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“There you go, darlin’.”

My fingers grab the fifty the second it hits the sticky counter. The money is soft, frayed, as if it’s done this a million times before. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

“No change.” The guy flashes me a grin, and I make change in the register before putting the rest in the tip jar. “Since it’s windin’ down in here, why don’t we have a drink?”

I round the bar to put the stools on tables and collect the salt and pepper shakers, flashing the automatic smile I’ve learned in the last two months. “I’m a little out of my league drinking that bourbon.”

He follows, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His gaze crawls up my legs under the short denim skirt that’s practically a uniform here in Nashville.

I pray he’s not going to do something stupid.

My manager’s in the back office, talking to our bouncer.

Or possibly doing something else, which I definitely don’t begrudge them doing because they got married last year and have had zero time together.

I should’ve closed up twenty minutes ago but got lost doing dishes.

“Sweetheart, I been in here three times this week. Ain’t never seen you with a man.”

I sense it before I feel him graze my back. Before I smell the booze on him. “Then your vision’s 20/20.”

“Maybe you like to play hard to get.” He leers and reaches for me.

But before his hand grabs my ass through my jean skirt, the industrial salt shaker in my hand catches him in the junk hard enough his eyes bulge.

The beauty of the salt shaker. Small enough to be used as a defensive weapon. Sturdy enough not to break when you can a guy with it.

He writhes on the floor, adopting the fetal position like it’s his job.

“Hey!” Andre’s baritone hollers from the back doorway.

The guy pulls himself up and slinks out the door. I lock it behind him.

“You okay Haley?” Andre’s thick brows draw together on his forehead. He’s lost his cowboy hat somewhere in the thirty minutes since I saw him last, and his hair’s a mess.

“Peachy.” I say it with more confidence than I feel.

He studies me, hard, but decides not to press it. “I’ll clean up in the back if you finish up here. And don’t forget this.” He fishes in the cash register where an envelope’s wedged in the side and hands it to me. “Your bonus.”

“Thanks.”

He retreats with a salute and Lita sidles up. “Last night in Nashville.”

“You guys were great,” I say as I grab the last of the salt shakers and bring them behind the bar to refill. “Sorry the Dodgers lost.”

“S’okay. Kershaw’s killing it on the season. Which means I still have the best pitching rotation in the league.”

Lita looks pointedly at my bare legs, wiggling her eyebrows. “I see you working it over there.”

“Two months in this place has given me a whole new outlook on life.” I lift the hem of my shirt, sniffing. “Plus clothes that’ll never stop smelling like rye.”

I pop open my laptop behind the bar. “I chose my classes for the fall semester. Midnight tonight”—it’s after two now—“we’re supposed to get our final schedule.”

“You have enough for tuition?”

“Yup. Thanks to my miniskirt.” She laughs.

I scroll down the page, scanning for the confirmation.

“What the…” I start. Lita peers over my shoulder. “It says I’m not enrolled.”

There must be a mistake. I submitted the report on my co-op term on schedule. Early, actually.

I click through the webpage to the co-op section. There’re a bunch of green checks, and at the bottom…and a red X where it says “employer verification.”

“What’s happening?” Lita asks.

“I have no idea.”

I pull out my phone and dig up a number I’ve never had to use. It rings twice.

“Hi, Nina.”

“Haley?”

“Sorry to call so late.”

“The best time for everything is the present. In fact, it’s the only time there is.” Muffled scratching comes over the line.

“My letter—the one confirming my co-op term was completed—it looks like the college didn’t receive it.”

I hold my breath, praying she’ll say something like, “Namaste, it’ll be fixed by morning.”

What she says instead shatters all my hopes.

“Cross hired you. It’s him you need to call.”

A stone settles in my stomach.

Cross is the last person I want to talk to.

Because a major record exec is my father and I haven’t decided what the hell do to about it.

“Right,” I murmur, realizing she's still waiting for a response. “How’s the tour?”

“Insane. Riot Act announced this is their final month of concert dates. All the crazies are coming out.” I heard about that announcement. Because I have a news alert on the tour. Stalkerish? Maybe.

I shove my hands in my pockets. “Nina… is the everything okay?”

A pause. “We beefed up security. Jax still has all his body parts, far as I know. We’re in Atlanta tomorrow if you want to see for yourself.”

“Haley, I have to run. We’re getting some spec changes for the show tomorrow. Then I need to get in some meditation time so I don’t accidentally kill someone. Namaste.”

“Namaste,” I echo as Nina hangs up. I meet Lita’s clear blue gaze over the tip jar she’s splitting into piles for the servers who worked tonight.

“You’re thinking about something, and it’s not calling Cross,” Lita guesses.

Sleeping on someone’s couch for two months has a way of breaking down walls between you. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell Lita that Jax knew about Cross.

That being around Jax stirred up all these feelings I never thought I’d feel for anything that wasn’t music.

That leaving hasn’t brought the relief I’d hoped for. Instead, I’ve lain awake more nights than not, wondering if I did the right thing.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…Jax and I used to talk. I know this sounds insane, but I feel like I got him.”

“Normally, I’d say that’s completely insane,” she agrees. “But Jax doesn’t make time for just anyone.” I turn that over in my mind as she hands me the stack of bills that’s my share. “But? What does it matter. You’re going to go back to Philly, and classes, and listening to vinyl or whatever you do at home.”

Lita’s words echo dully in my chest.

My fingers inch toward the keys of my laptop. Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling up a ticket resale site.

“Damn.” Even the nosebleeds are more than my monthly groceries.

Lita drums her fingers on the bar, her mouth pursed. “I bet he’d get you a pass in a heartbeat.”

“That would mean telling him.”

I reach into my pocket and open the envelope from Andre. A thick stack of twenties peers up at me.

“If you’re not going to talk to Jax, why go at all?”

I suck in a breath as my finger hovers over the buy button. “Closure.”

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