I glanced down at the card still clutched in my hand. Chase Noble. I wanted to get the guy’s name right when I told him to go to hell. Of course, smiling would probably take some of the bite out of the nasty retort. And I was smiling.

Why was I smiling?

Pressing my lips into a firm line, I jabbed the button for the crosswalk. “I don’t think so, Chase.”

He took his place at my side as I waited for traffic to clear. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

I slanted my gaze to his. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “You think too much.”

A response coiled around my tongue, but my phone vibrated in my hand, distracting me. I scanned the dozen new messages cluttering my screen. And if I wasn’t in the middle of downtown, I’d swear I lost reception. Because I didn’t remember hearing my phone go off once. Ever since I’d walked into the coffee shop, my thoughts had been occupied with other things. Like the guy next to me.

The light turned green, and I took a step, only to have Chase tug me back to his side. “Careful.”

My response sailed away on a breeze when a bike whizzed by, crunching the leaves where I’d been standing.

Heat rose in my cheeks. “He was going the wrong way,” I grumbled, watching the cyclist’s spandex-encased backside weaving through traffic.

Chase had yet to let go of my arm so I gently tugged it free. “Well, thanks,” I said, and after glancing both ways, I ventured onto the busy street only to have Chase fall into step beside me.

I gave him the side eye. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Waiting the appropriate amount of time to ask you out again.”

Biting down a smile, I asked, “And what’s the appropriate amount of time?”

When we were safe on the sidewalk, he faced me. “I guess around five minutes if I hold true to form.”

This time I couldn’t hold back a laugh, but to my horror, it came out more like a snort. Shaking my head, I fished my keys from my pocket. “Well, this is me.”

Chase took out his phone and glimpsed the screen. “I’ve still got one minute.”

Amused, I leaned a hip against the trunk of my car. “I can save you the trouble and say no right now.”

Breaching the small gap that separated us, he swept a lock of hair out of my face. “But you’re not going to say no, are you?”

Recalling the way the light seeped from his eyes at the coffee shop when he found out who I was, my stomach tumbled. Whatever gave him pause, he’d merely overlooked it for the moment.

There was no smile, no humor, just sincerity when Chase said softly, “It’s just a drink, Taryn.”

A refusal formed on my lips. Because there was no good reason to say yes. But that’s exactly what I said. I had to forcibly keep my hand from covering my mouth to hide my surprise.

Chase smiled like he knew it all along. “Great. I’ll see you at seven.”

Scampering for the safety of my car, I cursed my shaking hands and pounding heart. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I watched as Chase headed in the opposite direction, wondering why in the hell I’d just agreed to have drinks with a stranger. As soon as he was out of view, I realized that my phone was vibrating against my palm.

One look at the screen and my good mood evaporated. Ash Devonshire.

I considered sending the call straight to voicemail, but in a moment of white-hot anger, I swiped my finger over his name.

“What do you want, Ash? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

A long sigh. “Taryn, if you’d just let me explain.”

Shifting my focus to the crumpled copy of the Austin Statesman on the passenger seat, I hissed, “Explain? You were supposed to write a memorial series. A tribute.”

“I agreed to write a series on the Damaged legacy,” Ash replied calmly. “Like it or not, Beckett is a part of that.”

“Did Maddy Silva join the group when I wasn’t looking? Because most of this article is related to her. You fucking interviewed her.” Sagging against the seat, my heart squeezed with the betrayal. “And you brought me into it. Why?”

“You’re part of it, Taryn,” he said quietly with zero conviction. “The legacy. Your relationship with Beckett.”

“Don’t play dumb, Ash. You’re not some out-of-the-loop paparazzo.”

Ash cut his teeth writing freelance articles for the underground newspapers covering the Sixth Street Music beat. After Damaged hit the scene, I gave him all the exclusives. Ash made a nice chunk of change selling articles to Time, Newsweek, and Rolling Stone. But Ash’s real break came after the accident. I gave him the first interview. The hardest interview of my life.

Ash received an award for that piece and landed a cushy job as the Arts and Entertainment editor for the Austin Statesman.

“Listen to me,” Ash growled, exasperated. “There are some things you don’t know. If we could just talk.”

“What things?”

I heard a door slam, and then the hum of the newsroom in the background. “Just meet me. We can’t do this over the phone.”

His plea touched a chord. A place inside that I reserved for a select few. Years of history, and I knew if we met in person, I’d soften to Ash’s plight.

“I don’t want to see you,” I said, resolute. “It’s not just about me. What about Tori? You know there’s a media ban when it comes to talking about a Damaged reunion. And what did you do? You devoted three paragraphs to that shit! She’s not going to get a moments peace now.”

“The story is out there!” he roared. “You’re signing talent like a madwoman! I can’t just avoid the topic. With the five-year anniversary of the accident coming up, everyone’s speculating about a Damaged reunion.”

A lump formed in my throat, hard and unyielding. “Don’t you think a reunion might be a little difficult with Rhenn and Paige pushing up daisies at Oakwood Cemetery?”

Paige—the string that bound us. She loved Ash, far more than anyone ever knew. Their longstanding affair was another reason he had my trust and unfettered access to the bands I managed.

Ash sucked in a harsh breath. “Christ, Taryn. That was low.”

Any small amount of guilt I felt for causing the obvious pain evaporated when my focus shifted to Maddy Silva’s quote next to Ash’s byline.

I found my soul mate.

Reflexively, my thumb skated over the infinity tattoo on my ring finger. “Lower than giving Beckett’s new girlfriend three fucking pages of prime real estate in the Statesman?”

Ash cursed under his breath. “You don’t know everything. You think you do, but you don’t. There are still two more pieces in the series.”

More? My stomach pitched at the thought of two more weeks of this.

“I don’t suppose either of those stories includes an interview with Dylan—you know, the lead singer of the band? Have you forgotten about him? When he finds out you threw Tori out there, he’s going to tune you up.”

“No, he won’t,” Ash said wearily. “You’ll feel differently once you see how it ends.”

Resting my head against the side window, I gazed at the clouds gathering in the west. Storms always came in from the west, rolling through the small Texas towns bordering the hill country with their two-lane, undivided roads. Dangerous roads. Lightning struck in the distance, so faint it was merely a flash, lost in the gray morning sky.

“I already know how it ends,” I said thickly.

Rhenn and Paige were gone. Tori was broken. I hadn’t seen Miles in months. As for Beckett and me? Our love was the last casualty of the accident. Maybe it was only fitting that Ash cataloged our public demise.

Straightening in my seat, I let out a staggered breath. “Fine, Ash. You win. When and where? And don’t even think about coming to Twin Souls.”

A tension headache throbbed at the base of my skull when I thought of how Tori would handle this. The reunion show meant everything to her. To us.

Paper rustled in the background, and I rolled my eyes. Ash was the only person I knew who still used a Day Planner.

“Uh … how about four thirty at the Driscoll?”

I was about to reply with a standard yes when I thought of Chase and our date. “Make it four.”

Ending the call before Ash could reply, I slid my car into drive and then headed west toward Twin Souls. And the storm.