CHAPTER ONE

Ten years ago

I’d go anywhere with you.

People said those words, but they didn’t always mean them. Brent was sure Shannon did though. She’d go anywhere with him.

As he gunned the engine on his bike, all he could think was that in less than ten minutes it would be happening. He’d be walking through the front door and giving the woman he loved the best news of their lives.

Weaving through the late afternoon Boston traffic, he fast-forwarded to the next few weeks—they’d go to the land of sunshine. He’d take her far away from Boston, and keep her far away from all the other places she didn’t want to be. He could see them holed up in a little one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles, spending their nights fucking, their days working. Fine, she didn’t have a job yet, but there had to be work in Los Angeles for an injured-dancer-turned-entry-level-choreographer, right?

With equal parts excitement and anticipation radiating through his bones, he darted through the stalled cars. Up ahead, maybe five hundred feet, was the exit that would take him to his apartment, where she’d been living for the last two weeks since her lease ran out after they’d graduated. His was up next week. Perfect timing to leave town together.

Flipping on the blinker, he turned off the highway, then jetted down the road to his building. Soon, he pulled into the asphalt lot, shut off the engine, and unsnapped his helmet. He headed to the concrete stairwell, taking the stairs two by two, up to the third floor.

He unlocked the front door quickly and tossed his keys on the entryway table. The late afternoon sun shone through the dirt-streaked window, but the living room was empty, the gray, rumpled couch missing his pixie-sized woman. Then again, he’d never known Shannon to sit still or lie down. Unless her legs were wrapped around his waist, and hell, that was where he’d like them to be in about three minutes, because this called for a celebratory round or two in the sack.

He turned into the kitchen, looking for her.

“Babe,” he called out.

The home was still.

Their apartment crackled with silence.

It was the tiniest apartment in all of Boston, and for a split second, maybe more, his heart stopped beating, and a rabid fear swooped down out of nowhere. But then, it wasn’t entirely from nowhere. It was born from the life she’d lived before she came to college.

A door squeaked—a sliding glass door badly in need of oiling. He spun around, returning to the living room and the tiny balcony that he hadn’t thought to check. There she was, walking inside, the widest smile in the world on her gorgeous face, her bright blond hair, short and sleek, pushed back in a slim silver headband.

“I have something to tell you,” she said. Her eyes lit up as she held her flip phone in her hand.

“I have something to tell you, too,” he said, and roped his arms around her waist, easily lifting her lush, limber body. Instantly, she wrapped her legs around his waist and dropped her mouth to his, kissing him hard. She darted out her tongue, sliding it between his lips, and he groaned, wanting to take her right there against the wall, on the balcony, on the floor. Or hell, just standing up like this would be fine. Being madly in love with a woman who could bend and move in hard-on inducing ways was pretty much the greatest thing in the world. Yeah, he was a lucky bastard.

“Ladies first,” he said, setting her down, then gesturing for her to talk.

“No. You go,” she said, her forest green eyes twinkling. “I want to hear all about your big interview.” She reached for the collar on his shirt, tugging both ends. “I bet they adored you. I bet you already have your second interview lined up.”

“Better than that,” he said, and dipped her, her back arcing effortlessly as she looked up at him from that position.

The last thing he’d expected when he walked into his job interview today was to be hired on the spot. That wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. It was an informational interview. Besides, the job he’d originally gone in for was based in New York. But the post that Late Night Antics offered him—a gig with more money, more cred, and more opportunity—was in Los Angeles. At twenty-one, he'd landed a comedian’s dream job.

“Tell me, tell me!” she demanded, laughter in her voice.

He raised her up again and parked his hands on her shoulders. “We’re moving to L.A. next week!”

Her sweet laughter stopped, as if he’d turned off a switch, but the eerie silence made no sense to him.

“What?” she asked, her voice small.

He nodded, letting the enthusiasm he felt roll off him. Surely, she’d catch it, too. She’d have to be infected with his excitement. Their future was unfurling before them. “I got the job. They offered me a job on the spot. For Late Night Antics. This never happens, Shan. I’ll be the youngest comedy writer in the history of the show, and you know what happens to the youngest writers.”

“They go on to have the biggest careers,” she said, repeating what he’d told her many times before, but she sounded monotone, as if she was merely parroting him.

“This is huge, babe,” he said, keeping the conversation upbeat.

“I know. It is,” she said, sounding hollow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought it was for a job in New York. That we were trying to find work together in New York so we could be together. You know, Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, and all,” she said, trying to smile but her lower lip quivered the slightest bit.

He shook his head. “Well, it was. But they loved my work so much they offered me a gig and want me to start next week in time for the new fall season. It’s an amazing opportunity. Top late-night TV show in the country. In the world. And you are looking at the newest writer. And he is looking at his bride-to-be.”

He thought for sure that would return the smile to her face, the kind that made her crinkle her nose, with its constellation of freckles. He loved nothing more than making her smile, making her laugh, especially considering what she and her family had been through that wasn’t the least bit funny whatsoever. “We’re going to L.A.,” he added, because the silence was too much.

But there was no smile. Her eyes were glassy, wet maybe. Then she seemed to draw in that flash of sadness and replace it with a hard fierceness, and a tight line across her lips.

“Brent,” she said carefully. “Did you say we’re going to L.A.?”

He nodded eagerly. “I start next week. We’re moving to L.A. I took the job.”

She stepped away, pushing her hands against him. “You. Took. It?” she repeated, each word needing its own longitude and latitude.

“Hell yeah.”

“You never thought to discuss it with your bride-to-be?” she asked pointedly, holding up her hand and flashing her ring at him—the diamond he’d given her, set in her grandmother’s band that her brother Michael had helped him track down.

“No.” But he was too surprised by her question to even try to figure out why she was asking.

“What about me?”

“What about you? You don’t have a job.”

“But we agreed to look for work in New York. That was our plan. I thought the job you were interviewing for was in New York. That’s what you told me, and that’s the only place I’ve been looking. I turned down an opportunity in Tucson last week because you were worried it was too far away.”

He shot her a look. “Shan, that was with a tiny little dance company.”

Her stare could burn a pinhole through him. “Don’t put it down now. We both know why I said no. Because you said you couldn’t bear to be apart from me. That’s what you said, so don’t act like it would have been the wrong career move for me. I did that for you. You said you weren’t going to find work as a comedian in Tucson. And now you just went and took a job in L.A. without even talking to me,” she said, holding her hands out wide, waiting for his answer.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he said, raising his chin up, holding his ground. “It’s the perfect gig for me. So I said yes.” He planted his feet wider, as if they were two gunslingers ready to do battle. She crossed her arms, the next move in the dance of their anger. Familiar choreography for the two of them.

“Well, I got a job, too,” she tossed back, arching an eyebrow.

“In L.A.?” he asked, hoping wildly.

She shook her head. “In New York. Like we talked about. Then it goes to London.”

He wrenched back and narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were looking for work in London.”

She huffed. Oh, she breathed fire. That woman knew how to be angry with him. She’d mastered it. She pointed a finger at his chest. “No, I didn’t tell you, because there was nothing to tell, and now I am telling you that my modern dance teacher called me today to tell me Lars Branson just lost his assistant choreographer for the West End production of West Side Story and asked did he know anyone who could fill in at a moment’s notice? He mentioned me, since he knew I was looking for work, and the job starts in New York and then moves to London at the end of the summer. I didn’t say yes because I wanted to talk to you about it first. To see if you’d even want to go to London with me.”

“But I thought you were looking for work here,” he said, his arms spinning in circles, as if she’d understand he meant all of the United States of America. “Not overseas.”

“I wasn’t looking, Brent. Don’t you get it? And unlike you, I didn’t take the job. Yet. I said I’d need to check with my fiancé, which is evidently more than it occurred to you to do.”

“I thought you’d be happy for me. I thought you’d want to come with me. C’mon, Shannon. I said yes because it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. And you’ll come with me, won’t you?” He stepped closer and slinked his hand around her waist, her body under his fingertips sending that electric charge through him that only she had the power to do. Since the moment he laid eyes on Shannon Paige-Prince two years ago, in the audience at an open mic night at a local comedy club, he knew he had to have her. He’d nearly forgotten the next line in his bit. He’d barely been able to look away from her, from those jade green eyes and those ruby red lips, slightly parted as she’d watched him on stage, and laughed at the punch lines. His friend Hal had told him in advance that he was bringing along someone he had to meet, since both Brent and Shannon grew up in Vegas.

The second his bit had ended, he’d jumped off the stage, made a beeline through the crowd, and introduced himself to her, and asked her out one minute later. “I’m going to say the one thing that I hope doesn’t make you laugh tonight. Go out with me, please,” he’d said, and she had laughed, but she’d nodded, too, and said yes immediately.

He called up that lifeline now, tried to recreate the success that had won him his first date with this fiery, fierce, intense woman. “Go with me, please." He had to convince her. Make her see that Los Angeles was where they belonged. Where they could start their life together after college. “There must be tons of choreographer gigs in L.A.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. Choreographer jobs are a lot like jobs for comedians. They’re hard to come by. So maybe you should come with me.”

“To London?”

She nodded. “Yes. Would you like to? Because, see what I’m doing right now?” She gestured from him to her. “I’m discussing it in advance with the man I love.” Her voice softened then, as she seemed to strip away the anger for a moment. “We could try long distance.”

The look on her face was so sweet, so hopeful, and it nearly made him say yes.

But he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. He shook his head vehemently. She had to go with him to Los Angeles. “No. I can’t do long distance. It’ll be awful not seeing you. Besides, you’ve always been there for me. You always came to see my shows. This is the same idea. You’re my rock. You’re my woman. I’ve got to have you with me.”

“So you want me to turn down West Side Story?”

“Shan, can’t you put it aside?” he said, then the next words tumbled out before he could stop them. “You can’t even dance anymore.”

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, red clouds billowing out her ears. “You ass. You know that hurts. You think I wanted to tear my ACL and never be able to dance again? At least you can write jokes no matter what.”

“But it’s true. Doesn’t it make more sense for you to go with me? This is a big deal for me.”

“And West Side Story is a big deal to me. This is my chance to have a career after dance. To do the only thing I might possibly be able to do and still be in the dance world. And at least I didn’t accept it. I waited to talk to you.”

“I thought you’d go with me. C’mon, you’re my wife.”

“Not yet.”

“But you will be.”

“Not if you keep making decisions without asking me.”

Shit. This was bad. This was the jet spiraling from the sky. This was an engine spitting out fumes and spinning out of control. He had to lean on the one thing they’d always done well. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his six-foot frame towering over her.

“C’mon,” he whispered, as he kissed her neck. “How about some fucking and fighting? That’s what we do best.”

She banged her fists against his chest. Yup. That was how it started. That was how they played this game.

“Yeah. Like that, babe. Just like that,” he said, as she squirmed in his arms. It was the moment before. Before she let go. Before she gave in. Before she was consumed with the same desire he had—to fuck it out. To fuck out their anger. To turn all their frustration into a coming together.

He nuzzled her neck, kissing her furiously, looking for the reaction this always elicited—the almost instantaneous melting into his arms, the way she molded to him, responding to kisses that turned a moment from bad to good. She shuddered and gasped, and those twin signs drove him on, reminding him that he and Shannon were unbreakable, that no matter what they did or said, no matter how hot-headed she thought he was, no matter how secretive he accused her of being, at the end of it, they were a chemical reaction that couldn’t be denied.

She kissed him ferociously, threading her hands in his hair and pulling his top lip through her teeth. He groaned, loving her roughness. Loving how she gave as good as she got. She bit down hard, and the temperature inside him shot sky-high. He backed her up to the wall, ready to strip her clothes and have her.

Then, he felt her hands on his chest, and, harder than she ever had before, she pushed him off, so hard he stumbled and nearly lost his balance.

“What was that for?” he asked, shock echoing in his bones.

“There isn’t any fucking and fighting today, Brent Nichols.”

“Why?”

“Because you think everything can be solved with your dick. You think it’s okay to just make choices for us. It’s not. All you had to do was ask me first and I’d have said yes. But you didn’t even think about talking to me. You think you can just tell me how it’s going to be.”

His chest burned with frustration. He could not lose her. Would not. Hell, he was ready to toss her on his shoulder and carry her across the country if he had to.

“I’m not telling you how it’s supposed to be. I’m telling you that I need you with me. I have to have you by my side.”

“Which means you’re not really giving me a choice, are you?”

“What choice do you want me to give you? I took the job, and I need you with me.”

“You already made it clear that your career is more important than mine. And you know what? I’d have gone with you. I’d have called up Lars and turned down the chance to work on West Side Story. But you taking this job on the other side of the country, when we’d made plans to look for work in New York, shows me that I will never be number one to you.”

She swiveled around, grabbed her purse from the living room table, and marched to the door. He swore a cloud of angry smoke swelled behind her.

“Where are you going?” he asked, following her.

“I’m going out,” she said, biting out the words.

“You’re telling me you won’t even consider going to L.A. with me?”

“Are you telling me you won’t even consider going to New York with me?” she asked, countering him.

He said nothing. He let his mind cycle through his options. They were being squeezed thinner by the second. This job was the biggest opportunity he’d ever have. It could make or break his career. He had to take it, and he had to keep her. He imagined himself at the tables, laying down his bets, taking a risk. He was going all in, and he was doing it with a big bluff.

“If you don’t go with me, there’s no point staying together,” he said, making his Hail Mary pass. He had to do something. He couldn’t lose her. He had to let her know his way was the only way for them. “You’ve got to go to L.A. or we might as well be over.”

Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened. And her fingers started working. She reached for her left hand, twisting the silver ring.

“That’s how it’s going to be? This is what we’ve come to? You make threats to keep me?” she said, and she didn’t shout, she didn’t raise her voice. She whispered her vitriolic words and they sliced him.

“Shannon,” he began, trying desperately to backpedal. “It wasn’t a threat.”

She held up her hand, her eyes like ice and her lips a firing squad. Then she tugged on the diamond ring. His stomach dropped. He might have been bluffing. But she was not.

“You made this choice. You,” she said, her eyes narrowed and full of fire, her fingers shaking. “Here’s your hard-earned diamond. I want my band back. Send it to my grandmother’s house.”

“Please. I didn’t mean it,” he said, trying to claw his way out of the hole he’d dug.

She pressed her finger against his lips. “There’s nothing you can say to me now. You already said it all with your ultimatum. So, allow me to have the last word.” She peeled open his fingers one by one, and dropped the ring into his palm. “I might be the one leaving right now. But you are the one walking away from us. You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

A black cloud engulfed him. He had no clue how the day had gone to shit so quickly. He reached for her shoulder, trying to figure out how the hell to take his foot out of his mouth. “Shannon—”

She held up her hand, then walked out the door and out of his life.

As the latch clanged shut, he knew she was right. He was the one walking away, but there was no going back now.