IAN

There’s buzzing near my ear that wakes me up, and I swat the air hoping it’s a bug that’ll go away. Unfortunately, I’m not that lucky.

My phone screen lights up the dark room, burning my eyes when I crack them open to look at who’s calling me.

“It’s three in the morning,” I groan as soon as I answer it.

“Look at our fucking Instagram,” Dylan growls.

Our what? 

“At three in the morning?” I quip groggily.

He sighs, “Just do it.”

I sit up tiredly, feeling my limbs slowly wake up from sleep. 

Sighing and switching over to the app once my eyes adjust to the light, I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing the right thing.

And I stare. And stare.

Then a laugh bursts out before I can stop it. “Christ,” I snicker, rubbing the heel of my palm against my tired eyelids.

“What did I tell you, man?” He’s clearly not as amused as I am by it. “You left a fifteen percent chance for Tess to do this!”

“It's kind of funny.” 

“How the hell is that funny?” he blasts. “She put her cat everywhere! And is he supposed to be us?”

Tessa has five posts of her cat in our different band tees, with a link to online store to buy merchandise. It’s actually a good idea. 

I scroll through them, because the damn cat has a different wig on in each picture. 

I snort when I get to what I assume is Dylan. It’s the mop-looking hair that does it. “It does kinda look like you.”

He swears. “That wig is an insult.”

I don’t see why. He always sports the messy hair look. Somedays I wonder if he even brushes it or just runs his hair through it and calls it good.

My eyes narrow in on the caption. “She’s actually doing something smart. Look at the bottom captions.” 

He grumbles profanities. 

“Just do it and quit bitching.” 

On two of the posts were places to donate to animal shelters, with Relentless as a spokesman for the businesses both at a local and national level. She’s giving us good PR. The tactic is smart.

Although something tells me that she did it partially to piss Dylan off. 

He swears again. “Why does she have to be smart about it?”

“Does the wig offend you that much?” I muse, staring at the picture again. 

“She could have at least put one of those fake muscle shirts on him. I’ve got abs!”

I roll my eyes. “She’s promoting our store and charity work. Can’t you just praise that?”

He lets out a heavy breath. “You said she wouldn’t post shit about her cat, dude.”

“I assumed she wouldn’t. I was wrong.” 

He grunts in agreement. 

I shake my head. “I’ll call her in the morning if you really want me to.” 

A pause. “No. Just … tell her she needs to run it by us first whenever you talk to her next. And while you’re at it, tell her not to dress her cat up like us. It’s appalling.”

Typical Dylan. A flair for the dramatic.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say, man.”

“So what are you up to?” he asks, his mood doing a complete 360 and giving me whiplash.

I look at the alarm clock. “Uh … sleeping?”

“You were seriously sleeping?”

“It’s three,” I remind him.

“You usually just get home at three.”

“There aren’t a lot of parties in the middle of nowhere Vermont, Dylan.”

He sighs. “Sounds like it’s boring as shit there.”

“It’s not so bad.” And I mean that.

Partying is fun once in a while, but the parties we go to are all the same. When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. It’s the same bad music, and the same bad alcohol, with the same chicks trying to get your pants off the second you’re alone.

It’s suffocating.

This is a vacation that I know Dylan won’t understand, because despite the stories, we’re not all that alike. Maybe once, but not anymore.

People change. Kasey is proof of that. 

“You still there?”

I yawn. “Yeah, man. But I’m actually about to go back to bed. Was that all? Or were you going to tell me how lost and devastated you are that I’m still gone?”

He snorts. “Oh, kiss it.”

“Aw, you do miss me,” I bellow. 

I can picture him rolling his eyes. “I’m just sad you’re not here to tame Tessa.”

“Tame Tessa?” I repeat, laughing. “Nobody can tame that woman. Plus, it wouldn’t be my job anyway. Tell Will to distract her if she’s being such a pain in the ass.”

“That woman is always a pain in the ass.”

Couldn’t argue there.

“Plus,” he adds, “Will can’t tame her, because the sucker loves her too much to say no.”

That makes me smile. “He’s a fool in love, Dylan. Maybe one day, you’ll be like that, too.”

“Please,” he jeers. “That day won’t be anytime soon, and you know it.” There’s a pause. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” 

I sigh. “I’m not in love, if that’s what you’re asking. Far from it.”

“But you’re smitten.”

“I’m … me.” 

We’re … us. And I think that’s a good place to start.

Kasey’s words ring in my head, knowing we’re restarting it all. Our friendship, relationship, whatever she wants to consider it.

And something that Tessa told me over the summer reminds me of this moment, because I once believed I loved Kasey. And in a lot of ways, I did. As a friend, a best friend. Something like what Will and Tess have. 

But loving her in any other way isn’t what I felt, because I was too young to feel something as strong as that. To understand it on a level I could now. But it was a feeling I held onto, even after all this time.

“You with me?” he asks, breaking my thought.

I blink. “Yeah. Sorry, man.”

“You want to be in love,” he notes.

“I want to feel loved.”

“You are. Not to get sappy and shit, but you are loved by people. The band. The fans.”

And I know it, but I don’t say so. Because it’s not the same. Not when our fans see a different version of us than who we are outside the press. 

He sighs. “But you want more.”

“Yeah,” I find myself saying, “I do.”

“You’ll get it.”

The smile wavers on my face, because doubt floats in my mind. I have limited time here, with somebody I want to know again.

I don’t know if I’ll ever love Kasey, and based on the way she looks at Jake, I highly doubt that she would love me in any way that I want.

“Maybe,” I finally say. 

But I don’t even think he believes me. 

By the time the sun is up, I’m wide awake. My guitar beckons to me from where it rests against the wall in the corner of the room. I promised the guys I’d write at least two new songs while I was away.

Personally, I don’t see why Dylan is so worried about me not showing up. I started the band—craved success. It wasn’t about the girls or the money, although they were definitely an added bonus. It was about playing music that meant something to people, a connection. A feeling. 

A lot of people say you can’t fall in love easily, but I do it every time I hear a song that tells a story worth listening to. The game changes when it’s music, because you can tell a love story in a three-minute lapse, and it can be a story that you become obsessed with or loathe from the get-go. It depends on the artist—if they feel that emotion when they perform it.

Being in love isn’t a nuisance like Dylan seems to think it is. I wouldn’t know, but I could get an inkling of understanding just looking at the woman Kasey has become. 

Feeling something as strong as that can make a song that much stronger.

I throw the comforter off my body and grab my notebook from where it sits on the night stand. Walking across the room, I wrap my hand around the neck of my guitar, sitting down on the couch.

I’ve been scratching out lines left and right every time I sit down to write, because nothing seems like it works well enough. Probably because I don’t know what I’m feeling. How can I draw from the unknown?

Twelve years is a long time 

To move on when I said good-bye 

It should have never been that way

But the past will never change

Don’t you wonder what we’d be?

If we unpacked just to never leave?

Do you think we’d be okay?

Would we ever be the same?

I tap the end of my pen against the blank paper, searching for something else. A single word. An idea. A concept. 

 The problem is, nothing comes. Not a single thing that can help me or the band. It’s been like that for months now, to the point the guys suggested getting other people to write for us.

We’ve never had anybody other than Will write for us. Even then, it wasn’t supposed to become anything. But the song “Relentless” meant something to him. When he showed me the lyrics, let us play with the music during practice, I knew it would be successful, because he wrote it for Tessa.

Some people think baring our souls isn’t worth the risk—like it weakens us. Shows people our lowest points. But it also gives us something to prove, a justification. 

Sometimes, justifying your feelings doesn’t work out, though. It becomes a game of how many excuses you can make before you either win it or lose it all.

I’m not going to do nothing while I’m here, so instead of pretending like inspiration will hit, I decide to take some risks of my own. 

Setting my notebook and guitar aside, I get changed and grab my wallet. Kasey may not want much from me, but I want everything. 

I left my best friend here twelve years ago, and I’ll be damned if I leave one behind again.

My second home has become the last booth at Birdseye, in a nook with a draft every time the glass door opens. On days like today, in the middle of the week, there isn’t much business. It’s scattered, especially mid-morning like now.

Some of the waitstaff are filling ketchup bottles on the tables, others filling salt and pepper shakers on the counter. I notice the way they look at me, their smiles all telling a different story.

I’m used to it. The way some girls smile at me like I’m an opportunity, while others are able to see a cause that’s beyond a hyped image. 

My life is so photoshopped that people only see what the press allows them to. You learn who your true friends are after a while, because they won’t ask you for anything like others do.

Some of these women, their smiles, tell me that they pity me. They sympathize. I can only imagine it’s because they know why I come here. It’s definitely not for their coffee, because whoever makes this stuff in the morning puts an extra scoop too much. I like my caffeine, but not when I have to chew it.

No, they know damn well it’s Kasey. And, okay, their burgers are pretty good, too. 

The bell chiming above the door makes me lift my gaze from the coffee I’m staring at. Kasey has been in the back helping with dishes for an hour. At first, she said maybe three words to me. But one good puppy-dog look got her coming over and refilling the nasty coffee, and me pretending I loved it. 

My get-to-know-you plan only went as far as her admitting her favorite show was Supernatural, and me somehow blurting out that I loved watching reruns of Jersey Shore. Not my proudest admission, but not my worst one either. 

“You forget where you live?” Jake asks from where he stands at the end of the booth. He’s in his uniform, so I assume he’s heading into work unless he worked night shift, since it’s only a little after eleven. 

I chuckle. “How could I forget where I live, Jack? I have such amazing neighbors to go home and hang out with.”

He looks at me for a second before chuckling, not caring about the name blunder. I push aside my coffee cup, the mud sloshing around, and watch as he slides in across from me.

He shifts on the hideous red upholstery. He looks at my nearly full cup of coffee, and then back at me.

My brows arch. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing cop shit? Like fetching donuts or coffee? I think there’s still a Dunkin’ over on Myrtle. I’m sure they have what you’re looking for.”

He scrubs his palm across his jaw. “That place closed about three years ago. A local bakery on Main gets most of the baked good business. Pretty cool, if you think about. How somebody local can be that successful.” He eyes me as he says the last part. 

I eye him back, taking in the double meaning. “So I take it this chat means you don’t have to hand out tickets to old people who are walking too slow?”

He snorts, flagging down the redheaded waitress at the counter. “Can I get a cup of coffee, Mel?”

She smiles and nods, pouring him a cup. I notice the way she looks at him from over her shoulder. How her eyes drift longer on him than other customers. 

I chuckle.

“What?” he inquires.

“That chick is into you.”

“Mel?” He shakes his head. “Nah, we barely know each other. Can’t even say we’re friends, really.”

Before I reply, she comes over with his coffee. She sets it down in front of him, giving him a wide smile, before sauntering off again.

The extra swivel to her step proves my point. 

I turn back to him, seeing that he noticed exactly what I did. 

“Okay, I see what you mean,” he murmurs, clearing his throat and taking a sip of coffee. I notice his is lighter than mine, and seems to move easier.

I take his cup and study it. “What is this?”

“Uh … coffee.” He says it like I’m crazy.

I frown, staring at my own cup. “This looks way better than mine.”

He takes my cup and inspects it, then starts laughing. “You’ve been drinking this crap since you started coming here, haven’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” I say slowly.

He glimpses over to Mel, who is cracking a grin. It isn’t predatory like it was when she smiled at him before. It’s amused. Knowing.

I sigh heavily. “They’ve been giving me crap coffee on purpose, haven’t they?”

Jake nods. “Kasey’s specialty. You’re a trooper for actually drinking that shit. I had the misfortune of drinking it once. Couldn’t finish it.”

I notice a familiar pair of eyes watching now.

I shake my head at Kasey, but can’t help but smile. 

Raising my cup, I say, “Well done, Miller. I was wondering why it tasted like the mud pies you used to make when we were younger.”

She rolls her eyes.

Before anyone says anything, I drink the rest of the cup. I try ignoring how awful it tastes, and how thick the texture is. But I have a point to prove just like she does.

“Maybe tomorrow you can give me a regular cup?” I bargain, setting my cup back down on the table.

The amusement on her face disappears, replaced with awe. I’d like to think there’s even the slightest chance that I impressed her. 

Without saying anything, she goes back into the kitchen. 

Well …

“I can see why she likes you,” he states after a moment of silence.

I gape at him. “Are we talking about the same person, because I’m fairly certain she doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t share her feelings often,” he replies, shrugging. “But I know for a fact that she did with you. The night I stopped by to see her, I heard part of the conversation.”

“You mean you eavesdropped?”

He grins. “Yep. Anyway, she doesn’t tell people much about her past. She especially doesn’t let people know how she feels, because she sees it as a weakness. Believe me, Wells, she likes you.”

I cast a glance to the kitchen window, but I don’t see her standing there anymore.

“She wanted to tell me why she doesn’t like me,” I disagree quietly. “I don’t blame her. If she was bottled up all this time, she was bound to blow eventually. I was just the person it happened to.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

I lean forward. “I don’t know. You’re her friend. I imagine you know her better than anyone. Like she’s said plenty of times to me … I don’t know her anymore.”

“But you want to.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he counters. “To her. To Rosie. Hell, even to me. I’m not going to pretend that I’m thrilled you’re here. I’m not. But I have no reason to dislike you. And Kasey … you’re part of the life I wasn’t in. Her past. She’s got some serious demons, some I don’t even know about. If you being around means chasing some of those away, then I’m glad.”

I stare at him, trying to figure him out. 

“What’s your game?” 

He sips his coffee. “Not everyone has an end game. You should learn to trust.”

“Do you trust people you hardly know?” 

“No,” he admits casually. “And I know for a fact that Kasey doesn’t either. Don’t give me that look. I get that you know each other, that you’re not technically strangers, but see it from her perspective. You don’t know everything that happened here over the years.”

“I know enough.”

He finishes his coffee off. “If you really believe that, then you’re an idiot. Think, Wells. If you were in her shoes, would you open up about absolutely everything to just anybody? Regardless of who that person used to be to them?”

Used to be. 

I still hate the past tense labels I get when it comes to Kasey and me, because I know there was a time when we promised each other we’d always be friends. 

“My parents said that friends don’t last forever,” she tells me. “That someday you might not hang out with me anymore.”

I stare at the picture she’s drawing. I think it’s supposed to be a cat, but it looks more like a pig to me, only she’s coloring it brown instead of pink. 

“Our parents don’t know what they’re talking about. I’ll always hang out with you.”

She puts down the brown crayon. “We’ll always be best friends?”

“Always. I promise.”

“Even when I take your candy?”

“Yep.”

“Or when I make you play tea party?”

“Yep.”

“But what about when we’re older?”

“I said always, Kasey.”

“But always seems like a big promise to keep, and Daddy told me that you shouldn’t make promises unless you know you can keep them.”

I force myself to brush off the old promise. 

I hate to admit when other people are right on the subject matter, but I can’t pretend he’s wrong. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to open up completely either. 

“She already told me about her family, so what more is there that’s bothering her?”

“It’s not just about her family,” he explains. “It’s about her feelings. I don’t know girls, and I doubt I ever will. What I do know, is that this girl is more emotional than she lets on. She plays tough so people think nothing gets to her, but I can see it eat at her every day. Sure, she told you about her parents splitting, but there’s a lot you don’t know. Shit, there’s a lot that I don’t know.”

“So how do I find out?”

He shrugs. “You don’t. Unless she wants you to know, you hold back from pressing the issue. If she thinks she has to tell you, she’ll only resent you more.”

He makes a solid point, even though it sucks to admit.

I can’t help but wonder why he’s insistent on telling me this. “What’s your deal with her? You’re interested, that’s pretty obvious. So why bother warning me against pressing her if you know she’ll resent me for it?”

“Mostly because I’m not an asshole,” he answers simply. “And I know Kasey to some degree, and she’d threaten to cut off my balls if she knew I warned you away from her. Her dislike for you is something she justifies to herself. If I even bother disliking you for the same reasons, she won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t make much sense.”

He chuckles. “Kasey doesn’t make much sense sometimes.”

“But we like her anyway,” I conclude, sighing.

“Hard not to,” he agrees. “For somebody who thinks she’s incapable of loving because of what her parents went through, I see how much she loves her sister. It shows hope for her that I wish she seems someday.”

“With you?” I guess.

His face remains slack from emotion. No wonder he’s a cop, he doesn’t give anything away. “With anybody who makes her happy, as far as I’m concerned. If you and I don’t agree on much, we can at least agree that she deserves to find somebody worth her time. Her happiness.”

 I just nod along. 

“So what is your game?” he asks, throwing my words back at me. “Are you here to stay? Can’t imagine you’d find much interest around here. We don’t have anything exciting going on most of the time.”

I shake my head. “Not staying. Just visiting.”

“You came here for Kasey?”

“Not like I have anybody else to see.”

He studies me, his arms crossed on his chest, and I wonder what he sees. Hope? Wishful thinking? It isn’t like I wear my intentions on my face. Whatever he’s calculating, he’s coming up with his own conclusions. 

“What made you think that she’d want to see you?”

“I didn’t. I suppose it was wishful thinking on my part.”

His eyes become calculating. “But she doesn’t necessarily want to see you, and you’re still here.”

“I feel like I need to make it up to her. I made a promise a long time ago that I didn’t keep, and I should make it right before I head out.”

His lips twitch. “She’ll think it’s pity.”

“She can think what she wants. As long as I know what it is, it doesn’t matter.”

He snorts. “You care what she thinks, or else you wouldn’t put so much effort into trying to earn her forgiveness. And shit, before you came here you didn’t know you needed to be forgiven. So stop feeding me bullshit.”

We stare at each other challengingly. 

I break the silence first, averting my gaze. “I wasn’t bullshitting you about the promise. And even though I stand by not having a say in what happened years ago, it still hurt her. I see that now. I heard it. So, no. Maybe I didn’t think I’d need her forgiveness when I first came. Maybe it was just an understanding I wanted. An acceptance. But regardless, I came here to see her.”

 “With what outcome?”

 “I wasn’t aware this was a interrogation, Officer. Maybe I should call my lawyer.”

He levels with me. “I don’t want to see her hurting any more than she already is. So if asking you endless questions is how I ensure that, then suck it up, buttercup.”

“I don’t want her hurting either,” I ground out. “And your mother has been doing a perfectly good job keeping the interrogation going, so we don’t need you. She practically asked me what my track record with women was.”

Humor lit up his stoic face. “I’m going to be very honest with you. My mother is all Kasey has for a mother figure in her life. Hers is a mess, as you’ve heard. There is some tough shit going down with her that you and your image will only get in the way of. Kasey might not need anybody’s protection, but she has backup. She has us.”

Us. Not him and me, but him and his mother.

“If your mom practically adopted Kasey into your little happy-go-lucky family, then isn’t it a bit strange you’re so into her? Might want to see somebody about that.”

He blinks, and then shakes his head. 

Sliding out of the booth, he tells me, “I really want to threaten you if you hurt her, but I think if anything happens between you, you’ll feel bad enough when it ends. So I don’t think threats are needed right now.”

Not right now. But someday. 

“Why would it end?”

“Face it, Wells. This isn’t your home anymore. You’ve got other places to be besides here, worrying about making some old friendship new again. You don’t need this town like you used to when you were little, or the people in it. I’m not trying to come off as a douche. Eventually, you’ll have to say good-bye.”

He walks away before I can reply. 

Looking over, I see Kasey frowning at me. 

How much did she hear?