In the morning, we check into a hotel in downtown Portland. Once I'm semi-unpacked, I get to studying. There are still question marks about the Dangerous Noise books, but I can't answer any of them until I talk to Mal.

Catching up on my coursework makes this whole tagging along on my rock star ex-boyfriend's tour thing feel almost normal. Studying in a quiet hotel room while Ethan is off playing live on some morning radio show is a lot like studying in Ethan's living room while he's off playing in the soundproofed practice room downstairs.

I work on linear algebra until my brain is jelly then I walk to the Peet's Coffee around the corner, drink tea until my brain is solid, and I study some more.

This—me and my textbook and a steaming hot unsweetened matcha latte—this is where I belong. I don't have to play down my interest in math. I can get as excited over solving problems as I want. I can clap with joy when I figure out a tricky answer. I can chew the ends of my pen when I'm stuck on a problem.

I can let my I love math freak flag fly.

I finish my matcha latte and order another. My stomach growls. It wants food—not pastries, nuts, or candies, actual food—but my brain wants more math first. I spend another two hours finishing my work, then I grab lunch at a taco truck and head back to the hotel.

Mal is in the lobby, greeting a pretty woman with short black hair. One of his fuck buddies, I guess.

He nods hello. She eyes me curiously. After he whispers in her ear, she relaxes and waves me over.

Uh… I'm glad that Mal enjoys his different girl in every town thing (at least that's how Ethan describes it) but I'm not particularly interested in the details. The man is objectively hot— tall, blue eyes, brown hair, ripped arms and chest covered in black ink—but he doesn't stoke my embers. He really feels like an older brother.

"Sharon, this is Violet." Mal shoots her a knowing look. "Ethan's… friend."

"Oh, Violet." She shakes my hand with a friendly smile. "It's nice to finally meet you."

I'm gossip for Mal and his fuck buddy. That's fun.

"Ethan used to talk about you all the time. The poor guy couldn't admit how much he—"

Mal cuts her off. "Vi's helping with the books." He looks to me. "We're gonna be busy for a while, but I want to talk to you about this today. You coming to the show?"

"I can," I say.

"Should only take an hour. You can grab a ride with Sharon." He turns to Sharon. "You don't mind waiting, do you, baby?"

She giggles. "Every time you're in town, it's the same."

The way she's looking at him… I don't need those details. I clear my throat. "Just knock on my door when you're ready." I turn and hightail it to the elevator bank before I have time to get jealous of Mal's ability to separate sex and love.

* * *

I mean to go to my room, but my feet are drawn to Ethan's room. My hand is drawn to his door. My heart is drawn to his.

I knock lightly. "It's me."

There are footsteps then he's pulling the door open. "Hey."

"Hey." I shift my messenger bag off my shoulders and drop it on the ground in front of me. That's better. There's less weighing me down.

"You want to come in?" He nods to his mostly clean room.

"I have to catch up on work."

"Do it here." He picks up my messenger bag, slides his arm around my waist, and whisks me into the room.

Damn, he smells good. He looks effortless in his skinny jeans and t-shirt. I wrap my arms around him to soak in the warmth of his body.

"You're dangerous to my productivity," I mumble.

"Isn't it spring break?"

"I'm trying to get ahead of schedule."

He laughs. "Of course you are." He takes a step backwards and nods to the guitar and amp in the corner. "I'm gonna practice. You can use the desk."

"You lugged that amp all the way up here?"

"This is nothing." He picks up the amp with one hand and holds it over his head to make his point. "You're giving me a look."

"What look?"

"Not sure, but I like it." He sits on the bed and pulls his guitar into his lap. "You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna destroy your productivity for the rest of the afternoon."

"I'll keep my eyes on my textbook."

"I hope you don't." He pulls a guitar pick from his pocket and strums. First, he plays a scale. Then another. Another. It's the same order as always. He looks to me. "Is this the major or the minor?" He plays another scale.

It's familiar. But I'm not sure.

He plays it again. This time, the notes are higher.

I shake my head. "I don't know."

He plays it again, higher, lower, lower. He jumps up a few octaves then jumps back down, then he's improvising a guitar solo.

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Music is the only thing I ever feel. I can't explain music. I don't know anything about it. But I can feel the patterns, the rhythm, the melody. It's in my bones.

He gives me a half-bow when he finishes. "How's the homework?"

"Delayed."

"But besides that?"

"Good. I'm learning this new concept in differential geometry-"

"Differential geometry?"

I laugh. "It looks at three dimensional shapes in space." I launch into an explanation of my current class. Mostly, it focuses on control theory, how to model variables in a non-linear way. It's sort of like chaos theory. I try to channel Michael Crichton to explain it in the simplest possible terms. "So it's really not that complicated."

Ethan laughs. "Not even a little."

"Just a bit harder than calculus." I pull my textbook, notebook, and pen from my messenger bag. The way Ethan is looking at me with affection in his eyes is making me nervous. I chew on the cap of my pen. That helps.

"I love the way you light up when you talk about math. I'm glad you get to do what you love." He spins his guitar pick. "I'm going to stop distracting you eventually."

"You can distract me a little."

"Let me make it up to you." He stretches his fingers then places them on his guitar. He starts to play a familiar song, Can't Seem to Make You Mine by Garbage.

Does the choice mean anything? Does he even know the title? I try not to think about it. Instead, I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Ethan goes through a dozen alternative rock hits—all songs I love, but is that a coincidence or does he remember?—before he starts practicing Dangerous Noise songs.

The whole time, I pretend like I'm studying. But really, I'm thinking about how much this feels like old times.

I fucking miss old times.

* * *

The afternoon is a blur of studying. First with Ethan. Then in my room. I barely have time to change, fix my hair, and do my makeup before Sharon pops by to whisk me to the venue. She talks my ear off about how impressive it is that I'm helping with the band's books at such a young age, and about how she actually works for a software company that always has room for smart people in software design, especially people with master's degrees from NYU.

She assures me that Portland's gorgeous sunny summers are worth the six months of rain and grey. Sharon seems nice, but I'm glad when we arrive backstage and find Mal. He plants a deep kiss on her lips, whispers sweet nothings in her ear, and sends her away.

I bite my lip to keep from commenting on his player moves.

He chuckles but says nothing about my resting bitch face.

Our workspace is a dressing room. Its locked door is labeled Private. Seems Mal is the only person who has the key.

He locks the door behind us and sets up his laptop at a table in the corner. The room is small but it's clean and the table has two chairs. It's a fine place to work.

I double-check my findings then I go over them with Mal. He nods as I explain, only occasionally interjecting to ask for clarification. Mostly, he nods or shakes his head, holding his usual Mal Strong it's hard being in charge but someone's got to do it poker face.

When I've explained everything I can, I do my best to summarize. "It's possible this is an accounting error, but that's unlikely. Twenty grand goes missing then it shows up two months later. You haven't lost any money, but all signs point to someone 'borrowing' it and replacing it secretly."

"Hmmm."

"Should I do anything about this?"

"No. The money is here. Twenty grand isn't anything to fuss over."

That must be nice. "What do you want me to tell Ethan?"

Mal pushes up from the table. "Mind if I ask you something personal?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He raises a brow.

I push myself up too. I try to copy his cool and composed gesture, but it's not happening.

I pace.

He stares.

I pace faster.

"That a no?" he asks.

"Just ask."

"You and Ethan—is that really no strings attached?" His voice drops low enough to convince me he's concerned.

I wish I had an answer. I fold my arms and hold Mal's steady stare. "I'm trying to work on living in the moment."

He chuckles. "That's bullshit."

"Maybe, but it's true. I haven't had any fun since Asher died."

"Any?"

"Not the kind you have with Sharon. Or when you step on stage every night. I know that's hard work, but I see the four of you after. Even you look exhilarated."

"Hmm…" He gives me a paternal once-over.

I'm sure Mal means well, but he's not going to convince me his loyalties lie anywhere other than with Ethan. "It's really none of your business."

"I know."

"Then how about we stay on task?"

"I have an idea about where the money is. If Ethan asks, tell him that."

"That you won't tell me?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." I try to hold a confident posture, but Mal's stare is intense. Within moments, I'm back to pacing.

"Maybe it's none of my business, but do me a favor, Violet. Don't break his heart again."

Anger flares in my chest. Who the fuck does Mal think he is, looking at me with that concerned big brother expression, like I maliciously tore out Ethan's heart and threw it to the wolves?

Doesn't anybody care that he broke my heart?

Doesn't anybody care that Ethan destroyed me?

Obviously not. Mal thinks I destroyed Ethan. Kit thinks I destroyed Ethan. Joel thinks I destroyed Ethan. Piper is on my side, but she's not here to defend me.

Ethan used to be the person who understood me, but this…

Fuck this.

I tap my toe against the carpet. Mal is waiting for a response.

I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself. But those words don't fall.

I pace faster.

He stares.

Fine. I need to say something. I offer Mal my best smile. "We're just having fun."

He shakes his head no, you're not.

I shake my head back yes, we are.

He stares.

I clear my throat. "Is there anything else?"

"Whatever Ethan said about you two being casual is bullshit. He cares about you."

Maybe. I press my lips together. "I've seen him in a hundred pictures with a hundred different women. Ethan doesn't have trouble separating love and sex."

"Hmmm."

I can't take it anymore. "I loved Ethan more than I've ever loved anyone."

"Then don't hurt him again." Mal's deep eyes get intense and protective.

He really believes I'm careless with Ethan's feelings.

Fuck him.

I stare back at Mal. "I didn't want to hurt Ethan when we broke up the first time. I didn't want to leave. He didn't give me another choice. He had nearly two years to get me back, but he never did as much as send me a text."

Mal says nothing.

"Maybe I did hurt Ethan. Maybe I destroyed him. But you know what? He destroyed me too."

Mal, that fucking asshole, just stares back at me, his deep blue eyes mysterious and impenetrable.

"I'll keep your fucking advice in mind though, Mal. I'll try not to break his heart. But why don't you warn him to be careful with my heart?"

Right on cue, there's a knock on the door. Probably Mal's fuck buddy. He gets to enjoy his casual sex without the third degree. He gets to win over a few thousand people when he steps on stage. He gets his pick of conversation, dance, or fuck partners wherever he goes after the show.

He doesn't have to deal with any of this don't break Ethan's heart bullshit.

"Yeah?" Mal calls to the door.

"You in there, Vi?" Ethan taps his fingers against the door. "Want to warm up my hands the fun way."

Mal cringes. Ah, thank goodness for minor victories.

He opens the door for Ethan. His eyes go to mine. "You're right. But think about what I said anyway."

I clench my teeth and dig my nails into my thighs. My a-line cotton skirt is thin enough it stings. Fucking asshole.

Ethan looks from Mal to me. "What'd he say?"

There's nothing but earnest affection in Ethan's blue eyes. He wants to know why I'm hurting. I want to tell him. I want to collapse in his arms and show him every place I hurt.

Hell, I want to rip open my chest, hand him my broken heart, and beg him to sew it back together.

But I can't.

He's the reason I'm suffering this third degree.

He doesn't understand that he forced me to leave. He doesn't understand that he pushed me away when I needed him to pull me closer. Until he understands that, this is staying casual. Even if that kills me.

"Vi, what did he say?" Ethan kicks the door closed and slides his arms around my waist.

"That the two of you should talk about the missing money. Mal knows where it went. He won't tell me. But he wants to talk it over with you." I fold my arms and offer Mal my sweetest fuck you smile. This is his problem now. "Don't worry. The money is back. You're on budget for the tour. And you have a lot of extra royalties coming in." I press my lips together. With my access to the books, I know Ethan's Dangerous Noise earnings, down to the penny. "You're still a multi-millionaire. I should let you two talk. I'll see you after the show." I make my way to the door.

Ethan pulls me into a tight embrace. His lips hover over my ear. "You sure that's it?"

I nod.

He drags his lips over my neck. "You owe me one, Vi. You're coming on my hands later."

God yes. I kiss him hard then I offer him my best coy smile. "I'll find a way to fit you into my schedule."