W illa’s diner was a hole in the wall place on the outskirts of Memphis, right off I-55 south. We were a five-bus caravan, with two black SUVs flanking the front and back. But the diner was set back from the service road, and the open pasture next to the parking lot accommodated the large crew. Inside, Dash led me toward the back of the diner, to a red pleather booth by the wall of windows. The floors were black and white checkers, likely a throw back to when the place had been constructed, and the counters were a gold Formica edged in silver. Lars, Dash’s beefy German-looking bodyguard with short white-blond hair and a ruddy complexion pulled down the blinds, then waved us into the booth, standing two tables away to block off anyone other than the wait staff so we wouldn’t be bothered .

It was a little ridiculous, the security and privacy, a fact I made well known when I glanced behind me, waving to Isaiah and Lou, both of whom laughed at the gesture, but waved back. I turned forward, looking at Dash, shaking my head at his somber little frown .

“What?” he said, leaning on his elbows. He moved his head to the right, watching his band and crew as they huddled on the other side of the nearly empty diner. “Would you rather sit with them ?”

I made no comment, keeping to myself that I hadn’t spoken a single word to Isaiah or anyone else in the band since Landon sent that little “off limits” set of rules per Dash’s instruction. It was juvenile and petty for him to ask me to keep away from them, but I’d let the giant baby have his way. It was his ballgame .

“Do you want to continue?” I asked, pulling my laptop out from my messenger bag, nodding to the open document I’d saved during our last hour ride on the bus. Dash had spent most of the day in his bunk, clearly working on a song that was giving him trouble. When my knock cut through the cursing and the same melody he seemed unable to move past, he’d flung the door wide, giving me ample view of his naked chest, low rise jeans, scruffy beard and disheveled mound of hair sticking out at all angles. He had to clear his throat to pull me out of my obvious gawking—God that chest hadn’t been nearly as wide at eighteen—and I hurried to make an excuse .

“You’re stuck and I’m bored. Wanna start this interview ?”

He’d agreed, but, had been evasive at best; giving one-word answers with no elaboration. I’d hoped the meeting with the kids this morning had softened him, made him a little more eager to open up, but the day, so far, had been a bust .

He stretched out, legs on the seat next to him as he rested against the window. “Depends on the information you’re willing to give up yourself.” Dash moved a silver Zippo lighter around his fingers, opening and closing, the sound coming close to a rhythm that set my teeth on edge. “Because I’d like to know a few things .”

I sat back, nodding to the waitress, a middle-aged gray-haired woman wearing sensible shoes and a tight yellow and blue uniform that didn’t quite fit her. “I’ll have a cup of hot water and a tea bag if you’ve got one .”

“This is Tennessee, honey. Of course, we have tea.” She winked at me then shot a sweet smile at Dash. “And you? You want hot tea too ?”

“No ma’am,” he said, sitting up. At first he flashed a smile, something similar to the smolder, but seemed to think better of it. “I’ll have coffee and the number one.” He pointed to the laminated menu and a meal of sunny side up eggs and a rasher of bacon .”

“You hungry?” the old woman asked me, like she knew me well and hadn’t spent no more than a minute in my company, but I liked how familiar she was. I’d always loved the south and how friendly people were there .

“I’ll just take two waffles with maple syrup. Side of powdered sugar if you’ve got it .”

“No meat?” She looked a little surprised and tilted her head as though she expected me to change my order .

“I’m good with just waffles .”

“Suit yourself, honey.” She grabbed the menu and waddled off toward the kitchen .

“So?” Dash said, leaning on his elbows again. “You agree ?”

“Agree to what?” He flipped open the lid of the Zippo, then closed it, doing the action again and again. “You’re giving me a headache .”

He moved back, leaning against the booth, that Zippo still moving. “You give me info, I’ll give you honest answers .”

These were dangerous waters. If Dash knew the truth—the entire truth, then things could get dramatic and messy. But I doubted his cousin had given anything away after that night at his house. Jamie had been devastated. Isaiah had been guilty and I hadn’t been able to look at myself in the mirror for over two months. But what we’d done and why…those were two totally different things. Isaiah had asked me to keep the truth to myself and I had never been eager to spill the secret. Then Dash became an asshole and after I’d discovered him slinking out of Kylie’s hotel room, I’d decided he didn’t deserve to know the truth .

A slow, subtle glance over my shoulder, meeting Isaiah’s gaze, seeing the small head shake and I had my answer. Fine then. Truth, but not all of it .

“What info do you want?” I asked him, nodding to the waitress when she set a steaming cup of water in front of me. The tea bag was on the saucer, still closed and I took my time dunking the thing into the water. Dash, for his part, made a small ceremony of preparing his coffee—three sugars and creamer with a shot of whiskey from the flash in his pocket. He inclined it toward me, but stashed it in his pocket when I shook my head .

“Information…about Lager .”

That surprised me and I could tell, by the small smirk on his face that Jamie likely thought I expected questions about my life, maybe about the past and what I’d put him through. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I was hopeful for some jaunt down memory lane. That shit was done, the exits sealed off a long time ago .

“What could you possibly want to know about Lager ?”

He moved the coffee around his mug and a small drizzle inched over the rim and collected in the saucer below. Dash didn’t pay attention to his cup, deciding instead to watch my face, something I’d caught him doing a lot in the past couple of hours. He wasn’t flirting—I’d seen that often enough to know what that looked like, but he seemed somehow curious, less angry at me .

“You said this morning that you spent six hours with him in Paris at that pub.” I nodded, careful to keep my expression impassive. It would do no one any good to let loose anything remotely interesting Lager had told me. Dash, though, wanted details. The look of it moved around his eyes like a cloud. “What the hell did you and Lager talk about for six hours, chica? ” He smirked, this time trying to hide the expression behind his cup as he mumbled, “or did you get him away from that pub for something other than talking ?”

I slammed my hand against the table, the movement so quick and heavy that the salt shaker and creamer spilled over. Dash grabbed the small cow figurine holding the creamer, wiping it dry. “Dios , Iris …”

“Let’s get something straight,” I told him, waving off the waitress when she headed our way, dishtowel out, ready to help. She dropped it on the table and quickly turned on her heel. “You’ve got a lot of opinions and ideas about me and I know where they come from .”

He snorted, gaze shooting behind me, I guessed to Isaiah before he picked up the rag and sopped up the mess. “Si , I do …”

I grabbed his hand, stopping his small task because I wanted him to be man enough to look me in my eyes. It was long overdue, this discussion. “I broke your heart. I did something that no one who claims to be in love has any right to do. I was selfish and careless.” He’d gone perfectly still when I touched him, not retreating, no coiling away from me like I thought he would. Now Dash’s face paled, likely because I mentioned the thing he’d clearly never gotten over. “But I was eighteen. I was a kid, not much older than the ones we met today.” He exhaled, nostrils flaring until I pulled my hand back, resting against the back of the booth. “If you want to know the truth, I’ve had exactly four lovers in my life, including you and not one of them was Wills Lager .”

“That’s not any of my business .”

“No,” I said, cupping my tea just to keep my fingers still. “It’s not, but you have a habit of assuming I’m a whore. Not just assuming, but announcing to the world that I am .”

“Iris…”

I shook my head, quieting him instantly. “Despite what you think, I’m not just doing this to get back what you wrecked. I’m doing this because I promised Lager I would. I’m doing this for a dying man .”

“Why?” Dash’s face relaxed and he pushed aside the rag, forehead wrinkled up as though he hadn’t heard me right. “What the hell does Lager have to do with an interview about me ?”

“Lager thinks you have potential. He thinks you could be great .”

Dash laughed, tossing back his coffee. “I am great .”

“You were,” I said, shutting down his humor with two words. Dash moved his back teeth together and his jaw moved. It reminded me of gears shifting, an engine at the ready to take off. “When you first started. When the music still mattered. When the show wasn’t about make-up and theatrics and what a bunch of suits thought was popular, yeah. You were great .”

“The fuck do you know about it?” He sounded bitter, childish .

“I learned at your feet, if you recall. Four years discovering every obscure artist we could get our hands on. Four years digging through old records and sneaking off to Chicago and Indy to hear bands no one ever heard of because we caught wind of a song or sound that got underneath our skin.” I leaned forward, blocking out the noises around us, disregarding the sound of chatter and the low hum of bad country music on the overhead stereo. “You remember that…Jamie?” I whispered the name like it tasted sweet on my tongue and he didn’t correct me. “You remember how it felt to hear something magical? To play it? To have that same magic come out of your fingers? From your mouth ?”

He watched me for a long time and I wondered what we looked like just sitting there, staring at each other—me leaning forward, my fingers flat against the table surface, his curled around a Zippo that he held tight against his palm. We’d been in love once, a lifetime ago, but before that, before the sex and heat and wild, manic passion, there had been the music. It had bonded us closer than blood. Somewhere along the way, we forgot that .

“I remember,” he finally said, dropping the lighter on the table. He went on watching me, silent, and I wondered what he thought about then. What memory had taken over his attention as he went on silently watching me .

“Lager does too.” My tea had gone lukewarm, but I drank it anyway, hoping that music would take control of the conversation, not…other things. “He said you were one he watched. He had reasons, mainly because he said you had so much raw talent .”

“Had?” Dash asked, nodding for the waitress to bring him another coffee .

“Yeah. Had .”

He muttered his thanks when she topped off his cup, adding the sugar and less creamer this time until the dark liquid became warm brown. “Doesn’t think much of me now ?”

I didn’t answer immediately, had to sort out the words so they weren’t insulting. Lager hadn’t held back, not from anything and I shouldn’t either, not after all the shit Dash had leveled at me, but I remembered the music and the boy who loved it. I remembered his voice so raw and sweet. I remembered the joy I saw in him every time he played, how Dash Justice hadn’t worn that expression in so long and I decided to push down my anger. I decided to suffocate my hate if only for this one conversation. I’d made a promise to a dying man. I was damn sure going to keep it .

“He thinks you’re lost. He thinks you need a little direction .”

“And you’re the one …”

“I never said I was the one.” My eyes burned a little when I closed them, and I rubbed the lids, trying to alleviate the ache. “Lager read an article I did a while back .”

“Ah. That one .”

“Umhm.” I looked out the window, trying to distract myself, fumbling through thoughts to get myself straight, to make myself calm. Dash had definitely read the article. He’d gone on about it and then blasted the media in his shows afterward. “That one. The one that inspired your little super bitches rant.” He blinked, mouth opening, before he shook his head, then laughing when I shot him the bird. “People talk. You can’t keep shit quiet when the ten thousand people you’re playing for have ten thousand smart phones .”

He laughed harder, shrugging before he waved me off. “The article was…” I jerked my attention toward him, narrowing my eyes. I suspected an insult was coming, but Dash only shrugged, waving his fingers like he struggled for the right words. “It was good.” He laughed when I shot my eyebrows up, surprised at the weak compliment. “What? I can’t say something nice ?”

“Not about me .”

Dash lost all expression in his features and it reminded me of him as kid, looking young, seeming surprised when he leaned forward trying to kiss me and I didn’t push him away. “You think I have nothing good to say about you ?”

I tilted my head, gaze sharp. I didn’t trust him, not at all, but I saw something just then that I hadn’t seen in Dash for a long time—worry. It didn’t belong on his face, not when he looked at me .

“You’re serious?” He sat back, one arm stretched back along the back of the booth. When he didn’t answer, went on looking innocent and surprised, I started humming the tune to 1221. That shock vanished from his features, and he shook his head. I wasn’t sure if the movement was about my sins or his .

There was a brief pause in the conversation when the waitress returned, serving us our food with a speed I was surprised she managed. Could be she felt the tension around our table. Could be she’d discovered who Dash was and didn’t much care for him. Many didn’t. Whatever the reason, she hurried giving us our food and then sped away without questioning if we needed anything else or if she’d missed something .

I looked down at my waffles, my mouth watering, and reached for my fork, pulling back only a knife. Behind me the counter was empty of guests and wait staff. Beyond that, on the other side of the diner, Isaiah and Lou were laughing at something Landon said, and otherwise acting like they were enjoying their meals .

“Qué pasa?” Dash asked, not waiting for me to answer before he slipped from the booth, darting behind the counter to grab a few napkins and a fork for me. “Here,” he said, offering me the utensil, not really paying much attention to my nod of thanks until my fingers slid against his, an accidental brush of skin that had us both stopping .

It felt like that first time. The first touch, back in Willow Heights when Jamie picked up my pen and his large fingers went around my knuckles. No lightning bolts this time, but something sweeter; like a dream I’d had a long time ago and was only just remembering .

“Thanks,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. Just then I decided not to look at him, pretending to be focused on my waffles. He watched me again; that heavy stare, the slow rake of his gaze over my skin felt like a lick, like a breeze I couldn’t see but knew was there .

I hated him, I reminded myself. He’d destroyed me. Destroyed everything I’d worked to build. Forcing that little mantra on repeat, I hurried through my mind, trying to tell myself he wasn’t watching, that even if he was, it didn’t affect me in the slightest .

That wasn’t my nipples hardening at the reminder of how he looked this morning all tussled and gorgeous. My pussy wasn’t clenching, and I wasn’t thinking of the long, deep lines of muscle over his abdomen or the large round curves of his chest as he stood in the doorway of his bunk, arm resting on the jamb, free hand working through his thick hair, waiting on me to tell him why I pestered him .

“You know,” he started, swallowing his bacon before he finished. “I do feel like an asshole for that song .”

“You should,” I said, slicing pieces of waffle, concentrating on the sprinkling of powdered sugar drowning in syrup in each square .

I stopped hacking away at my waffles when Dash brought his hand across the table and grabbed my wrist. For a second, I couldn’t breathe, somehow forgot how my lungs were supposed to work .

I hate him, I repeated to myself, closing my eyes when he took my hand .

“I mean it .”

Do I pull away from him? Do I shrug, blow off his half-assed apology and move on with the interview? Do I run from the diner and forget this whole thing ?

“Iris…” he said, voice even, calm. “You don’t believe me ?”

I jerked my gaze to him, pulling out of his touch with a slowness I wasn’t sure was rude or not. “You haven’t apologized. Not once .”

“You need me to?” It wasn’t an insult, not the way he said it. The question seemed curious, his tone inviting, but I still held on to so much anger, so much resentment. Dash was infamous for saying one thing and doing another. I wasn’t about to fall into his web .

“What I need,” I said, downing my second cup of tea, “is for you to give me a real answer. I told you what Lager said, now you answer something for me .”

Dash sighed, pushing away his plate, gaze shifting from my face to the window at his left. “Fine, but I want to grab a smoke. Can we finish this on the bus?” He whistled, bottom lip tight and caught Landon’s attention, moving his finger in a “let’s finish up” wave .

“You’ll be honest?” I asked, watching him extract his wallet and way too much cash to cover the entire crew’s bill with at least a hundred left over .

Dash worked his jaw again, as though he needed to pause, take a second and weigh the truth and something resembling what he thought I might want to hear. “The truth is a myth, chica . You should know that. You’re in the business of making up whatever truth falls in line with your story .”

“I don’t lie .”

Dash nodded, his frown steady. “Well, I’m not in the habit of being honest with anyone. Not unless it’s someone I trust.” The insult was silent, but I understood. In fact, I respected it .

“You and me, Dash, we are a lot more alike than you think .”

It was the wrong thing to say. That much I knew as soon as he stood, reaching in his back pocket for a plastic tie to pull his hair off his face. He looked to the front of the diner, nodded at whoever called to him, but didn’t move .

“No, chica. We aren’t .”