I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. It wasn't a hangover. I hadn't had enough to drink for that. It was from all the worrying and thinking and fretting. I'd barely made it home before dawn, having spent most of the night at Walt's.

Natalie had left soon after saying her piece, leaving me to absorb her words by myself. She no doubt sensed I wanted to be alone, so she hadn't stayed. She'd simply patted me on the back and wished me a good night.

A good night. I wouldn't have called the rest of my night good, but I hadn't wallowed in complete misery the entire time, so that was something.

When I slid out of bed and reached for my phone, I saw a dozen missed messages. Most were from Gael, but a handful were from Julian, along with a couple from Nathan and Seth. They were all variations on the same question.

Are you okay?

I didn't answer any of them. I didn't know how to answer them. Yes would have been a lie, although a reassuring one. But I didn't feel as emotionally destroyed as I'd felt the night before.

Natalie had given me lots to think over.

I'd just come out of the shower and pulled on some clothes when my phone flashed with a missed message notification. My heart jumped, wondering if it was Liam. He hadn't sent me a single message after I'd gotten into that taxi and left him.

But when I checked, I saw it was from Morris.

Meet me at the youth center, was all it said.

It had only been sent minutes before. I didn't bother asking what time.

I debated internally with myself. Morris could have wanted to talk about any number of things, and I didn't think I was up to any of them.

But after what Natalie had told me last night, I did want to see him.

Morris is so full of pain and anger and grief. Just like you.

I grabbed my bag and headed out.

When I got to the center, I knew exactly where to go. I found Morris in the music room, behind a drum set. The room was soundproof, but as I opened the door I was assaulted with heavy beats and crashes.

The music halted as I stepped in. Morris stood up. He nodded in greeting. Despite the painful aching in my heart, that small quirk of his lips made me smile in return.

"Sorry," he said. "I know this is last minute."

"I wasn't doing anything else."

That technically wasn't true. I was supposed to be at rehearsal. After the previous night Gael was probably half-expecting me to skip out anyway. I deserved one day off.

"Should I bother guessing what this is about?" I asked.

"You don't have to," Morris began.

"No," I cut him off with a shake of my head. "I think it's a good idea. That song. I want to write it. With you. About him."

"About Harper." The pain in Morris's voice matched the pain in my chest as he said the name out loud. "Thank you."

"No. I should thank you. You're right. It's a good idea. Maybe with this, I can finally deal with—" I paused. "Everything. Deal with all that shit I've been pushing aside for years."

"Me, too," Morris said quietly.

"I'll probably be rusty. I haven't composed with anyone else in years."

"It's like riding a bike," Morris said.

"Maybe."

"If it sucks, it sucks," he said simply. "No one has to hear it. This is for us."

"This is for him," I corrected.

"For all of three us, then."

"Gael will probably want to hear it, at least," I said.

"If it's good, he'll probably insist Cherry Lips perform it."

I winced. "I don't know if that would be a good idea."

Morris tilted his head at me. "Why not?"

"Liam—" My throat closed up.

"What about him?"

"I don't think he'd enjoy performing a song like that. A song about Harper. A song composed by both of us."

"I think he would," Morris said.

"You don't know what went down. He…" I trailed off, not wanting to get into it.

"He was jealous of me," Morris said, surprising me. "He thought you were in love with me. He found out how wrong he'd been. Now he feels like shit."

My brow furrowed. "How do you know all that?"

"Liam called me."

I started. "What?"

"He called me," Morris repeated. "Told me everything."

"Why the hell would he do that?"

"To apologize." Morris came out from around the drum set and put his hands on my shoulders, making me look at him. "This was his idea."

"What was?"

"Us writing this song together. I could tell you didn't want to. I wasn't going to push. But Liam convinced me. Told me we should work together. Insisted, even. He said he knew how much I meant to you. How much you were still hurting. He knew I was the only person who would understand."

That speech was the most I'd heard Morris speak at once. The thought that Liam would go so far as to call him threw me off balance. To insist we work on a song together was both disconcerting and heart warming.

Liam was trying, in his own way, to prove he was sorry. To prove he trusted me.

"You want to get started?" Morris asked.

I nodded slowly. "Sure. Let's do it."

Morris got his messenger bag and pulled some sheets of music paper along with two pencils. A piece of card stock fell out along with the papers. Morris picked it up and began to shove it back into the bag.

I recognized it.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

"This?" Morris examined the card. "A guy I know in the industry is getting married. Nat and I got an invitation a few days ago."

"Chad Emmerson?" I guessed.

"I suppose you would know him. He was in Liam's old band."

And his fiancée, Paula, was Liam's old girlfriend.

A sudden understanding blew through my chest.

Liam had received the wedding invitation between his ex-girlfriend and former best friend just days before he'd seen me hugging Morris.

"Shit," I cursed out loud.

Morris raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"No. Just—"

No wonder Liam had been so upset. No wonder he'd jumped to conclusions. He'd probably been trying to put the whole thing behind him for years, just like I'd been trying to run from Harper's death.

Then he'd received their wedding invitation and all those old wounds had ripped open.

Liam said he'd been dealing with a lot of shit. Of course. It made sense now.

It really hadn't been about me and Morris.

It had been about him and his ex.

For once, it had been about his pain, his hurt, and not mine.

Among everything else that had been going on, I'd forgotten that I wasn't the only one who'd been hurt.

I wasn't the only one who'd experienced loss.