She’s still wearing your ring, you know.”

“Christ.” His breath left him on a shudder he couldn’t stop. “I shouldn’t want her to be.”

“You know, it seems like you’re not real comfortable with feeling how you actually feel. You could try relaxing and seeing what happens.” Nick lifted his hands, his smile slipping into his trademark smirk. “Just a suggestion.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. I, ah, heard you covered for me at the show.”

“She covered for you, and she kicked ass. If you’re nice to me, I might hook you up with some really hot footage of your really hot fiancée playing your guitar.” Nick waggled his brows.

Gray tried not to grin. “You’re a frigging perv.”

“So?”

Gray extended his fist, waiting until Nick bumped his knuckles to his. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. You know, since you owe me, we could always try that threesome again…”

If anyone had ever told Gray he’d be able to laugh someday about one of the darkest nights of his life, he would’ve told them they were crazy. But somehow he managed it, even if it hurt like hell—at least physically if not emotionally. “Yep. Perv.”

Nick grinned. “You know it, brother.”