“So how was the concert last night?” Jack O’Brien, my best friend since college, asks me.

We’re kicked back at his house in Darien, where he’s a partner in a lucrative medical practice.

Taking a sip of bourbon, I contemplate the answer. “It was…intense? I guess that’s the right word.”

Snorting into his glass, Jack takes a quick drink. “Somehow, I can’t imagine a country concert being intense. I still don’t understand how you listen to that garbage.”

I shrug. I wasn’t always a fan, but there’s something incredibly beautiful in the words hitting your gut when you’re thousands of miles away from home. I refuse to explain it again to a man who believes in buying suits handmade in London for his office hours. “I just do.”

“Whatever. Explain what you mean by intense. I’m sure there were enough women there to bang that you went home a happy man last night.” His crudity rubs me the wrong way, and I frown at him.

“Actually, I was home relatively early. We were backstage for a while after the show, but—” I’m interrupted when Jack’s glass clinks down on the table next to him.

“What the fuck do you mean you were backstage? And you didn’t invite me? What was it, some family connections that got you back there? Jesus.” His voice is bitter. Jack grew up in a single-parent household. Although we’ve been friends a long time, and the legacy of my family’s money shouldn’t matter, it occasionally bleeds through.

I begrudgingly admitted my lineage to him our freshman year, after he said I looked familiar. I’d campaigned for my grandfather a few years earlier, but surprisingly, I was recognized in the highly populated Connecticut college I’d chosen to attend on scholarship versus one of the Ivy League schools my family had handpicked for me. Jack had shrugged and moved on. Over the years, I’d shared a great deal about my past, but I’d never shared what kept me from returning to my family.

Especially the abusive, narcissistic bastard who’d fathered me.

Hunts aren’t soldiers. We make the weapons for soldiers. Hunts don’t do the actual fighting. We stand beside the war-torn men in photo ops to show how much our technology improved the outcome. Hunts are shallow. Hunts aren’t loyal.

Except for me.

“What? Not going to tell me the details about backstage? Plan on keeping the good details to yourself?” Jack’s snide comment pulls me from my woolgathering.

“Not much to say, other than we had incredible seats. Corinna got called up on stage where Brendan Blake dedicated a song to her, and—”

“Wait. Hold up. Brendan Blake called that cunt up on stage? What the fuck for?” Jack’s incensed.

I can feel my temper flaring. While I appreciate Jack’s loyalty, he has no real idea what really went down between me and Corinna. Probably because I don’t either. All he knows is that I’ve been miserable without her in my life. I sent her letter after letter for years, and she never responded to any of them.

Not a single one.

While a large part of me doesn’t understand how she could read my words and not acknowledge them, I have to admit, something Keene said to me last night held a lot of punch. I really don’t know her anymore.

The problem is, I still feel pulled to her.

“Yeah. Turns out they’re close friends.”

Jack chortles. “I just bet.”

I frown. “Brendan’s girlfriend was there, asshole. Apparently, Corinna helped him win a charity competition.”

Jack waves his hand to cut me off. “Like I care about that.”

“You should,” I retort. “It has to do with a kids cancer research program.” Even though our past is still riddled with so many blanks, I am so proud of what Corinna managed to do.

“Oh.” He swallows his drink. “I guess that’s great, then.” Quickly changing the subject, he asks, “So, how’s the job? Pry into anyone’s past you shouldn’t have yet?” His bellow of a laughter pulls out one of my own.

I snicker. “Not yet, but I’m sure you’ll be first on the list.”

We both crack up and proceed to drink well into the night.

Later in bed, I try to make sense of the changes in Corinna.

She was everything—beauty, grace, and a warm heart in the wasteland of my college career. Shy to the point of debasement, she never grasped how utterly beguiling she was. Is. Damn.

I don’t know what changed between us. If we’d had some kind of argument, some blowup, I’d have understood the change in who we were. I broached the topic with Ali when I saw her in passing at Hudson one day. After the anger smoothed out of her expression, she said, “That’s something you’d have to address with Corinna, Colby.” And then she just walked away.

The only problem with that is Corinna has succeeded in avoiding me.

I just want to understand why. Why did she abandon me? Us? What did I say? What did I do? Did she finally understand my feelings for her were so far beyond friendship, and that was her way of showing me she wasn’t interested?

Rolling over, I punch my pillow in frustration. I’ve spent years trying to figure out where we went wrong. The problem is, the person who knows the answers not only holds the lock, she holds the key too.

I think about what I didn’t share with Jack with respect to what really went on backstage. Partially because I’m ashamed of myself, and he’d never accept why I was so affected by it.

My focus last night was locked on Corinna, and not the mega country star holding court with the rest of the Freeman family. I remember Brendan’s girlfriend making her way over to Corinna. The two women engaged in a staring contest. What I didn’t expect was for the world-famous fashion model, Danielle Madison, to grab Corinna into her arms and rock her back and forth like they were old friends.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder from behind. I turned to find Keene giving me his know-it-all smirk. “Give them a little privacy in this madhouse. They haven’t had a chance to meet with Brendan being on tour and then trying to be there for his nephew’s treatments.”

“Treatments?” I’d replied almost dumbly, letting Keene guide me away from where the two women were talking animatedly.

“No one told you the story?” Keene had stopped, surprised. His tone wasn’t condescending, which is almost a miracle for Keene. After running his hand over his dark hair, he’d inhaled sharply. “Wow. Okay. So, Cori was tagged to appear on an episode of Caketastic on the Food Network. It was a celebrity episode for charity. Her partner happened to be Brendan, who I might add is a horrible cook by his own admission. The rumor mill is that he went on the show to provide a spotlight for the University of Washington. He was never expected to win. I’m still not certain what happened, but I know that woman there”—he nodded toward Corinna—“doesn’t give up. Ever. On anyone. She knew what buttons to push to get them through the finals. They whipped the pants off everyone. Brendan matched Food Network’s $50,000 donation live on the air. I know Corinna’s trying to do the same by refusing to take money for any cake she makes for children under the age of eighteen. She was really affected by the whole experience.” Keene took a swig of the beer he was holding.

“From there, Brendan and Cori remained friends. She started sending cupcakes once a week to Seattle. First to the kids and then to the entire floor where Joey Blake is based.” Keene finished his beer. While he looked around for a place to dispose of the bottle, it gave me a chance to process his words.

Corinna was on the Food Network? At one point, I was so close to the Freemans, someone within the family would have called and told me so I could have watched it. At the very least, taped it. Now? Nothing.

“All because someone got sick?” I’d murmured.

Keene nodded. “Bet your ass. We’re so proud of not only her beating the pants off some major stars, but all the hard work she’s put in since then at the office. Ali told me today that Phil double booked her for all of next week. She hasn’t had a day off in six months since she appeared on TV.” Keene looked over to where Dani, Cori, and Brendan were all standing. “Cori’s been amazing. She’s so fucking loyal to those she loves without asking for more than their respect.” He shook his head. “Anyway, what did you think was going on?” Keene’s a perceptive son of a bitch.

I shifted uncomfortably. “I just knew what I saw from the stage.”

Keene’s patented smirk appeared. “Cori and Brendan Blake?” He started laughing before he realized I hadn’t joined in. His expression hardened. “You might have known her before, but did you ever really get her?” Keene brushed past me before I could speak a word in my own defense.

Taking a pull from my own beer, I felt like the odd man out. Everyone was chatting in small little groups either about the concert or genially about nothing at all. I was about to move over toward Jason and Phil, when I heard a whistle from the center of the room from the man of the night.

Brendan Blake.

“Hey, Cori! If my woman is done yakking your ear off, how about y’all come on down here for a moment,” Brendan called out from where he was now sitting with an acoustic guitar in his lap.

Funny, she had no problem getting up on stage, but Dani had to drag a protesting Corinna to the center of the room to the empty chair next to Brendan, who was ignoring the shenanigans while he tuned his guitar. Something special was about to happen underneath the twinkling lights of the tent.

When the room went silent, Brendan started speaking. “It’s rare when you find someone who makes magic just by existing. A person who brightens your day with just a smile.”

Corinna blushed next to him. “Brendan, please. This isn’t necessary.”

“It is for me so, hush your mouth.”

Corinna bit her lower lip, a habit she never used to have, I absently noted. Brendan continued. “The woman sitting next to me wasn’t born into a family that appreciated her, but she found one that did.” His eyes left Corinna’s and swept the room, locking on each of the Freemans. They all nodded. Ali was wiping her eyes as she mouthed to Corinna, “Love you.”

Corinna’s eyes started to fill, and her head dropped before she nodded.

“Hey, none of that. You hold your head up high, girl.” Brendan’s voice got tight for a minute. He was having a conversation with Corinna alone in a roomful of people.

“Okay,” she said shakily.

“You tell her, Brendan!” Ali shouted from the cradle of Keene’s arms. Brendan’s smile widened.

“I plan on doing better than that, Ali.” He strummed his guitar. The room inhaled collectively, me included. “Anyone here ever hear of an amazing songwriter named Toby Lightman?”

“Oh God,” Corinna whimpered. Dani squeezed her shoulders, keeping her in place.

“Before a compassionate hand drags you out of the hardest moments of your life, you sometimes forget how to do this.” And without further words, Brendan Blake, mega country star, faced Corinna and started singing the song “Breathe In” from the depth of his soul.

The only sound around the room was the sound of sobbing from various people, namely the Freemans. The song wasn’t just about love; it was about hope. It was about finding the last hand in the darkness who was unwilling to let you go and that pulled you back into the light. When the song ended, the room burst into cheers. But it was Cori’s reaction I’d never forget.

Even as tears fell down her perfect cheeks, the light emanating from Corinna gutted me. Her golden eyes were incandescent, not the muddy brown color I see when she looks at me. I was about to escape, knowing I had no right to be in that tent, when Corinna said, “Brendan, this is possibly the most beautiful gift I’ve ever been given.” I turned slightly to see him lean forward and rub his cheek against hers.

It was like a punch directly to the gut. Years ago, she’d looked at me the same way when I handed her the keys to my dorm. I remember her saying something similar to me back when I felt like she was my sunrise and I was her moon—when we lit the corner of each other’s days and nights. When I told her I’d keep her safe no matter what. Now, I’m lucky if I get a cryptic message like the one I got from her yesterday if she speaks to me at all.

The years we spent together mean less to her than a few months she’s known a stranger she’s done no more than cook and chatted with. How could the laughter we shared mean less than that? How could the secrets we told each other not be remembered? How could the nights I held her not have pumped her heart faster the way it did mine?

Fuck. Rolling over in bed, I wish I could remember the last time Corinna smiled and laughed with me the way she did with Brendan Blake.

Because I miss it. I miss her. I miss what we had.