Time passes slowly when half a dozen people are trying and failing not to stare. The clock on the wall suggests that it's only been ten seconds. Feels like ten hours.

There are no sounds in the bedroom or in the kitchen around the corner or in the bathroom.

There's no sign of Tom.

No one assuring me that he's on a beer run. Come to think of it, I never see beer. Everyone jumps straight to liquor.

Might not be a bad idea, enough whiskey to dull my thoughts.

"Tom, um, he said he wanted to give Drew some space." Kara steps forward. "Why don't you catch a ride with us?"

Yeah, I'm sure he said that.

Pete motions come here to Kara. She does. He whispers something in her ear. It wipes the worry from her expression. Mostly.

The bassist shifts away from the crowd. He makes eye contact with me. "I'm going to stay the night at the hotel. You should too."

"Please tell me you're not offering rebound sex," Meg says.

"Tom would do it," Miles says.

"True." She nods.

"No, sorry, Willow." Pete motions for us to leave. "I'm sure you'll cry yourself to sleep over missing out, but I'm not offering to fuck you."

"Thanks for clarifying that before I got my hopes up," I say.

"Now let's get out of here." Pete throws warning glances at everyone in attendance. "Last thing you need is attention."

I follow him to my hotel room in a total daze. How could Tom bail without a single word? I check my phone for any sign of contact—a text, a tweet, an Instagram photo. Nothing.

Pete not so gently orders me to change into my pajamas and brush my teeth. He's just as bossy as Tom is, but it's a much calmer way. His deep voice is soothing. I can't imagine what possessed his ex to leave him for anyone.

Don't get me wrong. I'm far too head over heels for Tom to even fathom being interested in Pete. But he is interesting. Sexy, deep, playful and mysterious at once.

When he catches me checking texts on my phone, he plucks it from my hands and turns it off.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy checking that thing all night." He sits on the bed next to me. "It's not you, Willow. Mom, Ophelia called during the show. She's getting scared. Tom went to be with her."

"Oh."

"I'll knock when I pick you up tomorrow. Ten a.m. How do you take your coffee?"

"Almond milk and plenty of sugar." I pull the covers over my shoulders. "Why are you picking me up?"

"You're coming with us to see Mom."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"It's your decision." Vulnerability fills his eyes. "I don't know what happened with you and Tom. Where you guys are. He might not realize it, but he needs you. The way he acts around you... I've never seen him care that much about anything besides the band."

I bite my lip.

"You have to put yourself first. If you don't want to be around him, I get that. I won't push you. But he needs you tomorrow."

"What if he doesn't? What if he left because he doesn't want to be with me?"

"I'll make it up to you."

"How?" I ask.

"Rebound sex."

I laugh. "You're not..." I study his expression. He's stoic. It's hard to tell when he's kidding. "You're kidding, right?"

He nods. "If you do dump Tom, be gentle. Not for his sake. For mine. For some reason, I love the asshole."

There's an ocean of concern in his voice. I don't buy his cool facade for a second. He really cares about Tom. It's obvious how much they mean to each other.

"He's your brother," I say.

"Must be it."

"And he's not an asshole. Usually."

Pete pushes off the bed with a nod goodbye. "If you need anything, I'm in room 816." He steps backwards. "Well, almost anything." He winks on his way out the door.

* * *

The drive is a blur of nerves, coffee, and jazz music. I don't bother asking whose car we're driving or where it came from. All my attention goes to keep down my half a bagel breakfast. We might find out Tom and Pete's mom is dying. I know I'm not part of the family, might never be part of the family, but I'm still terrified for them.

Traffic is light on the five freeway. We take an exit somewhere in Orange County. It's a few streets to the big, clean hospital and its wide parking lot. It almost looks like an office building with its big windows and its turquoise exterior.

The inside is nice. Well lit. The walls are cream, the signs bright blue. Pete checks something on his phone then presses his hand against my upper back to lead me through the hallways. I'm almost glad I'm with him and not Tom. I don't think I can handle Tom touching me at the moment.

We stop in front of an open door. There are voices. Laughter. A woman's throaty chuckle. And Tom's bright laugh. I know it well by now. Even with everything all screwed up, his laugh makes the world feel light and effortless.

I follow Pete into the room. Tom's eyes catch mine. They're filled with surprise. And something else. He's nervous.

"Didn't think you were coming, kid." He shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Damn. I was hoping she was Peter's new girlfriend." The woman on the hospital bed laughs. She pushes herself up and extends her hands. "I'm Ophelia."

She's in her late fifties, maybe a little older. Her short hair is electric blue. She's not particularly tall or broad, but she's a presence.

Pete jumps in. "Mom, no one calls me Peter."

"Unless they follow it with Parker." Tom laughs.

"Don't tease your brother. He looked handsome in those thick black glasses." She smiles. "Why wouldn't you want to be Spider-Man, honey? He's one of the least obnoxious of those super heroes."

I shake her hand. "I'm Willow."

"Drew's little sister," Tom adds. "You remember Drew?"

"Please, Thomas. You think I'm going to believe that you're spending time with a beautiful woman, and you aren't sleeping with her?"

Tom cringes. "Is this the time?"

"Sex is life, sweetheart. It's always the time. I've fucked plenty of beautiful women. It's not going to shock me that you're sleeping around," Ophelia says.

Fucked women? "You're gay?" I cover my mouth with my hand. Shit. It's not like she has spots. But no one mentioned it.

"Yes. A good thing too. Men can't handle a nipple-less fake tit."

Pete and Tom turn various shades of red. Ophelia motions to their embarrassment as if it's proving her point.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she says. "This isn't appropriate getting to know you conversation. I'd love to blame the twelve hours without food or water or the pre-surgery jitters, but—"

"She's always like this," Tom says.

"I hope you're not that rude to your girl... what are you kids calling it nowadays?" she asks.

I bite my tongue.

Tom is equally unable to get words out.

Pete and Ophelia exchange a knowing look.

She raises a brow. "Peter, you should keep a better eye on him."

Pete laughs. "He moves too fast."

"I'll bet." Ophelia shakes her head. She looks to me. "What do you do, sweetheart? You don't strike me as the groupie type."

"I'm a photographer," I say.

"Any good?" she asks.

"Don't be rude," Tom says.

"No, it's fine. I'm pretty good," I say.

"She's going to start a business. Doing headshots. And boudoir." Tom smiles.

He looks proud. He shouldn't be speaking for me, but he looks so fucking proud.

Everything is light again. I press my heel against the wall for balance.

"Boudoir, really? How much do you charge? I'd love to immortalize my one good tit."

Pete and Tom turn even darker shades of red.

I jump in before one of them dies of embarrassment. I like Ophelia. A lot. "I'd be happy to do it as a gift to your family. Tom and Pete have been really great to me. But there's a good chance I'll be out of town for the next six months."

"Oh?" she asks.

"I was offered a job as an assistant photographer on another tour. It starts in two weeks," I say.

Tom's expression darkens but he doesn't say anything.

"With Hazel?" Pete asks. "That's great, Willow. She's a legend."

"You should schedule a session with her before she leaves," I say. "She's dying to shoot nudes of you. I bet she'd do it just for your personal collection."

Pete smiles smugly.

Ophelia is not at all embarrassed. "You should, Peter. It's important to be proud of your body, even when it's..." The joy falls off her face. She reaches for a tissue. "Excuse me."

Both the guys rush to her side to comfort her. She waves them away.

"Stop fussing." She folds the tissue into a tiny ball and drops it in her lap.

I press my back against the wall, unable to come up with any words of comfort that don't feel hollow. Tom and Pete shift the conversation to easier topics, memories of silly fights and non-sexual band antics.

I add to the conversation when I can. Mostly, none of the attention is here in the room. We're all off someplace full of dread and worry.

By the time the nurse arrives to finish prepping Ophelia, we're down to discussing crime TV shows. The Closer is a favorite of Ophelia's. I've never seen it, but Tom assures me I'd like the take no shit lead detective Brenda.

"Five minutes, Ms. Steele." The nurse steps out of the room.

Ophelia keeps up a strong facade but the worry is written all over her face. She pulls Tom close enough to whisper. I'm not family. I need to give them space.

"Excuse me. Good luck." I take a step towards the door.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Her face floods with relief. "Will I see you tonight?"

"Depends on how well Tom treats me this afternoon."

She smiles.