W e drove all night, barreling down the highway like a caravan of Goth misanthropic maniacs hiding behind those midnight tinted windows. During the night the bus jarred me a couple of times and I rolled over, catching myself before I fell out of the bed, then returned almost immediately to sleep. Once or twice in my fit to get comfortable, I thought I heard the door slide open. I swore I saw the outline of someone standing there, watching, silent. It might have been Dash. It might have been some twisted fantasy I’d invented to excuse my reaction to him and all that kissing. Me and Dash. With the mouths and tongue and… Dash. Who I hated .

Right?

I didn’t see him much as we hit Nashville, but I did hear him from the other side of my closed door. Since that ridiculous display in the hallway, I wanted to avoid him. I didn’t leave my room until I knew he’d gone out. Peeking out of the window I’d spotted the massive grass park of the Ascend Amphitheater. Seats had already been erected for the show and the crew had begun to assemble the set. I’d moved closer to the window, squinting, wondering if that was a running trail I spotted, or at least something I could use for one, then stupidly jerked back from the window when I spotted Dash walking away from the bus. He and Isaiah, both donning huge shades that obscured their faces, walked toward the stage, cupping their hands over the cigarettes they tried to light .

I’d picked up my phone, texting Landon to send Clay to me. I needed a run, especially after that ridiculous display with Dash the night before. He’d been drunk, I’d reasoned. I promised myself that it was the adrenaline, still pumping in my veins that had me so willing to attack him like he wasn’t the asshole responsible for my present ruination .

Which, just to recap, now included a score of gossip blogs posting pictures of me backstage; me in my workout gear talking to Landon before I climbed onto Dash’s bus. Those bastards moved fast and had invented a lot of untrue bovine fecal matter that had caught on in no less than twelve hours and had been picked up by bigger media entities. Blotter , especially seemed to be having fun with the story of the jaded ex-girlfriend desperately clinging to the rock god high school boyfriend who shamed and humiliated her. I avoided the internet altogether when a ridiculous piece went live, this one on Gawker about my supposed sub/dom relationship with Dash .

Clay and I ran twice as long in Nashville, and I’d managed to spend the rest of the day writing and editing the pictures I’d spent most of the tour taking. Happily, I’d returned to the bus before the show ended and managed to keep away from Dash altogether. The man in question, though, hadn’t forgotten about me or done much to avoid me. Just this morning, as we pulled into Atlanta, he knocked on my door, which I ignored, then congratulated myself for remembering to lock it the night before and when the handle turned .

Dash’s sigh was loud, frustrated, but he didn’t speak. “Landon,” I heard him call, his voice lowering as he moved away from the door. “Check on her, si ?” And then footsteps moved through the bus and the door slammed shut .

Five minutes later I heard another knock and a quiet, “Ms. Daine?” Landon stepped back when I slid open the door, sweet smile widening when he spotted me .

“Yes?” I said, wondering if Dash had told him what had happened that night in Memphis. But Landon’s smile wasn’t mocking, seemed in fact, friendly .

“Just wanted to let you know we’ll be here for a couple of days.” He nodded toward the window, letting himself inside my room to pull back the blinds. “Mr. Justice wanted me to tell you that you’ll have a room to yourself and that he’ll be out for most of the morning.” He turned, hovering near my door. “He’ll be available to sit for more questions at three if that’s a good time for you .”

My cheeks curved when I squinted and a warning sounded in my head as Landon’s words sunk in. “What gives?” I asked him, folding my arms .

“I’m…sorry ?”

“Why is he being so…accommodating?” The last I’d seen Dash he was grumpy and insulted, then acted like I was a tree he wanted to climb. I didn’t trust this open, cordial attitude, extended by his assistant .

“I apologize for asking, but isn’t that the reason you’re touring with us? To get this interview ?”

“Yes, but …”

“When you’re ready, you can check into the hotel.” The kid looked irritated, possibly insulted on Dash’s behalf, but remained polite as he fished his phone from his pocket, thumb working over the surface. “I’m texting you the confirmation number. You’re listed as Flora Loca under the Hector Wax register.” I snorted, making Landon twist his head to glance at me. “Is that a problem ?”

“No,” I said, waving him off. “It’s fine. Thank you, Landon .”

Four hours later I was relaxed, my limbs like rubber after a deep tissue massage Landon suggested I get. “This job does have some perks,” he’d said, nodding toward the spa door off to the side of the lobby as I waited for the front desk clerk to give me my key. “Everything is comped so you may as well take advantage .”

I had and left the penthouse elevator smiling, my mind calm, even though I knew Dash was down that lush, marble hallway. Even the sound of his voice, loud and pestered, didn’t move the smile from my face. I walked farther into the massive place, glancing at the chandelier, all gold and crystal and gaudy—something out of a Trump tower wet dream—coming closer to his raised voice .

Then, Dash mentioned me, specifically with a threat, and I stopped just in front of the foyer table that separated the space from the sunken living room where he stood in front of Clay, arms folded tight, held tilted as though he wanted to intimidate the marine but wasn’t having any luck at it .

“You need to tell me the truth. Is that what you do with Ms. Daine? Run? Nothing else? I’ll know if you’re lying, si ? I can tell.” Clay’s expression didn’t change, though I swore I could see him gritting his back teeth together behind his closed mouth. Dash seemed oblivious, then annoyed when the man didn’t respond. “She’s beautiful. Any pendejo can see that so I might not fire you if you couldn’t help — ”

“Are you serious with this shit?” I shouted, dropping my bag on the table behind the couch as I came into the room. Dash whipped around, eyes wide, mouth open as I came close. Both men were taller than me by at least a foot, but that didn’t intimidate me, or keep me from screaming. “You are such an asshole, you know that?” Dash didn’t seem insulted, he seemed, in fact, like he enjoyed the attention I gave him. A low, barely recognizable twitched moved across his bottom lip and he moved his thumb over it, holding his bottom lip. I didn’t care if he enjoyed my anger. I had too much of my own warming my stomach. “Clay, Mr. Justice is being a bastard. Ignore him, please .”

“There was another article in Blotter ,” Dash explained, waving toward his open laptop on the coffee table. “They took pictures of the pair of you jogging and you all…half naked.” When I glared at him, Dash stopped speaking .

“There is always another article, another ‘confidential informant’ or exclusive photo. Shit, Jamie, how long have you been at this? Who the hell cares ?”

He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, nodding at me, mumbling “well, si, but…well…,” before he looked up at the marine, automatically reaching for his wallet. “Sorry, acho. I just…” he glanced at me when I cleared my throat, stepping next to Clay so I could look directly in his eyes. Dash exhaled, head shaking as he pulled out a wad of hundreds. “Here.” He waved the cash at Clay, frowning when the man didn’t move. “Take the afternoon off and go catch a flick or grab dinner, workout, whatever the hell it is your soldier boy types do to relax .”

But Clay only blinked, his frown tightening the muscles around his square jaw before he glanced at me. There was a small plea in that expression .

“Take it,” I told Clay, grabbing the money from Dash’s hand. “He’ll only pout and bitch if you don’t, and trust me, you don’t want to stick around for that.” That frown deepened and I gave him a smile. “Chain of command, I get it. You want Landon telling you what to do since he hired you ?”

“No, ma’am. But this is…” he nodded at the money, glanced at Dash before he went silent. I figured Clay wasn’t sure who to call boss. Landon had done the hiring, but Dash was Landon’s boss, and I guessed the way Dash wilted just now—something highly out of character that I suspected was some sort of ploy—had me seeming like I had some semblance of command .

Dash’s face was tense when I looked at him, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of someone like Clay. Usually his people did what he asked, whatever he asked, but Clay wasn’t accustomed to the lifestyle or the excesses that surrounded these people. I nodded at Dash, gesturing toward the couch, and he got the hint, ambling away to flop onto the cushions. I led Clay into the foyer .

“I’m sorry, Ms. Daine, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to say,” he admitted, straightening his shoulders as I pressed the button to call the elevator .

“There’s nothing to hide, and Dash is just being a bastard because I haven’t spoken to him for a while. Trust me, this is not about you .”

Clay looked back into the living room where Dash rested his forearms on his legs, pretending to mess around on his laptop. But his gaze kept drifting back at me, head moving, then jerking away when I met his eyes .

“You two have history, Jose told me,” Clay admitted, rubbing the underside of his chin. “That’s not my business at all, but if you want me to stay …”

“No worries, really.” The elevator bell sounded, and I motioned for Clay to enter .

He turned to face me, automatically holding the Door Open button. It was sweet the way he worried, made me smile .

“Take off and make sure you call your woman. If Dash isn’t exaggerating, then she might see the pictures and think there’s trouble where none exists.” He again glanced over his shoulder, but then the elevator bell sounded again, and he faced me, returning the smile I gave him. “Really, don’t worry about him. I’ve been dealing with his moods since I was fifteen. He may have gotten bigger and a lot more obnoxious, but deep inside, he’s still that punk kid. Him, I can handle .”

* * *

D ash wasn’t himself. That much I knew by just watching him. The damn Zippo was back and he flicked the asinine thing open again and again as I pulled out my notes and searched for my interview doc. I adjusted against the couch, pulling the coffee table closer as I sat on the floor. Dash was next to me on the couch, leg moving in a nervous rhythm that made the cushions shake .

My fingers stilled over the keyboard when I looked to my left, eyebrows up as if to say, “do you mind?” before the shaking stopped .

“How long will this take, chica ?” Dash moved the lid open and shut open and shut and I inhaled, a headache already starting at my temples .

I didn’t look at him when I spoke, focused on the mass of folders over my desktop. I needed to get more organized. “You have somewhere better to be ?”

He fell back against the couch, slumping with his arm resting on his forehead as he leaned back. Dash waited three full seconds before the clicking started again, then stopped altogether when I shot a glare at him. He cleared his throat, leaving his seat to stand in front of the bar. “You want something to drink? I think there’s beer in the fridge .”

“I’m good,” I offered, finally finding the password protected folder under two mock up drives on my desktop. I’d been burned once before by snooping writers angling to see what I had in the queue. No way would I leave myself open for hacking with this interview. The folder was protected with an impossible to crack password, and so was the laptop itself .

“You don’t drink anymore either?” he asked, his voice drawing my gaze from the screen and to his face as he watched me, standing in front of the mini bar .

“Either?”

“You said you stopped smoking.” He mixed a Jack and Coke, swirling the liquid against the ice as he came back to the sitting area, this time taking the spot directly across from me in the plush, white armchair. Half the drink went down in one long gulp, then he exhaled as though the alcohol would take the keyed-up energy from his body .

“My mom got cancer .”

He paused, mid-drink, slowing moving the glass away from his mouth to watch me. “What ?”

I nodded, resting back against the couch, giving Dash my full attention. “They caught it early. Breast cancer. She opted for a mastectomy but still had to do chemo.” I shrugged, trying to deflect the seriousness of what the situation had been. “You sit around a bunch of people being pumped with poison in their veins, and I promise you, a cigarette is the last damn thing on your mind .

“I had no idea…” he started, leaning his forearms again on his legs .

“I didn’t think you made a habit of keeping up with anyone from Willow Heights.” I returned my hands to the keyboard, trying to ignore the look Dash gave me. It made my face flush. “Least of all me,” I muttered, knowing he heard me .

“Hey,” he said, moving the chair close enough to set his glass on the table. “If I’d known …”

“You wouldn’t have done anything.” He didn’t like my laugh or the way I waved off his frown. “Please. You hated me, remember? Unless something’s happened that I don’t know about, I was under the assumption that you still hated me or was that insulting song just a joke ?”

“Kind of .”

Now it was my turn to frown. “Ha. Fucking. Ha .”

Dash grunted, scrubbing his hand across his face before he rested his chin on his balled fist and watched me again. “How is she?” When I moved my eyebrows together, confused, Dash grinned. “Your mom .”

“Oh.” My laugh was quick, a little low, but Dash seemed to like it. That grin got wider. “She’s better. In remission. She finally finished her degree at Purdue and is working on her doctorate and…well, she wants to cut your balls off, sauté them in garlic and a dash of rosemary and stuff them down your throat, I’d imagine .”

He winced, but still laughed at the description. “So she feels the same about me. Noted .”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said, gaze following him as he got down on the floor, leaning on an elbow to sit next to me. “I think her fiery hate for you now is a bright, brilliant thing that would scorch the world .”

“Because of the song?” He held the glass in his relaxed hand, twirling the ice around its surface .

I nodded, bringing my knees to my chest. “Because of the song.” I shrugged again, internally debating how badly I wanted to make him feel. “I usually send her money, a few hundred every other week to help her make the rent. But, lately…well …”

Dash sat up, mimicking my posture by locking his fingers together as he moved his arms around his knees. His expression was grim, and a deep line appeared between his eyebrows as he watched me. Guilt was a funny thing, I’d lived with it for so long, I’d almost forgotten what it looked like on other people. I was reminded just then, watching him .

“But we’ll make it. She will,” I corrected, setting up a new line on the document. I slipped my glance to his face, frowning when I noticed it went unchanged. “Really, you shouldn’t worry …”

“I fucked everything up for you with that damn song, didn’t I?” I didn’t answer. There wasn’t any need. If he hadn’t picked up on that by my anger and attitude, then he never would despite my small little tale of woe .

My fingers flew across the screen as I typed out another question, this one with a little bite. I was counting on his guilt to open him up, get him to finally lower that wall that kept his truth locked tight from the world .

But Dash did something then that had me questioning the wisdom of this entire project. My plan had always been twofold: get the interview to take back some of the respect I’d lost being called Dash’s whore; and do Wills Lager the massive favor he’d drunkenly asked of me. Thinking of him and that conversation in Paris, I glanced down at the email icon, seeing the flashing notification of a new message. Lager was checking up on my progress. Of course, he was. There wasn’t much time, but I hadn’t responded. It wasn’t time. Not yet. Things with Dash were tenuous, and I knew if I mentioned Lager’s favor, Dash would see any kindness I showed him as a scheme—just the sort of thing he’d expect from the woman who ripped his heart to shreds .

I continued to type, backspacing to reword my question, but stopped typing altogether when Dash leaned forward, laying his palm over my hand. I shot a look at him, not sure what to make of the move; unconvinced that this wasn’t more of the same behavior the whiskey he drank had him doing on the bus with me against the wall .

But Dash didn’t seem drunk. There wasn’t even a faint hint of liquor on his breath. Still, he held my hand and watched me, gearing up for something that softened his features and kept the gruff rudeness from his face .

“Chica , I’m sorry. About…ay Dios mío , about your mom, the song…I’m just…I’m sorry.” Of all the things I’d expected Dash to say, “I’m sorry” wasn’t one of them. It took me several long seconds for the words to register. I’d know him a long, long time. Despite the years, the distance and who he was now, Dash wasn’t all that different when he was being real. There was still the same relaxed set to his eyes, still that soft, supple mouth unflinching, unmoving. It was the same now and despite my reservations, deep down, I understood that apology was well meant .

“Um…thanks,” I said, sounding stupid .

Dash nodded, shifting closer, his thick hair slapping against his face as he came to my side. He reached in his pocket, I guessed for a plastic tie, but came up empty-handed, then nodded, offering a quick “gracias ,” when I handed him the one around my wrist .

“I should also apologize for…the other night.” He rubbed the back of his neck, resting an elbow on his knee while he did so. “I’m not usually that drunk and, well, I gotta be honest. You fucking got under my skin .”

Feeling stupid and a little exposed, I waved a hand, like it was nothing; what I said, how we’d both acted, none of it matter really. But Dash didn’t buy it, that slow grin told me as much. Then he looked over me, and in my peripheral I saw his sharp appraisal, working over my bare shoulders, down to my black jeans. I felt undressed, bare, and I wasn’t sure why neither sensation seemed bad .

“Did you…did you like it?” he asked, a low, sweet laugh laced between those words .

“What?” I said, remembering a time a hundred years ago when he’d asked me the exact same question. That time there had been a kiss, the first, and my answer had been immediate and sure .

Dash lifted his fingers, small waves that made me guess he wasn’t sorry for asking before he moved his chin toward me, a silent push to answer him .

“I’m not going to dignify—” I cleared my throat, feeling heated, my cheeks warming, and Dash spotted it. That much I knew just be glancing his way .

“There it is,” he whispered, his voice a little awed .

What he was attempting, I had no idea. He’d told me Jamie was gone. That expression sure, confident when he left me alone in the hallway just after our rough kisses. But sitting a few feet away from me, I swore I could see a glimpse of Jamie around the cool Dash Justice edges. It would be so easy for me to believe him. I’d gone a long time reliving the life I’d had with Jamie, wishing things had been different, that we had been. Wishing I could go back and change who I was then and who I’d allow us to become. Everything led me to the decision that rocked our world. It led me to the heartbreak I’d delivered .

But I also remembered the bitterness in Dash’s eyes the night I discovered him leaving Kylie’s hotel room. I remembered the callous indifference in his expression any time the crowd begged him for more—when they wanted the performer. He gave them what he had, did it with a smile, with laugh and a groan and didn’t care that he hurt me in the process. He didn’t seem to care that every line of his song was another stab at what we’d once meant to each other .

I didn’t comment on the blush or his reaction. I still wouldn’t answer his question and decided instead to return to the task laid before me .

“So,” I said, turning the small recorder on and pointing it toward Dash before I sat up straight and placed my hands back on the keyboard. “How did your childhood inform your music ?”

It was a big question, one I didn’t really expect him to answer, but Dash didn’t laugh or roll his eyes, like he had so many times before. Instead, he rubbed the stubble around his chin, along the delicious jaw that I’d always found so tempting and now itched to kiss again .

Shit. Where did that come from ?

“My childhood,” he started, sighing as though the question was impossible but he’d tackle it anyway. “My mother was in love with pain. It’s the only explanation for why she did the loca things she did .”

“You want to go into details?” I asked, typing a few lines before I looked at him .

“Chica , you know the details .”

I nodded, frowning at the flash of memories that came to me then. “The guy in the MC. The one who made her take the wrap when they got busted for meth .”

Dash nodded, eyes narrowed and tight. “The one who hit on you,” he reminded, nose flaring when I laughed. “It wasn’t funny .”

“Him begging you not to kill him was .”

“Si, ” he said, through a laugh. “He was a pussy.” He sat back, furrowing his eyebrows. “Can I say pussy? Can you use that ?”

“You can say whatever the hell you want. This isn’t CNN.” He smiled, and the sight had me catching my breath. When he was amused, when something struck him as funny, when it wasn’t something that was mean or cruel, Dash’s entire face light up when he laughed. He did that just then, eyes shining as he watched me. “Pain? You said she loved pain .”

Dash nodded moving his tongue to the inside of his bottom lip, as though his answer required some thought. He still moved slow, I thought. He still thought of what he’d say before he opened his mouth. I didn’t know anyone who did that anymore .

“All these pendejos , all the sex and heartache and what she called passion, it wasn’t real. None of it. She loved the pain. She loved the heavy weight of it.” He paused, looking down into his glass before he continued. “It was the only thing she truly loved because I think it was the only thing that made her feel alive .”

“Some people love the drama .”

“Si, chica. That’s true, but most people, most sane people, don’t love the drama more than their flesh and blood.” He waved a hand, a quick dismissal of his sad tale before he polished off his drink. “Anyway, that pain. It leaves a mark. It comes out in every lyric, every chord. It’s impossible for it not to be there. It’s inside me, deep. Like mi corazón. Like mi alma . Pain is in my DNA .”

The room went quiet, and I wondered if Dash was thinking of his mother or any of the idiots she tried to build a life with. None of them lasted. None of them were more than a small hit she took until the next one came along .

“And now? Does she still crave that pain?” I asked, simply because I had no idea where Ms. Vega had ended up .

“Who knows,” Dash said, swirling that drink to mix the last drop before he downed it. “I haven’t spoken to her in eight years .”

“Eight…” I sat forward, eyes wide and fought back the urge to touch him, as though that simple gesture would take the frustration, the hurt he tried to hide behind. Maybe that’s why he wore make-up. Maybe that’s where all the ego and bravado came from. He wanted to hide. He wanted to avoid the people who knew him best .

“The last guy I heard she was with put her in the hospital. Broke her collarbone in two places.” He leaned back, head against the love seat and watched me, resting his hands on his stomach. “I offered to set her up, away from Willow Heights, away from all the shit that still surrounded her. I told her not to go back to him. She did, and it took three more hospital stays before I actually stopped speaking to her.” He pressed his mouth together, head in a slow shake. “I have no idea if she’s alive or dead.” Dash shifted his gaze to my face, expression hard. “Don’t really care if she is .”

This time I did touch him, unable to stop myself. It was barely a graze at all and I withdrew my hand before he could react. But something shifted in his gaze, something sharp, something sweet that only lingered for a moment. It reminded me of memories I tried hard to repress .

“I’m sorry you don’t have a relationship with her,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. It wasn’t a line. “I’m sorry you and Isaiah are alone now .”

“He’s not. His papi got out about three years ago.” He moved his head, the left side of his mouth arching up. “You know Jose? The big bastard who follows me like a shadow?” I nodded recalling an older man with dark skin, arms and neck covered in tattoos. “Guilty party. He’s a good acho . We haven’t had any problems from him and the pair of them have dinner every night, like a dulce familia .”

“Are you…jealous ?”

Dash lifted his eyebrows, coming back quicker than I expected. “Are you ?”

“Me?”

“I wasn’t the only one raised by a single mother. You didn’t have a papi either, chica . Did you ever find out why ?”

“I did,” I said, not elaborating. “Did you ?”

Dash shook his head, expression bored, as though he had no idea who the guy was and didn’t care to know either. “I figured he’d been one of the masses. One of those pendejos who gave her the drama she craved. Now I don’t care about knowing. What the hell would some old man who never gave two shits about me have to offer?” He lifted his glass, motioning around the opulent room, smile tight. “I have money. I have success. I have women. I have homes.” He leaned forward, clenching his jaw. “And I get to do what I love every day of my life .”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all,” I said, not smiling. Dash moved his head, the smallest nod that I thought was forced, but he didn’t agree. There was a question floating on my tongue. It was something I’d wondered about long before the song or the agreement we’d made for this interview. It came from guilt and a desire to know if Dash had taken over Jamie completely. I’d likely never get another chance to ask it again. “What about love ?”

Outside, Atlanta buzzed with activity; the streets, the crowds, the people bustling around living their lives. People like me who only wanted to make a living. People like Dash who hadn’t quite managed to figure out how that living should be done. But Dash and I made no sound at all. There were stares and the quiet thoughts we kept to ourselves. Curiosities about the past got buried behind the sharp look he gave me and the twitch of his mouth before he spoke .

“Love?” he asked, speaking the word through a ragged breath .

“Yeah. Love. Do you still believe in it?” I moved the recorder closer to him, only just remembering it was there, but it was done as a distraction, to keep my attention off Dash’s face and the severe set of his eyes .

“No,” he finally said, not blinking. “You killed that fantasy for me .”