“This is the life.”

Carly takes a long sip of her mojito and leans back on her poolside lounger. The brand new red string bikini she’s wearing is so skimpy it should be illegal, but we were in such a hurry to get to the pool, we didn’t bother pausing to try anything on during our impulse-buying session at the hotel gift shop this morning.

“Hey, remind me to pay you back for the suit.” She shifts her position, getting comfortable. “I can’t believe we forgot to pack them.”

“Consider it a welcome-to-the-tour gift, manager.”

She grins. “Then remind me to thank you profusely for dragging me along on this unexpected adventure. I do love Nashville… but I feel like I’ve been stuck in a rut, lately.”

“Carly, I’m the one who should be thanking you. If you weren’t here, I’d be alone with the guys. What would I possibly do with my free time between shows, without you here to entertain me?”

She shoots a suggestive look in my direction. “I can think of a few things you’d be doing.”

“Such as…”

“A certain smirking, broad-shouldered lead singer comes to mind.”

I roll my eyes. “I thought we buried this topic.”

“That was before I saw your little almost-moment last night, as I was going to bed. Lie to yourself all you want, my eyes did not deceive me.”

Grabbing the sunblock, I start applying it to my bare arms in angry strokes. You’d never know I’ve been living in LA for the past few weeks — I’m still pale as a ghost after all our time in dark rehearsal rooms and fluorescent-lit sound stages.

“Felicity,” Carly pesters.

“What?”

“You’re seriously not going to talk to me about last night.”

“What’s there to talk about? Nothing happened.”

“An almost-kiss is not nothing.”

She’s a dog with a bone, and I haven’t even told her about the rest — how I stared into Ryder’s eyes for nearly an hour in the darkness, lost in his gaze until I fell asleep. I know if I confide in her, she’ll ask what it all means. And, honestly, I’m not entirely sure.

I stand so I can apply lotion to my legs, stomach, and lower back, tugging the strings of my yellow bikini aside so I don’t wind up with unflattering strap-marks.

“So, to be clear… you didn’t want to jump his bones?” Her voice is skeptical. “Because, from where I was standing—”

“Carly, what do you want me to tell you? That I had a moment of weakness after the longest day of my life, and for a minute — just for a minute! — the prospect of falling back into Ryder’s arms for a few hours of mindless distraction sounded appealing?”

“Mhmm.”

“Fine. I admit it. I was momentarily tempted by the superficial lure of a satisfying, no-strings-attached orgasm.” I snap the cap back on and set down the bottle. “That doesn’t prove anything except that I’m human, and it certainly doesn’t change the way I feel about him. Which, for the record, is in a strictly platonic capacity.”

Carly takes another sip of her mojito and mutters something I can’t quite make out under her breath. It sounds like stubborn ass. Before she can clarify, a dry cough sounds from behind me. I whirl around to find Linc, Aiden, and Ryder standing a few feet away, in easy earshot of everything I’ve just said.

Mother fudger.

Ryder is bare-chested and bronzer than a sea-god. There’s a tattoo over his heart I’ve never seen before — a tiny scribble of ink I can’t read from this distance. His abs are so defined, you could bounce quarters off them. His hair is falling messily into his eyes and a red bathing suit rides low on his hips.

He looks like every girl’s lifeguard fantasy come to life.

Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation required ASAP.

Unfortunately, the look on his face belies the delectable appearance — his features are twisted in such a dark glare, the bright sun overhead seems to dim the longer I stare at him. I search his eyes in vain for even a trace of the soft, silent accord we reached last night… but it’s gone. Splintered into nothing by careless words I only said to get Carly off my back.

“Ryder, I—” My attempted amends are cut off before I can get out much more than his name.

“Hello, ladies!” Linc grins as his eyes scan our bodies, taking in the view with an appreciative whistle. “Looking fine this fine day.”

“No one asked you, Travers,” Carly says, peering over the top of her dark shades as he stretches out on the lounger beside her. She scowls when he snags a sip of her mojito without permission.

“Get your own drink, you heathen.”

“Oh, baby, you know how that sweet talk turns me on…”

Despite her best intentions, Carly’s lips twitch as Linc makes a show of swooning over her. Aiden, however, looks less than amused as he watches the playful banter unfolding before his eyes. He drops his towel on our umbrella table, whips off his shirt to reveal a body so sculpted, Michelangelo would covet it, and dives into the water. His angry laps carry him swiftly to the swim-up bar on the other side of the pool, as far from us as he can get.

“What’s his problem?” Linc asks, mischief glinting in his eyes.

Carly shrugs, though her voice is anything but carefree. “I haven’t a clue.”

And she has the nerve to give me a hard time about relationships…

By the time I turn back around to Ryder, hoping to apologize and explain my way out of whatever he just overheard, he’s vanished entirely. He’s not in the water, or at the tiki-style bar. He’s not on a lounger or hiding from the sun under an umbrella. He’s simply…

Gone.

I try not to stress, assuring myself I’ll see him later. Except… I don’t. Not for the rest of the day. Not in the casino as we wander around with Aiden and Linc later that afternoon, watching people lose money for sport. Not in the adjoining suites we all share on the penthouse floor when we get ready for our only free evening to explore the strip. Not even at dinner in the chic Italian steakhouse where Carly, Aiden, Linc and I devour prime filets so big, I’m worried my stage costume won’t zip properly when I put it on for our next show.

No Ryder.

I smile and lift my seltzer in a toast to our second tour city, and all the rest to come.

I sit through a stunningly acrobatic Cirque Du Soleil show Carly somehow scored front-row tickets for by flirting with the hotel concierge, oohing and ahhhing at all the proper points.

I laugh when we bump into Aiden and Linc in the hotel lobby bar at two in the morning — several hundred dollars poorer after a trying their hands at poker, and half in the wrapper, if their glazed eyes are any indication.

Still no Ryder.

I play my part with ease, well-practiced at keeping my guards in place. But all the while, inside my chest, my heart cries out for the vital piece missing from our Wildwood equation.

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

It’s not my business anymore, what he does with his time when we aren’t on stage together. In fact, that was one of my very first stipulations when I agreed to come on this tour: separate accommodations, so I could keep him at arm’s length.

I wonder why that stopped seeming like a necessity. I wonder when I started craving his presence, instead of avoiding it. And I can’t stop the tears that come later, when I’m finally alone, my cries muffled in a plush bathroom towel so I don’t wake Carly, sleeping soundly in the next room.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I wish you’d let me say it.

The next day, we have our initial soundcheck at the venue — a massive amphitheater attached to our hotel. I stand at my mic, watching crew members test every bolt in the catwalk, making sure the platform rotates properly and lowers without a hitch. I’m frankly amazed they’ve assembled so much of our set in such a short period. At this rate, they’ll be finished with plenty of time to spare before showtime tomorrow night.

With a seating capacity of just under twenty-thousand, this arena is significantly smaller than the Rose Bowl… but I still feel a flurry of nerves in my stomach as I look out at all the empty seats. If I’m being honest with myself, the nerves might have more to do with seeing Ryder than anything. It’s been over twenty-four hours since the pool incident, and I’m half-mad with anxiety.

How did I ever last two years without knowing where he was, what he was doing?

I know the answer to that: I was sleep-walking with open eyes, functioning on auto-pilot. But now, I’m wide awake once more, my every nerve and synapse firing in response to him. He’s never far from my thoughts, lurking like a ghost in the back of my mind. No matter how I try, I can’t shake him out.

I shoot Aiden a glance, my raised brows asking the question I don’t want to voice aloud.

He shrugs. “I’m not his damn babysitter.”

A few minutes later, we hear the sound of the backstage door swinging open. When Ryder steps onstage, Lincoln grabs his sticks and starts a low, mocking drumroll against his snare. His voice drops to his best radio-announcer impression.

“Ladies and gentleman, presenting Mr. Ryder Run-Late-Again-And-You’re-Dead-To-Us Woods!”

He slams his cymbals to drive the point home.

I stifle a laugh.

“Sorry,” Ryder mutters, taking his spot at the mic beside mine. I dart a glance at him and all sense of amusement flees. He looks terrible — dark bags under his eyes, as though he hasn’t been sleeping. Try as I might to shut it down, the first thought that springs into my head is that he’s using again.

“You good?” Aiden calls, a similarly anxious look on his face.

“I’m fine.” Ryder raises his mic stand a few inches. “Let’s just play.”

He doesn’t look at me as we run through all the basic light and mic checks, playing the intro to Orbit a few times while the sound engineers tweak the speaker volume. They give the thumbs up for us to carry through to the chorus. We switch off verses, totally in sync.

“Now we’re dancing in circles,” Ryder rasps. “Trapped in this orbit…”

“No use fighting fate,” I echo. “Consider this my forfeit.”

Our voices meld together, alternating like a dance.

“You’re the break in my voice, the corner of my mind…”

“I’m the tear in your eye, the love you left behind…”

How fitting, to find tears of my own filling my eyes as the lyrics pour out, unstoppable as the driving bass line Aiden’s laying down with perfection behind us.

Ryder doesn’t notice my silent breakdown, staring straight ahead as he starts the next verse. “You’re the eye of my storm. A short burst of sun…”

The tears streak down my cheeks and pool at the corner of my mouth. I try to sing my part, but it catches in my throat, the lyrics coming out clogged with misery.

“If I thought you’d listen…” My voice splinters horribly. “I’d tell you to run.”

The sob bursts out, uncontrollable — a private sound made public when my microphone amplifies it through the arena.

Linc’s drums fade out.

Aiden’s fingers go still.

Ryder’s head swings toward me, but I turn away before our eyes can meet. Instead, my red-rimmed stare finds Aiden’s shocked one.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, dashing my tears away with the bell-sleeve of my sundress. “I just… Give me one minute. Okay?”

He nods gravely.

Without another word, I leave the stage. I’m almost to the backstage door when I hear footsteps, followed by what sounds undeniably like a scuffle.

I freeze, my hand on the knob.

“Get out of my way.” Ryder.

“Give her a minute.” Linc. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”

“You can move or I will move you, Travers.”

“That a threat, Woods?”

“A fucking promise.”

“You’re both being idiots.” Aiden. “Give her some time, Ry. Let her get herself together. She was…” His throat clears. “I’ve never seen her like that. Never seen her cry, even after the shit with her mom the other night.”

I don’t want to listen anymore, to hear them discussing the utter spectacle I’ve just made of myself. I push out into the hallway, walking toward the abandoned dressing rooms. Tomorrow, this will be a hub of activity, but right now it’s totally quiet as I slip inside a storage closet and sink down into as small a ball as I can manage, my spine pressed against a shelf full of cords and various sound equipment.

I hold the heels of my hands against my eyes, hoping it’ll stem the flow of stupid tears still sliding down my cheeks, but they don’t seem to want to subside, even after five minutes of deep breathing exercises.

This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I’m losing my mind a little more each day, pieces of my soul stripping away as I force myself to fit my sharp edges into a perfectly round peg, provided courtesy of Route 66 Records.

Smile pretty. Take a bow. Pose.

Act like you love him.

Act like you even have to act like you love him.

I want to leave this tour and never look back, before I lose myself completely. I want to go home. But I can’t — it doesn’t exist.

I have an empty cottage on the outskirts of civilization.

I have an empty plot of land where a mansion once stood.

I do not have a home. Not anymore.

Because I built my home out of a man, not a place. And, in the absence of his love, I am cut adrift, a wandering waif without a place to lay her head.

The knock is so soft, I almost don’t hear it. He doesn’t wait for an invitation — he knows me well enough to realize I won’t give one. The door cracks open, letting in a shaft of light as he steps over the threshold. He settles on the floor a few feet away from where I sit, curled with my knees to my chest, my forehead resting on my kneecaps. He kicks the door back closed with his foot, shutting us in the darkness together.

“Hey.”

The first word I ever heard from his lips, so many moons ago. It zips along my skin, a bolt of electricity.

“Hey,” I whisper miserably. “Just give me a second, I’ll come back out—”

“Don’t bother. I told Linc and Aiden to leave. We’re done for today.”

I keep my head buried in my arms. “But the soundcheck…”

“We’ll come early tomorrow. Make sure everything is ready to roll. It’s not a big deal, Felicity.”

He’s being so nice, it makes me want to cry all over again.

“So, you want to tell me what that was about?” He hesitates a beat. “I know things with you and me aren’t ideal…”

My voice is small. “It’s not just that.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“I don’t think I can tell you about this.”

“Why not?”

“We’re barely making small talk, these days, let alone trading secrets.”

“Fair enough.” He sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “But, Felicity… we were friends before we got together. We used to confide in each other about everything.”

“I know,” I whisper, shattered.

“If you need a friend…” He swallows audibly. “If you need someone to talk to, someone who won’t judge or push or tell you what to do… just someone who’ll listen… I can do that for you. Be that for you.”

I pause. “A friend?”

“A friend.” He pulls in a long breath. “Talk to me, Felicity. Tell me what’s got you so tangled up in knots.”

The darkness swells with unspoken sentiments. I push them aside, but I can feel them lingering on my skin like cobwebs long after they’re cleared from the air as I search for the right words.

“I feel so lost, Ryder,” I whisper finally. “I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m trying so hard to hold all these pieces together, to be the Felicity Wilde the world wants to see… and I feel like I’m failing at every turn. Failing the label, failing the band, failing the fans…”

Failing you.

“That’s crazy,” he murmurs. “The label is making so much money on this tour, they’re going to erect a Felicity Wilde statue in front of their office. As for Linc and Aiden, they aren’t exactly the touchy-feely type, but they’d both take a bullet for you if it came to that. And the fans adore you. They show up in droves to get your autograph, wait in line for hours to take a selfie with you.”

“Carly showed me what they’re saying online.” I look up sharply. “That I’m the reason you spiraled out of control, before. That my leaving was the reason you fell apart.” Another tear streaks down my cheek as I remember his words, before our first show.

You left me.

You ripped my heart from my chest.

I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.

That’s the worst part of all those #FelicityIsABitch comments. The fear that, deep down, they might be right.

Ryder runs a hand against his stubble, an old nervous habit. “You can’t listen to internet trolls, baby. They’d tear themselves apart if it meant an ounce more attention.”

“Logically, I know that. But the thought of perfect strangers hating me, when I’ve already got so many people hating me for real…”

His face gets dark with anger. “What are you talking about?”

“When Gran died…” My voice breaks, still unaccustomed to the loss. “She left everything to me. Every cent. All her guitars. Her land outside Nashville. Everything. That made the rest of my relatives pretty angry. I expected it from my parents… but Gran’s attorney told me he’s dealing with counter-claims from everyone. My cousin Devyn, my Aunt Kim… relatives I didn’t even know I had are coming out of the woodwork with torches and pitchforks and lawyers to contest Gran’s will. They’re saying I committed elder abuse. That I essentially stole millions of dollars.”

“Felicity, those people don’t deserve to be called family,” Ryder growls. “Your aunt never protected you. Never stepped in to stop your parents or lifted a finger in your defense, unless it was to further her own agenda. If they want to contest the will, let them try.” He leans a fraction closer. “Your mother was wrong the other night. I met your grandmother. I saw the two of you together, even after she’d lost her memories. That woman loved you more than anything. She wanted you to inherit her legacy. Not them. You. Any judge worth his salt will see that, and rule in your favor.”

“It’s not about the money,” I whisper. “It never was. Not for me.”

“I know that — and so did she. That’s why she left it to you.”

“I still can’t believe she’s gone. I feel like I’m still numb after last year, like I was just starting to come up for air, and now…”

I don’t know how many more losses I can take before I fall apart.

There’s a careful pause before Ryder asks, “Last year?”

I suck in a breath. I didn’t realize I’d spoken those words aloud.

“There’s something else weighing on you, baby. I can see it, plain as day in your eyes, and… I can’t help thinking you might breathe better, if you got it off your chest.”

He waits patiently, watching me struggle for composure. I wrestle with the words, trying to force them from the pit of my stomach where they seem to be perpetually lodged.

“Last year…” I tremble into silence, then start again. “Last year…”

Try as I might, though, I can’t get the words out. The ones I’ve never been able to admit out loud to anyone, about the other grave I cried over, months before Gran was lowered into the earth.

Another rogue tear slips down my cheek. Ryder reaches out, almost without thinking, and smooths it away. We both go still as soon as he makes contact. The tiny bead of grief quivers on the tip of his finger in the air between us. I watch it for a split second, suspended, wondering which direction it’ll roll.

Either way, the end game is the same.

Splat.

The tear hits the floor and, a heartbeat later, I hit his chest. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, but he recovers almost instantly. His arms come around me, strong and safe and warm, as I bury my head in the crook of his neck and wrap my hands around his waist.

It’s not a romantic embrace. It’s pure comfort in a moment of weakness. It’s surrender after a long battle, a handshake with the enemy on the besieged front lines.

Still… my tears drip faster and my whole body seems to sing.

Home.

Home.

Home.