The wind rustles the bushes. The freeway hums with the steady flow of traffic. A car pulls into a parking space and its engine turns off.

Tom stares at me.

Silent.

My heart pounds against my chest. It's so loud and he's so quiet.

I pinch myself to check that I'm awake. Still in the sunshine, on the concrete outside some clean Orange County hospital.

Still breathing.

"You should probably respond, or I'm going to start to believe what Drew said about you playing me," I say.

Tom blinks. "You can't love me."

It's like I'm punched in the gut. Air rushes out of my lungs. I have to dig my heels into the concrete to manage any balance. How can he believe that, much less say it?

Still, he stares at me, silent.

"I do love you," I say.

"You just think—"

"I don't think anything. I know I love you. I feel it everywhere. I can't breathe without feeling how much I love you. It knocks me over. Hell, look at me. I can barely stand up straight and I'm wearing Keds. There's no thinking involved."

"Willow..."

He looks sad. Like he pities me. My stomach clenches. Anything but pity. Even hate.

"I..."

I stare back into his eyes with as much strength as I can muster. "I want to stay and help with your mom, but I can't be around you unless I know you love me, too."

"No one has ever loved me before."

"That's not true. Your mom, Pete, they both love you so much. Drew and Miles, too."

He stares into my eyes. "You can't go. I'll be worried sick."

I take a step backwards. "I love you, Tom. I want to be your friend. But I can't do it right now. It hurts too much not being your everything."

"I don't know what to say."

"That's a first."

He half-smiles. "Willow, I want to. I do. But I—"

"Please don't finish that sentence. Just think about it and, whatever it is, tell me later." I step backwards. "You should be with your family right now. I'll see you—"

He reaches for me. "Don't go."

"I have to. If you care about me at all, you'll respect that."

"I do care about you. I just—"

"Stop. Please."

He nods with understanding.

My eyes sting. I squint, turn away from the sun. It doesn't help to keep the tear from rolling down my cheek.

The automatic doors swish open behind me.

"Tom, the nurse needs your—" Pete's voice drops as he spots me. He clears his throat. "Your number. Go give it to her."

"Not the best time," Tom says.

Pete shoots him a stern look.

Tom makes eye contact with me. He opens his mouth. It takes half a minute for him to speak. "I'll let you know how Mom is doing."

I shake my head. "Pete can do that."

Tom's expression sinks. "Don't do this, kid. I can't stomach losing you right now."

There's no stopping the tears from rolling down my cheeks. I choke back a sob. "It's not like that. I just—"

"I understand." Tom looks at the ground. His expression fills with frustration, but he nods, and he makes his way back into the hospital.

"You want me to drive you home?" Pete asks.

I shake my head. "You should be with your mom."

"I'll call you a car."

* * *

It's late afternoon when I arrive at Drew's place. I check my makeup with my cell phone camera. There's some smudging but my eyes are no longer I've been sobbing red.

Drew answers the door. His expression fills with concern. He takes my suitcase and pulls me into a hug. "Do I need to kill him?"

"No."

"Should I make an appointment with my tattoo artist for tomorrow or do you need more time to pick out a design?"

"How about the day after tomorrow." I try to laugh but it comes out as a muffled sob.

"Crash and Coco Bandicoot?"

This time, the sound I make is more laugh than sob. Fifty-one/forty-nine but I'll take a single percentage point. "No thank you."

"You do have a thing for blonds."

I swat Drew. "You're not making this easier."

"Mario and Luigi?"

"Who gets Mario and who gets Luigi?"

He points to himself. "Green Yoshi." Then to me. "Pink Yoshi."

"You're fucking with me."

"Maybe." He shrugs. "Spryo the Dragon and Toothless?"

"They're not from the same universe."

"Says who?"

I laugh. "No video game characters."

"Toothless and Hiccup."

"If I get Toothless."

"No way! I want Toothless. How about Batman and Batgirl?"

"Now, I'm sure you're fucking with me."

He laughs and leads me inside. "Come on. I'm teaching Kara how to make shrimp scampi. You can oversee the veggie version."

"Okay."

"You sure I don't need to kill him?"

"Positive."

* * *

My contribution to the cooking process involves suggesting vegetables then plopping on the couch by myself. Drew and Kara take turns cooking and attempting to console me. I stream How To Marry a Millionaire and get lost in the back and forth between the charming movie stars.

Dinner doesn't have a taste. My thoughts fill with concerns about Ophelia. And about Tom. His words were as good as a rejection, and I'm still worried about him. I dig my phone out of my purse, but Kara steals it.

"Don't text with a broken heart, sweetie." Kara turns my phone off. She motions to the couch. "Let's play a game."

"Yeah, how about Crash Team Racing? I'll let you pick the first track," Drew says.

They're trying but all I can feel is the pity in Tom's eyes when I told him I loved him. Like he thought I was pathetic for loving him. Like he thought I was a fool.

A game is a good idea. Anything besides thinking. I take a spot on the couch while Drew digs out an ancient PlayStation. There are only two controllers, so Drew and Kara take turns facing off with me. Drew and I used to play this game all the time when we were kids. I pick it up quickly. Him too. Kara not as much, but she laughs every time she accidentally drives off the edge.

We play for hours. Until we all know the game backwards and forwards. I try to leave but Kara insists she needs my help baking a cake. My help consists of sampling batter and instructing her to add more chocolate chips. It's something. A cake with insufficient chocolate isn't worth eating.

When we're finished, I excuse myself to the spare bedroom and collapse on the dark comforter. The room is sparse. No decorations on the walls, no clothes in the closet, no goodies in the dresser. The only thing in here is one of Drew's guitars and God knows I don't want to face him if I accidentally break it.

My computer is somewhere in my suitcase. There's no way I'll be able to resist the lure of checking on Tom through email or any of the half a dozen social media sites he manages for the band. Then there's his personal accounts. People who ask him to pose for a picture or sign an item of clothing tagging him... There might be a new picture. A clue to how he feels.

I'm already working myself into a tizzy. The computer is a bad idea.

I spend an hour pouring over the photos on my camera. Almost everything is wiped clean except for the last Sinful Serenade show. It's just as unwise looking at a dozen pictures of Tom that I took, but I try my best to look as a photographer and not a girl in love.

The pictures are good. The concerts are fun. Hazel is smart and talented. Working with her again is a great opportunity. But there's something lacking about it. There's nothing of me in these photos. They don't command me the way portraits or even headshots do.

Then again, I'm not sure how much energy I can muster to throw myself into photography sessions. I need to lick my wounds.

At this time of night, I might as well sleep on it. I find my pajamas in my suitcase, brush my teeth, wash my face. When I get back to the spare room, Kara is sitting in the bed holding a tablet.

She motions come here. "Close the door. This is our secret."

I do.

"Drew has no idea this exists. He never looks at gossip sites." Her expression gets bashful. "It's embarrassing how often I do." She navigates to something on the tablet and hands it to me. "This went live about an hour ago."

There's an article on a well-known gossip site. Tom and Pete Steele Fighting Over the Same Woman? Love Triangle To Break Up Alternative Rock Band Sinful Serenade.

There's a picture of me and Tom talking outside the hospital. And another of Pete consoling me after Tom walked away. What kind of asshole takes pictures of people outside a hospital?

The article is mostly conjecture about how I'm a home-wrecker, well, band-wrecker. There are other questions too, about why we're all at the hospital. Apparently, a so-called fan recognized Tom, snapped pictures on her cell phone, and sent them into the gossip site.

Kara plays with the edges of her cell phone. "Drew doesn't have to know about this."

"I don't care."

"But Tom has been texting me, asking what you want to do."

"Why is he asking you?" I set the tablet on the bed before I give in to the temptation to contact him myself.

"I told him your phone is off for the day." She taps something into her phone. "Anything he wants to say is going through me." Kara looks at me. "Whatever happens with the band, you and I are family. Even if Drew does something stupid to get himself killed or thrown in jail."

"You think he would?"

"He knows better." She shoves her phone back into her pocket.

"The guys are always teasing Drew that he'll never find anyone as good as you."

"He won't. Drew hates everyone. Except the people he loves. He's pretty black or white."

"They never tease Miles about not doing better than Meg."

Kara plops on the couch. "Miles doesn't take the bait. Drew is easy to rile up. Sure you noticed. But Miles would be just as lost without her. More even."

"You know, I hated you when we were kids."

"Really?"

"Drew was my only friend in San Francisco. And my ally against our parents. It felt like you stole him."

"Sorry about that. Can't say I regret it."

I push the tablet aside to sit next to her.

Her phone buzzes. She groans as she checks it. "Tom sounds really upset. But there's no way I'm letting him talk to you right now."

"He didn't do anything wrong. He can't help not loving me."

Sympathy fills her eyes. "Um. How do you want to spin the story?"

"I don't care. Tom can decide."

Kara taps her phone. "If he decides, it will be something about threesomes and bondage. And your name will get connected sooner or later."

"Probably sooner being the guitarist's innocent baby sister. It's a lot more scandalous with that detail."

"True." She looks at me. "Are you sure? I can fuck with him. Tell him to make the story about your secret love affair with Pete, how you two are hiding it from Tom because he is a much better lay."

"No thank you." I lie back on the bed and stare at the stucco ceiling. "Tell him not to spin it. To make it the truth. That I handed him my heart and he stared at it like it was a hand grenade."

Kara plops next to me. "Oh honey, I'm sorry." She taps a reply and tosses her phone aside. "Are you okay?"

I say nothing.

She's quiet for a minute. Eventually, she gets up and looks over my camera. "What have you been thinking about up here?"

"Only what I'm doing with my life."

"So no big deal?" She smiles.

"Yeah."

Her voice is calm, friendly. "What are your options?"

"Hazel, the band's photographer, offered me a job as her assistant on another tour."

"Or?"

"Or I can stay in LA and try to set up my own studio. Or a million other things."

Kara's text tone interrupts my train of thought. She stares at the phone with temptation in her eyes. It only takes a few moments for her to break.

"Oh." She presses her fingers into her phone. "Tom wants to take you somewhere tomorrow."

"Where?"

"He won't say. Only that it's important. And some bullshit about how you're both adults, and he should be having this conversation with you." Her voice drops to a mutter. "He's lucky he's not having this conversation with my boot."

A flutter of hope builds in my stomach. He wants to see me. That might mean he's figured things out.

"I can tell him to go fuck himself," Kara offers.

"No. I want to see him."

She purses her lips in distaste. "If you're sure."

"Tell him he has to get through Drew first."

She smiles. "That's quite the obstacle."

"He deserves to work for it."