I took a step toward her, about to give her a piece of my mind, but now it was Alex’s turn to pull me into him. My head was spinning with the revelation, even though I wasn’t even sure it was true.

“If you’re lying—” Alex started, raising a finger in warning.

“I’m not lying,” she cut through his words, stomping her foot again, a reoccurring tick that was more suitable for a toddler. “Why the hell would I lie? You know these people. Will wanted to save me and love me and blah blah blah. Then he felt guilty about us, so he ganged up on you with your friends and agent, who would do just about anything to keep you sober and productive. But you’re not happy, Alex, are you? How can you be happy without me? I thought about you every day.”

“This is bullshit.” Alex shook his head. “Will is not a martyr, and Waitrose is not a saint, and none of them would listen to you, anyway. Let’s go, Indie.” Alex pulled me by the hand, and the relief I’d felt at leaving the place was instant, but then Fallon grabbed his wrist. Up close, I could see madness dancing in her eyes, and I wondered how could they even call what they’d had love? If they were both high all the time, they never even had the chance to truly get to know each other.

“You never did the math, did you?” She laughed bitterly, losing any trace of self-control. “You never figured it out on your own.”

“Figured what out?” Alex asked, squeezing his fingers into his eyelids tiredly. He’d had enough of her. I could see it now. He wasn’t in love with his ex. He was merely annoyed that she’d left him for someone else. “What are you talking about, Fallon?”

“The accident,” she said. “The day you helped me?” She tilted her head, and there was something in her eyes that made my skin crawl. “It was her parents.”

The next few seconds moved in slow-motion.

I looked up at Alex.

He looked down at me.

His face was white. That’s the last thing I remember. Ashen, with realization and grief. I didn’t feel the fall. Rather, I saw it, as the sound around me muffled and their figures became dotted with inky black spots. My eyes watched Alex’s shoes and Fallon’s dress a second later. They closed despite my efforts to stay awake. More than anything, I wanted to hear what they were saying. They were yelling through the fog of lightheadedness. I strained my ears to listen.

“Fuck, fuck, no!” Alex yelled. “Fallon, no!”

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I blacked out, never coming up for that air I needed to survive.

Everything around me fell apart. And I fell with it.

Hudson: Sup, girls?

Jenna: Hi.

Hudson: Is it just me or did Alex look uber hot at that London gig? Indie, are you in charge of his wardrobe? He looks so much less hobo.

Hudson: (I’d tap it either way, but don’t tell him)

Jenna: Where is she?

Hudson: Ghosting our asses. But why?

Jenna: Indie, answer.

Jenna: Indie.

Jenna: INDIE.

Jenna: INDIGO!

I came to in a bed.

My Parisian bed.

Or, should I say, our Parisian bed.

God, I wanted to throw up.

Alex’s stuff was still in our room, as if nothing had happened. I looked around, examining the collection of fancy water bottles and organic snacks on the dresser, the guitar picks, the strewn notepads, Polaroid pictures of Alex and me from London, which we took when we found Blake’s camera in his suitcase. The room felt saturated with deceit, swollen with lies. My head pounded, and I wanted to stand up, walk over to Blake’s room, and hand in my resignation.

I was alone.

Swallowing the sour taste of puke that occupied every inch of my mouth, I wiggled in bed, trying to summon the energy to get back up and start packing. A minute after I woke up, Alex came out of the bathroom. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was a mess. He wore gray low-hanging sweatpants and nothing else. He looked like he’d just attended his own funeral. I tried to drag myself up and rest my back against the headboard.

“I’m going to make this right, Stardust. I’m going to—”

“Don’t,” I growled, my voice so harsh I couldn’t believe it came from me. “Don’t pretend like we’re still okay. We’re not. I want you to tell me everything. You’re a liar, Alex, but this time I need every truth you have to give me. That’s the least you can do after everything we’ve been through.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands on his lap. Yesterday, I hadn’t known how I could look at his face without my lungs contracting like he held them in his fist. Today, he was a stranger dressed as the man I loved—yes, loved. I fell in love with him earlier than I’d realized—with one version of him, anyway.

Once upon a time, a mere mortal fell in love with a rock god. You probably know this is not a fairy tale by now. Mortals and gods don’t mix.

“Four years ago, Fallon came home looking like hell on heels. We’d just moved in together. I was sober back then. Sort of. I was mostly on painkillers, a functioning alcoholic. I didn’t do cocaine and didn’t know I had a problem. I thought I just lived hard and played harder. So many people in my industry do. Anyway, she came back, and she was high as a kite, but she was also very upset. Said she ran over a deer on her way back from Calabasas and asked me to go take a look at the car. I did. It looked…” Alex rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ceiling, sighing. “It was wrecked. I asked Fallon, again and again and a-mother-fucking-gain if it really was a deer. There was so much blood. She maintained it was a deer and asked me to help her get rid of the car. So I did. I…I…”

“You helped her cover it up. Even though you knew, deep down, that she was lying,” I finished for him, my eyes hard on his face. “That’s what you’re telling me.”

He shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “I was drunk. It wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense. So many things looked wonky. It was just another thing on that list. But I’m going to make sure she turns herself in, Indie. If she won’t, you bet your arse I will.”

“Spare me the excuses.”

“I said I’m going to make it right.”