My face distorts as I fight the pent-up emotions, shaking from my silent sobs as she lets me hear her pain with a choking cry.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to let two words slip past my swollen throat, letting them slip off my idle tongue that wants to tell her the truth, but the truth would not set her free, and Henna Eve Lane needs to fly. She needs to be free.

No matter where I am on this earth, I’m loving you … forever.

“I hate you.”

Hate me. But this time, hate me more than you love me. Then … let me go.

Henna lives with such passion. I used to think it was her youth, but it’s not. She’s going to say what she means no matter what. When she’s eighty, I’m certain she will live her life with an uncensored tongue.

“You’re going to be fine.”

She laughs out a sob. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The line goes dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Henna

One Year and Eight Months Later

Indio, California—Coachella

“Dad!” I fly out of the cab and run straight into my father’s arms. The festival goers around us stop and stare for a few seconds before funneling toward the entrance. “Finally!” I kiss him on the cheek just before he sets me back on my feet.

During my more than two years traveling the world, he only met up with me twice—in Germany a year ago and Ecuador last Christmas. Coachella is my last stop before I go back to Colorado after being gone for over two years.

“I stayed away from the sushi this time.”

“Good call.” I tuck myself under his arm as we make our way to the entrance.

“Kiddo, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“True.”

We hold out our bracelets to be scanned.

“But we’ll do that at the hotel later. Right now, it’s all about THE MUSIC!” I skip out in front of him and twirl in circles, my bracelets jingling, my hair whipping in the wind.

Dad chuckles. A few girls around us do a double take, but not because of me. My dad with his Marine-sculpted body, red hair, and crooked smile bears an uncanny resemblance to Kevin McKidd, Owen Hunt’s character from Grey’s Anatomy.

I don’t see it, but it’s probably true. It’s just that a few of my friends binge-watched the show and fell in love with Owen, so I can’t let there be a connection. It’s just too wrong.

For hours we drift from stage to stage. My dad is rock and roll to the core. He lifts me up on his shoulders, and I feel like his five-year-old daughter again, but at the same time I feel a dull pain from the past—my last time at Coachella and the shoulders that lifted me toward the sky.

I miss those shoulders. I miss everything about Bodhi Malone.

He obliterated my heart with one phone call. It took me a week to leave the hostel. It took me a month to find the strength to tell Juni without breaking down. But I’m certain it will take a lifetime to forget him. Glancing around, I can’t help but wonder if he’s here, working the lights and sound. Did Bella come home to stay with their dad for the weekend, or are Etta and Duke watching over him?

“I’m starving.” Dad drinks the rest of his bottled water as we shuffle out of the tent after the last concert of the night.

“Me too. Tacos?”

“Absolutely.” He wraps his arm around me.

“Ew … no.” I pull away laughing. “You’re a saturated sweat rag. Just … no.”

We take the shuttle back to the hotel and find the nearest restaurant still open and serving tacos.

“Margarita blended and two chicken hard-shell tacos.” I hand the waitress my menu.

Dad gives her his order then shakes his head at me. “Margarita blended. When did my little girl grow up? I can’t believe you’re old enough to order alcohol. For God’s sake, it feels like yesterday that you were OD’ing on fruit punch.”

I grin. “That’s just an age thing. I’m not sure how grown-up I feel.”

“Your mom and Zach spoiled you by funding your little hiatus from real life.”

Laughing, I roll my eyes. “Real life? I’m not even sure what that is anymore.”

“So what now, Henna? What are your plans?”

“Well, I met a woman in Greece who sells art to major home goods stores. She connects artists to retailers. A lot of retailers are looking for something that can be exclusive to them and limited print designs. Like she literally just happened to walk by me while I was perched on a bench sketching.”

“That’s fantastic.”

The waitress sets our drinks on the table.

“Yeah.” I take a sip of my margarita. “I’m not sure if that’s how I want my art to be sold long term, but for now, it could be a really great starting point for me.”

“Starting point? Henna, you’re going to have your art sold to potentially hundreds of thousands of people. That’s more than a starting point.”

I grin around my straw and shrug. He’s right. If I’m honest, my travels taught me a lot about life, the importance of connecting with other people, and taking chances even when they’re way out of your comfort zone. When I wasn’t dying over Bodhi for those two years and three months, I was living—like really living.

“So I’m going to call her when I get home. Home …” I shake my head. “I’m going home to a guest house and a very empty estate.”

“Yeah, Juni said they’d be in L.A. until September. Why don’t you go there? Surely there’s an extra bedroom.” He smirks. “Or you can stay with me. No extra bedroom, but you know you love my sofa bed.”

I roll my eyes.

Zach owns many homes. He purchased the one in Colorado for me. At least that’s what Juni said, but it’s her favorite place too. Most of the time, they’re in L.A., closer to the epicenters of their professional lives. I don’t hate L.A., but it’s not my Rockies.

“My favorite strain of marijuana can only be found in Colorado.”

“You’re full of shit.” He rolls his eyes. “Are you really still a pothead?”

“Pothead? Thanks, Dad.” I suck down more of my margarita. “I’m really still in pain if that’s what you’re asking, but I’ve found other ways to deal with it out of necessity and lack of medical marijuana available during my travels.”

“I’m extremely grateful I didn’t get the phone call that my only daughter is in some third-world country’s prison on drug charges.”

“Yeah, well, me too.” I giggle, gathering my hair off my neck and leaning back to stretch. It’s been a long day. As I release my hair and straighten my back, my gaze falls over my dad’s shoulder to the bar.

My heart stops. Completely, emergency brake, brick-wall stops.

Bodhi.

He laughs before taking a drink of what looks like water. The blonde next to him talks animatedly with her hands in the air, then she leans toward him, laughing hard as she balances by putting her hand on his leg.

I knew coming home might involve seeing him again. I’ve both dreaded it and craved it. As I sit here, I don’t even know what my heart is feeling because it’s simply idle in my chest. Maybe it’s waiting for my brain to process all that’s happened over the past three years since I met Bodhi in this same city.

“What are you looking at?” Dad turns, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

Nothing? Is that a lie? Are Bodhi and I now nothing? I don’t know because a lot happened after that phone call. When I managed to crawl out of my dark hole, I lived.

I lived in constant motion, immersing myself in my surroundings, always looking for the next adventure. I lived in the laughter of new friendship, and sometimes … I lived in the arms and the beds of other men.

But not once did I ever want their names carved beside mine in a fallen tree trunk above my creek in Colorado.

“Is nothing the blond guy?” Dad turns back around. I told him about Bodhi and Mr. Malone, minus the stair sex and blowjob in his office at school.

I didn’t even tell Juni those details. She knows there was sex and other “intimate acts,” but no matter what name I give her, my conscience will always see her as Mom. Does Mom really want to know what Mr. Malone tasted like going down my throat? I think not.

“Maybe,” I say cautiously, adjusting my chair so Dad blocks me if Bodhi looks our way.

“Do I need to kick Nothing’s ass?”

I grin, in spite of the pain. I grin because my dad’s never had that chance to be protective of me like this. He’s never confronted a date of mine at the door and threatened to castrate them for so much as looking at me for too long.

“No. But thanks for the offer.”

“It’s a standing offer.”

I chuckle, tipping my chin and stirring my drink with the straw.

The waitress brings our food, and because every hungry stomach in a restaurant homes in on out-coming food, Bodhi looks our way.

Two seconds.

I give him eye contact for two seconds. Possibly the longest two seconds of my life. And from the way the color drains from his face, I’m certain this is the first he’s noticed me.

“So … you dating anyone?” I ask my dad, vowing to not look in Bodhi’s direction again, even if I feel his heated gaze all over me.