Tonight was the big one, in so many ways.

Ryan rode the elevator down to the lobby, smiling at the other guests sporting their formal wear. Glittery gowns winked at him and expensive shoes gleamed. Not all of the patrons of the hotel were rocking such outfits, but enough were that he wondered how many were headed to the awards show.

In Vegas, they could be going anywhere. A million reasons existed to dress up. Just as there were plenty of reasons to be grinning like an idiot. He should know.

There were the obvious ones, of course. They were up for another Best New Artist award. Taking this one would definitely be good for the band’s morale.

Even if Mal was insistent winning another Best New Artist award only meant they’d get on a One Hit Wonder retrospective show that much faster. Whatever. He wouldn’t mind getting an award for his shelf.

Or hmm, maybe he wouldn’t get a personal one. He hadn’t the last time, but every show was different. Perhaps the band would have to share. Pass that sucker around until the embossed lettering grew dull. He’d need to clear a shelf in his and West’s place. At least for now. Lo was there all the time, and third wheels were never fun.

Then again, if Denver wanted to move in with him…

He stopped walking and studied the heavy platinum letters on the glass door in front of him.

Stefano’s Jewelers. For that special moment.

Swallowing hard, he pulled open the door and stepped inside. He was instantly swarmed by two lovely blonds.

“Sir, how may we help you today?”

He blinked, already dazzled by the crystal chandeliers and extremely expensive-looking rugs. For a kid from a modest middle-class home, he still wasn’t used to all…this. He wasn’t even supposed to be in there.

What was he doing?

“I’d like to see rings.” Hearing the words made him clear his throat.

He must’ve gone nuts. Was it the rarefied air in this place? He walked in and suddenly he could see his future, encompassed in a sturdy gold band and a blingy stone. But not too blingy. Den would never go for that.

Hell, he should’ve brought her along. She’d want to pick. He didn’t have the taste for this sort of thing.

One of the blonds smiled brightly. “We have rings. Plenty of them. What are you looking for, precisely? Do you have a preferred gemstone? Is this an engagement ring or other?”

The second blond flanked his other side, ushering him toward the miles of glass-topped counter with muted swatches of velvet fabric inside to cushion all the jewels. So fucking many. He was either going to get a migraine or end up buying a ring he couldn’t afford by the time he walked out of this joint.

“I’d like an engagement ring.” He’d started to say promise ring, but that didn’t feel right either. It didn’t make sense to go halfway when he was ready to go all the way home. She probably wasn’t, and that was just fine. He’d buy the ring, and he’d bide his time.

They had all of it they’d ever need. But he just wanted to have it. Just as he’d purchased toys to use with her right after they’d fought at The Velvet Vault sex shop, this felt like an act of hope. Better, an act of strength. If he bought this ring, there was no going back for either of them. He wouldn’t chicken out and back down just because he was concerned she wasn’t feeling the same way he was. Or her timetable was completely different.

Because he was beginning to think they were synced there too. If she saw he wasn’t concerned about taking a big step, maybe she wouldn’t be either.

And if he was wrong…well, maybe he could sell the rock to West cheap to give to Lo. Which probably was super wrong on a hundred levels, but Lo wouldn’t care. She was the coolest chick he’d ever met, other than Den.

So he was buying a fucking ring. The best fucking ring he couldn’t afford.

The blonds were still talking, blathering on about sizes and cuts and gem weights. He didn’t care about any of that. He scanned the rings they selected for him, trying to goad him into making some sort of specific request, and none of them were right.

They were too ostentatious. Too nondescript. Too bland. He didn’t know how a ring that cost—one of the blonds named a figure—a fucking lot could be bland, but it was.

“This is an entry-level ring,” the blond added, and he gripped the counter for support.

Never mind what it costs. You can’t put a price on love.

Perhaps not, but he could put a price on his sanity. And their future. If they wanted to have enough money to someday get their own place, maybe even a house with a couple extra bedrooms—

Okay, he was officially going way too far. They hadn’t even said they loved each other yet. But he knew.

He fucking knew.

She was his future wrapped up in a big shiny bow. He might not have realized how much he wanted that particular happy ending, but now that it was within reach, he couldn’t stop imagining what it might look like.

They’d have a dog. Big and golden with a huge lolling tongue. And they’d have kids. At least two. Three? No, two. A boy and a girl would be cool, but he wasn’t fussy on varieties. He just wanted a family he could call his own.

His woman, his kids, his dog, his life.

“She’d like an emerald cut,” he said, and he didn’t know how he knew that either. But reacting from instinct had become his goddamn job. “Not a diamond though.”

Blond number one’s face fell, though she recovered admirably. “Perhaps a sapphire. Or emerald. Or—”

His gaze fell on a red gemstone surrounded by pinprick diamonds. More diamonds lined the platinum band on either side of the stone. Some traditional in there to suit him, and something unique to fit her. She was fire and ice to him. So much passion and drive and life cloaked in a cool demeanor that showed she could handle anything.

Anyone. Even him.

“That one.” He pointed, grimacing as he smudged the glass. Couldn’t take him anywhere. “I’ll take it.”

Blond number two frowned. “Don’t you want to see it first?”

“No, it’s right. I want it. She’s a size seven.”

He’d found that out through dubious means. A random conversation about his mother’s wedding ring a few days ago and he’d found himself feeling around for more details. He’d needed her ring size, even without admitting to himself why.

Forget telling her how he felt. He was still getting there himself.

“Can I hold it?”

Blond number one’s eyebrows drew together. “You said you didn’t want to see it.”

“It’s the right ring, I just want to hold it.” He held out his palm and blond number one set it in the center.

For a moment, he just stared. Then he closed his fingers, testing the weight. The feel. And he grinned.

“Yes, this is the one. Is this a seven? Or can it be sized into a seven? I need to take it with me.” He waved off the box that blond number two produced. “No, I’ve got it. I’m good. Here you go.”

He pulled out his wallet and slapped down his credit card. He’d just dumped money on the thing. Thank God for that recent check from Ripper.

You still owe Denver. Shouldn’t you be paying that back instead of buying rings she may not want?

“That ring is a seven, yes. Still, in case you’re wrong about the size—”

“Good enough. I’ll take it. Ring it up, please.” He flashed the blond a smile. “Thank you.”

She didn’t dally. Guess she’d decided her commission was dead in the water, so might as well just move him along. She ended up giving him the box anyway, and he took it and tucked it into his pocket. The receipt went in his wallet, the bag in the trash.

The weight steadied him as he took his time heading to the Event Center. Maybe if he didn’t rush, Denver would already be there waiting for him.

His gaze strayed to the flashing lights that indicated the direction to the gaming floor. Nope. He wasn’t going there. Not that he had a problem, but he’d already gambled once today. Harmlessly. How could he resist? One of the sponsors of tonight’s awards show was The Hummingbird Group, and hummingbirds were a special thing with Denver. So he’d placed a little bet on them. She couldn’t hold that against him.

Besides, he wasn’t hiding what he’d done. In fact, as soon as they met up, he’d tell her about the bet he’d made. Then kiss her senseless, because even being away from her for fifteen minutes felt like a century.

He grinned and cupped the box in his pocket. Yeah, what he’d just done had been reckless. He probably should’ve asked West’s or Michael’s opinion first. They were experts compared to him at this love stuff. But the move he’d made felt good. So did the solid weight in his hand.

Time to keep moving forward.

He found the Ripper Records table in the Event Center in record time. Minus the detour he took to the men’s room to splash water on his face and dry off his damp palms. He hadn’t been nervous about buying Denver’s ring. This stupid awards thing, though, had him churned up.

At least he assumed it was that. Something was unsettling his gut, and he didn’t think it was buying a ring for his girl. That had eased him, not riled him up. Just knowing he could say those words to her whenever he wanted to and not have to worry he didn’t have a ring for her made him happy.

She deserved the ring. The perfect proposal. The fucking gloriously happy life that erased the tension lines around her eyes. Ones he still didn’t fully understand, because he’d wanted to help chase away her ghosts last night, not make her relive her past.

He stopped a few feet away from the Ripper Records table. She wasn’t there yet. Donovan was, but no Denver. And Donovan was talking to Lila and her husband, Nick, and not on his phone.

Fuck. Where was she?

Almost against his will, snatches of their conversation last night filtered through his mind. The whole jam thing Donovan had helped her with that had led to her dropping out of college and basically setting up a new identity with a new first name wasn’t your garden variety situation. He’d wanted to press for more, but she’d been adamant it was in the past and he’d wanted nothing more than to ease her mind.

And her body, yes. He wasn’t a saint. Didn’t claim to be.

But now that he was standing there in the light of day—or evening—far enough away from her that her honey scent wasn’t scrambling his thoughts, he couldn’t deny he needed more information than she’d given him so far.

Love and lust and a whole host of emotions he couldn’t even begin to sort out had pushed him into that jewelry shop, but actually having the ring in his pocket was a reminder that he couldn’t just go with the flow. Not when this was the woman he wanted to marry and build a life with. Definitely not when he wasn’t entirely sure her past wouldn’t come back to bite them.

How could he be? She hadn’t told him the extent of what she’d faced.

Last night, he’d figured baby steps. They’d come a long way, and she’d finally started opening up to him. But if she could still be in danger, even if the chance was remote…

He couldn’t live his life that way, wondering if some asshole out there would come back to haunt them. She was his world. His center. He couldn’t risk her, even if that made her angry at him for rushing things.

She wasn’t alone anymore. He refused to let her deal with things that way.

First, he had to figure out where she was.

Maybe she’d needed a few minutes to sort out her thoughts before she called Donovan. It was a big step for her to make.

But even after Ryan joined his friends at the table, he couldn’t stop checking the time on his phone. Over and over. Until he’d practically worn a hole in his screen from swiping.

And Donovan was still quietly speaking to Lila. His phone was nowhere in sight.

So maybe she’d called her uncle before Ryan had arrived, and it had been a quick call. Neither Denver nor Donovan were ones to belabor a point. But Donovan hadn’t so much as glanced Ryan’s way. Granted, Donovan was an inscrutable sort at the best of times, but Ryan was the guy his niece was in love with—maybe. At least serious like.

Fuck it, she’d better love him. She had to. He couldn’t feel the way he did about her and be in this thing alone.

“You’re focused in the wrong direction, son.” Michael leaned closer to Ryan, and it was only then that Ryan noticed Chloe, Michael’s wife, on his other side. “You’re supposed to be watching the stage.”

“Nothing’s happening yet.”

“The show’s about to start.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Ryan muttered, leaning around Michael to tap Chloe’s wrist. “Hey you. Great to see you. This one didn’t manage to tell me you’d be here.”

Chloe grinned. “Yes, family vacation. Well, a short one. We had to be here to support Michael.” She gripped Michael’s biceps and somehow her grin grew even wider. “We just know he’s going to win tonight. I mean, all of you are going to win.”

“Yes, he might share the award with us. He’s a magnanimous guy.”

Michael shook his head, smiling. “Asshole.”

“Family vacation? Does that mean the rug rats are here running around somewhere?”

“They’re up in the hotel room with Nick and Lila’s twins. The nanny is watching them all during the show.”

“One nanny with four kids under five. God help her.” Ryan sank back in his seat and set down his phone long enough to run his fingertip over the ring box in his pocket.

Michael had his family with him, and the guy was beaming. He’d shown all of them what having a wife and kids could be like.

This whole situation was probably all Michael’s fault. Ryan was normally a level-headed, plan-things-to-the-nth-degree kind of guy. Now he was impulsively buying engagement rings and rushing full speed ahead.

Sort of. He still had one foot on the curb, and that curb was called Denver. She wasn’t nearly as impetuous as he was. Not even about this.

Probably especially about this.

He was glad he’d taken the ring box after all. Maybe he’d be waiting long enough to propose that the ring would get tarnished otherwise.

Maybe she’d say no.

Shit, he was tired of going in circles in his thoughts. She should be sitting beside him, easing his crazy concerns with a roll of her eyes or some snarky quip that helped him to not take everything so seriously.

But she wasn’t there. Ryan was trying to give her space. She wasn’t twelve, so he shouldn’t be texting her to find out where she was as if she’d missed curfew.

Right? Right.

Shit, this relationship stuff was hard. Harder than he’d ever even guessed.

He rolled his shoulders. The show was about to start, and yes, it was a major event in his life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take a few moments to process. More than a few now. Perhaps she’d talked to her uncle and now was taking a little time for herself before joining everyone.

Besides, Donovan always had pressing business with Lila. It wasn’t as if Denver and Ryan dating was a big deal. It was to them, but Donovan had probably seen and heard it all.

Still, Ryan had expected some response from the man. Even if it was some dubious side-eye. Nothing.

“Hey Molster,” Lo said, leaning forward toward Molly, who sat on the opposite side of the table, looking icily perfect in a pale blue dress and with her hair in a twisty knot thing on top of her head. “Is Ethan coming tonight?”

Molly blinked at Lo. “How would I know?”

“Oh, I don’t know, he just totally abandoned us at the Keith concert to play tonsil tune-up with you. Then when he returned, he said he had to go but he’d see me soon. Every time I text lately he’s MIA, so I’m thinking he’s avoiding my casual questions.”

“Casual questions?” West repeated with a smirk. “You mean full-scale interrogation.”

Molly reached for her water goblet. “I wouldn’t know his whereabouts.”

“Sure about that? Y’all seemed awful cozy.”

Molly’s blue eyes flashed. “Ask him if you want to know what happened.”

“Oooh. Something did happen.” Lo rose and scampered around the table to sit in the free chair on the other side of Molly. “Want me to kill him? We’ve been friends forever. I know all his weak spots. He’s horribly ticklish, for one. And he hurt his knee during soccer in eleventh grade, so if you kick him just right in his left leg, you can take him down with hardly any pressure.”

Molly’s lips twitched into a slight smile. “Why would you be on my side? Not saying there is a side.”

“Hello, girl power.” Lo slid her arm through Molly’s and grinned. “We are the last line of defense between men and complete asshattery. We stand together or we all fall.”

Michael leaned toward West across the table. “Dude, thinking you’ll be couching it tonight if you don’t put a stop to that.”

“Nah, I’m good. She’s on the G-spot orgasm chapter of her book.” West winked and wiggled his fingers. “She needs my help.”

Jules groaned. “Oh my God, is it time for the show to start yet? I’m dying here. Isn’t ‘Get Lucky’ first?”

“Luc,” Molly corrected, still holding Lo’s arm. Maybe she was more nervous about the award than she was letting on, or else she intended to take Lo up on her offer of female solidarity. “The Grunge is performing first, and then Luc, and Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn, are presenting our award.” She sighed and tugged Lo that much closer. Lo snuggled in as if they were newfound best friends. “I mean Best New Artist.”

“It’s ours. Gotta cement that shit in the Has Been Hall of Fame,” Mal said lazily, sticking his finger in one of the tiny stuffed mushrooms in the appetizer tray in the center of the table.

Elle wrinkled her nose. “Uncouth.”

“Big vocabulary from such a little girl. You been bench pressing with the dictionary, Little Ricki?”

“Little Ricki could kick your ass,” Nick said from the other side of the table. Though he was smiling, it was about as friendly as a junkyard dog about to attack. He didn’t take kindly to anyone messing with his twin sister. “And I’d help.” Nick glanced at his wife. “You want a piece of this action too, Li?”

Lila was Mal’s former stepmother. Lila had divorced Mal and Michael’s father some years ago, and Mal and Lila maintained a barely civil relationship. The civil part was entirely on Lila’s side. Mal seemed as if he couldn’t stand her.

“I’m Switzerland,” Lila said with a thin smile. “I don’t get involved.”

“Wish you’d said that two years ago before you came looking for me,” Mal muttered, jerking to his feet and lumbering off.

Lila cleared her throat and reached for the appetizer tray. “Mushroom, anyone?”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “What did he mean, you came looking for him? I thought Michael got him into the band.”

Lila didn’t glance her way. She delicately speared a mushroom far away from Mal’s finger action and placed it on her plate. “You know Malachi,” she said airily. “Always spouting things that don’t make sense.”

“So we’re first? God, these nerves are killing me,” Jules said, clearly oblivious to the tension gripping the table. And this latest wave didn’t have a thing to do with the awards.

Ryan didn’t fully get what it did have to do with. Nor did he care, truthfully. He had his own problems to worry about.

“I guess that’s good,” Jules continued, though no one had responded to her. “At least we’ll know right off the bat.” She fanned herself as if she was on the verge of passing out.

Ryan glanced at his cell. Another ten minutes had passed while he’d tried to focus on what was going on with the band. His friends. His family.

All of them but one essential piece.

Still no incoming texts. He looked at the door. Still no Denver. And the longer he waited, pretending he was just hanging out with his friends, just riding the high from the buzz of excitement in the room, the more the niggle at the base of his spine increased.

Denver hadn’t just decided to take a pre-show nap or raid the mini bar or who knows what. Something was up. He didn’t know if that involved her splitting on him or if she’d gotten suddenly sick or what, but he wasn’t going to figure it out by sitting there and checking and rechecking his phone.

He’d just text her. Wait a few minutes if she didn’t reply, then text her again. She could’ve taken a quick nap to recharge. They’d had a long night…and a long morning. They’d been insatiable for each other. No matter how many times they were together, it was never enough.

He hoped like hell it never would be.

So maybe she’d decided to grab a few minutes to reboot. Hell, he was running on low himself. If not for show nerves and ring nerves and now Denver nerves, he probably would’ve been propped up in the corner, half unconscious.

He sent Denver a quick text, letting her know it was almost time. That was it. No pressure. No “where the hell are you?” though he was sorely tempted.

And waited. And waited some more.

When it was obvious from the scurrying around onstage and nearby that the show was about to begin, Ryan sent one more follow-up text. He didn’t expect a response, and he didn’t get one.

So he took the next logical step. He rose and strode over to Donovan, bending to the other man’s ear to ask a simple, important question.

“Did you speak to Denver?”

One of Donovan’s black eyebrows winged up. “When? This evening?”

Ryan gripped his phone in one pocket and the ring box in the other. “Yes. This evening.”

“No.”

That single word was enough to set Ryan in motion. He’d made it a few steps past the table when West sprang to his feet and seized his arm. “Hey, dude, what’s going on? You’re going to miss the thing.”

“Nah, I’ll be back in a few.”

“Where are you going? Where’s Den? She wouldn’t miss this, would she?” West shoved his hands in his pockets.

He was actually wearing a tux—at least the top half of one—with dark jeans. Progress came in all forms.

“That’s where I’m headed to find out.”

Ryan had taken another step when West snagged hold of him again. “You want help?”

Ry had to smile and raise his voice to be heard. The Event Center was getting more crowded and noisier by the minute. “What, you think I’ll have to strong-arm her to get her down here?”

“I don’t know. She’s been kind of tense lately. Is that…” West scratched the back of his spiky, growing-in hair, mussing it up even more. “Are you guys okay?” he asked in a low voice.

Ryan clapped his best friend on the shoulder. It was nice to have the support, even if it didn’t do him a damn bit of good right now. “That’s what I’m on my way to find out. I’ll see you in a few.”

“All right. If you need me, holler.” West smiled and held up his phone. “Or, you know, text.”

“Thanks, brother. I’m good.”

Or he would be, once he found Denver.

He fucking hoped.