Tory nestled her naked body against my back, waking me from a deep sleep. The gray light of a cloudy morning filtered into the room. The rumpled trail of our clothes led from the hallway to the bed. She kissed the back of my shoulder and swept her hand over my stomach and down to my cock. As her fingers wrapped around my erection, my phone rang, interrupting the early morning quiet.

"Let it ring," Tory sighed as she stroked me and grazed my back with her hardened nipples.

It was my usual Paradise City ringtone but for some reason it sounded more urgent, as if Slash was strumming his Les Paul just a little harder than normal.

I reached for the phone. Tory let me know her displeasure by squeezing my cock just a little too hard. "Ouch, shit, remind me to avoid a blow job when you're in a bad mood."

"Fuck you, Josh." Tory rolled over to her other side.

I sat up. I didn't recognize the number which meant I'd just blown morning sex for someone selling solar panels or a life insurance policy.

I answered. "It's pretty fucking early for a damn sales pitch."

"He's out. Vanderbuilt or Vanderhout or Vanderfuck, whatever the hell his name is, he got out of jail four months ago."

I hadn't realized that my pulse had shot ahead until I heard it echoing back at me through my phone. It had been four years since I'd heard her voice. It still had the same effect on me.

"Rebecca?"

Tory rolled back over to listen as I said the name.

"Where are you?"

"What does that matter, Josh? Did you hear me? He's out. They let that fucking asshole out early."

I didn't know how to respond, so I took the coward's way out with silence.

"You fucking knew? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew it would just make you mad. Seems that was a good call on my part. Where are you at? No one has heard from you in months."

Behind me, Tory made a point of hoisting herself out of bed and stomping across the floor to the bathroom. The door snapped sharply shut behind her.

"I let the first boogeyman off the hook," Rebecca continued, "but it's not going to happen this time."

"What the hell are you talking about? You're not making any sense. What boogeyman? What are you up to?"

"Doesn't matter. Sorry I woke you."

There was a pause. I quickly searched for something to say to keep her on the phone longer. But she had me so stunned from the call, my head was blank.

"Hey, Josh?"

The anger in her tone had softened. Her voice had always reminded me of a smoky breeze, light and fun but slightly husky. One phone call and every inch of her was coming back to me in full fucking Technicolor.

"Yeah?"

"Call me by my nickname once. It's been a long time."

Her simple request reminded me of everything, the terrible sense of loss, the unbearable heartbreak. All of it settled on my chest like a bag of cement. My throat was tight as I uttered the words. "I miss you, Rebel."

"I miss you too."

Silence.

I pulled the phone from my ear. She'd hung up. I dialed her back, but no answer.

"Shit." I put the phone on the nightstand.

The bathroom door swung open. Tory swept past me to collect her clothes off the floor.

After my highly anticipated future as a rock and roll legend crashed into an epic fail, I'd moved back to my hometown, Camden Beach. My dad had left my older brother and me the house. As ugly and falling apart as it was, it was paid for. And it sure as hell beat living in my car and using a guitar case as a pillow. Dylan Parson, Rebecca's stepbrother, was four years older than me, but we had always gotten along. We pooled the little money we had and opened a sports bar together. Tory worked behind the bar, which meant I'd stupidly broken the golden rule of not dating a workmate. And as things between us soured, I was really starting to understand that rule.

"Who is Rebecca?" Tory asked casually, but her nose was twitching in irritation.

I leaned back on my elbows and watched her get dressed. "She's Dylan's stepsister."

Tory shimmied into her tight jeans. "Oh, her." It sounded like she was biting on a bitter lemon as she said the words.

"You've only been in town a year. You don't know her."

"Nope, I don't. But I know of her. Helena said that when Dylan's stepsister used to walk into a party or a dance, every girl had to grab protective hold of their boyfriends just to keep them safe."

I stood up and snatched my jeans off the floor. "If that's true, then the blame should be on their boyfriends because Rebecca never gave a shit about any of them." I wanted off this topic fast. "I'm going to take a shower. Lock up when you leave."

"Josh?" Tory stopped in the center of the room and waited for me to turn back around. Which I did, reluctantly. The last few seconds of conversation had created just a little more divide between us.

Tory tucked her short black hair behind her ears, and her upper lip straightened out of its usual bow shape. "Nathan, that financial advisor guy in the sharp suit who comes in every Friday night—he asked if I was in a steady relationship. He wants to start dating."

I should have had a reaction to her words, but there was nothing. And she caught my lack of emotion just fine. Her chin twitched back and forth, a mixture of nerves and anger.

"What'd you tell him?"

She blinked her big brown eyes at me for a long moment, apparently hoping I would step in and say the right thing. But I had nothing.

"I told him I didn't fucking know because I was with someone who didn't know his head from his ass when it came to relationships." The first sign of tears glassed her big eyes.

"I think you should date him."

"Is this because of that phone call? So, everything Helena said about Dylan's sister is true. You broke Emily's heart and all because of her stepsister. It seems Helena wasn't exaggerating after all when she said girls in high school had to hang on to their guys when Rebecca came into the room."

I'd hurt her and I deserved the assault, but I wasn't going to discuss the past with her.

"Tory, you knew going into this that I wasn't into commitment. Date the fancy suit. You deserve better than me."

A harsh laugh shot from her mouth as she grabbed her shoes in her hand. "That's just fucking perfect. And you know what? I do deserve better." She swept out of the room. The front door slammed so hard my car keys fell off the nightstand.

I walked over and picked them up. I held them on my palm and stared down at the green and pink lanyard that had been hooked to my keys since the day Rebecca had given it to me. I picked up the phone and dialed Dylan. He answered up after two rings. "What? I'm just getting into the shower."

"Well, you were right. You warned me to keep my dick out of the pretty bartender."

"Shit. So now Tory will probably put an extra shot in everyone's drink and our profits will drop. And all because you couldn't keep your prick to yourself."

"Look who's talking. Anyhow, that's not the real reason I called." I rubbed my finger over the tightly woven plastic of the lanyard. Her long fingers had touched every strand. "Rebecca called."

I hadn't expected the long pause on his end. Rebecca's father had divorced Dylan's mother and he moved to Europe for business. Rebecca had gone with him, but last I'd heard, she moved back to the states. I was sure she'd kept in some contact with Dylan's mother, but I never asked much about her. I never wanted to hear that she had a steady boyfriend or worse—had gotten married. I couldn't fucking bear to hear it.

"Huh, she did? Is she all right?" His tone had dried up almost as if he was just talking indifferently about some acquaintance.

"She heard about Vandermeer getting out of jail. She seemed pretty upset about it."

A dry laugh shot through the phone. "You know Becca. Always dramatic. Some things never change. Hey, start the inventory when you get in. I've got to drive over to Hartford and pick up that new craft beer. See you in a bit." He hung up.

I stared at the phone, confused by his reaction. Or non-reaction.