Later that night, with Ben hanging out with Samantha, I meet up with my brothers for a gig in the East Village. Campbell shoots me a suspicious look as I tune my guitar backstage.

“What are you smiling about, Dodgeball?”

I look up from the neck of the guitar. “Do I usually wander in all grouchy and sour?”

“Not lately. But you’re particularly ‘smiley face’ today, as Sam would say, since she decided it’s an adjective,” Campbell adds, with a teenager’s what-can-you-do shrug.

“When was I ever grouchy or sour?”

“Well, you were definitely sour when She Who Shall Not Be Named took off,” Campbell says matter-of-factly. “But that’s understandable.”

I point at him and nod. “Right. And it was a lifetime ago that Diana left.”

Miller holds up his hands as stop signs. “Whoa. You used her name. She’s no longer She Who Shall Not Be Named?”

“Does that mean you’re over her?” Campbell asks.

I scoff. “I’ve been over her for a long time, guys.” But I knit my brow, thinking more deeply about his question. I’ve been over her for ages, that’s true. But maybe what’s new is I’m finally letting go of the lingering resentment. In her own way, Roxy has helped with that, simply by giving me the chance to talk about what went down. That conversation the night of the reunion helped me let go of the last shard of anger I’d been clutching.

“She’s so far in the past, I can’t even see her in the rearview mirror,” I add with a smile.

Campbell claps me on the shoulder. “That’s awesome, man. There’s nothing quite like fully moving on. It’s freeing, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” I say, and my heart lightens a little bit more.

“I’m happy for you, man,” Miller says, then he pinches my cheek. “But you’re particularly shiny tonight. Tell me, do you have a new skincare regimen you’re hiding from us?”

And we’re right back to the ribbing, and I couldn’t be happier.

I wiggle my eyebrows as I finish tuning my guitar. “My skincare regimen is being three years younger than your old ass, and four years younger than his grandpa one,” I say, pointing to Campbell.

“Nope,” Campbell says with a knowing grin. “It’s a woman. It has to be a woman.”

“I bet it’s Roxy. You do spend a lot of time with her.” Miller strokes his chin like he’s Encyclopedia Brown.

Busted.

“I like hanging out with her. We’re just friends. Also, she’s pregnant,” I point out.

“And we’re excited for her, but you do know that doesn’t preclude you from liking her,” Miller says.

“Yes, but it does make the prospect of anything coming of it unlikely. Since her focus is on the creature she’s growing inside her.”

“As it should be,” Miller concedes.

“Exactly,” Campbell adds, then tips his forehead to the stage. “Let’s go make some music.”

As we head onstage, their succinct words echo. More proof that Roxy and I can’t happen. She has one job, and it’s baking a person. She doesn’t need complications, especially since I’m not entirely sure what I want. Besides, it’s not just about me. There’s a little person hanging out at my brother’s home tonight, and that little person is my number one. Ben is my top priority. If someone’s in my life, that someone is in his life too. Right now, the three of us—Ben, Roxy, and I—have a nice and easy vibe going on, and I don’t want to upset the apple cart.

Whatever that kiss was today, whatever felt like a moment, was merely that. A brief moment that’s passed.

My brothers and I play our hearts out, and this right here—making music to a packed house—is what makes me happy.

But I’m happier than I have a right to be when I return home later and find a text message from her.

Another message follows, and it’s an image of the baby. My stupid heart thumps hard. I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. What the hell is going on with me? I can’t be this excited about her baby.

I drop my head in my hands and ask myself what the hell I’m getting into. Then I write back, and we toss out alien baby names for the next hour.