“You staying?”

Maggie stepped back into the church after walking the band out and called over to me.

It was one in the morning and I was still sitting onstage, on my ass, my guitar cradled on my knees, practicing. As if I didn’t know this song, and every other song I’d ever written with Dirty, inside out.

When the band found out I was planning to return to Vancouver after my shoot in L.A., they’d gotten all excited and asked me to come to that secret show they were playing in town tomorrow night—and come up onstage to play a song with them. I’d said yes. And while I’d considered not coming back at all after Brody and I had our blow-out fight in my brother’s driveway, I’d spent every moment while I was in L.A. wishing I was here instead.

Because I’d rather be making music with Dirty than modeling, any day of the week. I had to keep my word to come back and play. But I also had to talk to Brody—that much hadn’t changed, no matter how pissed at me he was.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t a wreck about all of it.

“I’m in no hurry,” I told Maggie. “But if you need to leave, I can lock up.”

She disappeared for a moment, into the kitchen, re-emerging with a bottle of wine and a couple of coffee mugs. She hopped up onstage and took a seat on a big equipment case across from me.

“Don’t you think you’ve practiced enough?” she prodded gently. “There is such a thing as over-rehearsing, you know.”

“I know,” I said, setting my guitar aside.

She was right. But I was honored that the band had asked me to play, and I figured I owed it to them—not to mention to her and Brody, since they worked so hard behind the scenes to make this show happen—not to make an ass of myself.

I leaned back against an amp, sighing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous,” I told her. “Like puke-my-guts-out-and-then-some nervous.” It was true. Usually the nervous energy surrounding any kind of performance, strangely, gave me a sense of calm; it was like I instinctively knew how to convert that energy into a kind of numbness, an imperviousness against such things as stage fright.

Or maybe it was just years of practice.

“You gonna hurl?” Maggie’s lips quirked as she poured a mug of red wine for each of us and passed one over to me. “Because I can get you a waste basket or something.”

“No,” I said. “I think that pizza you brought in for dinner is saving me.”

“Right,” she said, knowing full well that I hadn’t eaten more than a couple of bites of pizza. Eating pizza and getting hired for swimsuit shoots didn’t exactly go together, at least not in my body type. She eyed me in that Maggie way of hers, like she could see right through to all the crap I wasn’t saying. “You really that nervous about the show? Or is something else going on you wanna talk about?”

“Yeah. I’m that nervous about the show,” I said. And I was.

My guts were also tying themselves in knots, though, over Brody.

I’m so fucking done with you.

Five long days had passed since he said those words to me.

And for five long days, he’d proven a man of his word.

I’d been out of town most of that time, but I’d tried calling him more than once to ask if we could talk. He didn’t answer. I didn’t even know if he was getting my messages.

Of course… he totally was. He just didn’t want to talk to me.

I’d seen him only once, this evening; he’d dropped by the church, shortly after I arrived. I’d come straight from the airport, eager to get in some practice time with the band before tomorrow’s show. Brody stayed for all of two seconds, long enough to have a few words with the band while ignoring me completely, then left.

These past five days, I’d gone over and over every word he’d said to me in my brother’s driveway—and every word I’d failed to say. It was killing me, that he’d wanted me to talk to him, had practically begged me to, and I’d choked.

I was still choking on the fact that he seemed to think I rejected him. That I chose Seth instead of him. That he seemed to think I never actually loved him.

I had to tell him otherwise. He had to know the truth.

How had he never known the truth?

Was it really possible that Brody thought I never even cared about him at all?

No. I couldn’t live with that. We’d both be at the show tomorrow night, so I knew that would be my chance. I’d sit on him if I had to, to get him to hear me out. Or get Jude to.

Whatever it took.

But first, I had to get through the show.

“It’s a lot to absorb,” I told Maggie. “The band… wanting me to play with them. It’s flattering, but…”

“But it’s a lot to get your head around,” she said.

I sighed. “I’m not a rock star, Maggie. Musicians like Zane and my brother… Dylan and Elle… they’re not just rock stars. They’re rock stars. I’m just kind of a geek, you know? I like words and sitting in a quiet space and daydreaming, writing things down on paper with pretty-colored pens. I know I work as a model, but I’m really an introvert. I get my juice here, in a small group, or on my own, with room to think. The guys in the band, they think on the fly. They’re reactive and combustible—”

“And you’re more of a slow burn,” Maggie said with a grin.

I sighed again and smiled; Maggie knew me pretty well. “They feed off that crazy energy onstage. I’ve never been like them that way. Never really wanted to be,” I confessed. It sounded like a betrayal or something, in the dark of the church… the band’s sacred space. “Does that sound crazy?”

“Fuck, no,” Maggie said. “You think I wanna be a star? My dad was a rock star. Well, still kind of is, if you ask him. And I’ve worked six years with these crazies, and I know it’s not all glitter and fairytales. Don’t get me wrong. They live a charmed life, and they live it to the hilt. But it’s not for everyone.”

She held up the wine bottle, and when I nodded, she reached over and topped up my mug.

“Do you know what’s going on with Seth?” I asked her casually. If anyone had the scoop, it would be Maggie. “Like… what’s your opinion on him coming back into the picture? You know he met with Brody.” It wasn’t a question; Brody would never keep something like that from Maggie.

She sipped her wine and gave it some thought. “Hard to say. Brody hired me on after Seth was already gone. But Zane was still drinking, you know? The band was probably at the height of all the craziness that surrounded the first album, and yet they were still really coming together in a way, after you left, and then Seth… It felt like this epic seismic shift was going on and I kind of landed in the middle of it. Growing pains? But I really couldn’t say how Seth leaving changed them. I only know what I hear.”

“What do you hear?”

She shrugged. “Everyone seems cautiously optimistic about him… resurfacing. I think they’re uneasy, though, about trusting him again in any way. It’s almost like he’s an old lover who broke all their hearts. They’d like to give him another chance, but once bitten, twice shy, right?” Her pretty lips curled into a slight smile. “There’s a thrill in the air, though. You can feel it. That potential, like embers smoldering. The fire on that relationship never really went out, I guess.”

“Right.” I sipped my wine uneasily and kind of regretted asking. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. But it didn’t really mean anything; it didn’t mean they were going to decide to trust Seth again. Not when there were so many talented guitarists out there who hadn’t broken their hearts.

Though I understood what Maggie meant. There’d always been fire between Seth and the rest of the band. Me included.

It’s hard to put out that kind of fire once it catches.

“Though it is pretty fucking clear they miss you like hell,” she added.

I smiled at her, softening at her words. Maybe it was the wine, or Maggie, or the church and the candlelight… sitting here, surrounded by the band’s stuff, like I really was part of it again… but it felt really fucking good. “Thanks for that, Maggie.”

“Don’t thank me. They love you. We all do.”

And then it came; the discomfort. Geez. Was I ever going to stop feeling guilty about hearing that?

“Look,” I told her, “I feel like I owe you an apology. Or at least, an explanation. For why I’ve been… avoiding you.”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “I didn’t know you had been.”

“Yeah. Well…” I picked at the rip in the knee of my jeans. “I haven’t exactly been making myself available. But I want you to know that the reason I’ve stayed more in touch with Roni than with you over the years, for example, is because… well, my relationship with Roni is just… kinda frivolous. She doesn’t expect much from me or hold me to a higher standard. Whereas you’d never let me get away with the shit I try to pull.”

Maggie just brushed that off. “I just figured you’re going through some shit. That’s your business. I’m here for you, whatever happens, you know?”

“I know.” I gazed at my old friend, feeling worse for her understanding. It was intense, how much I’d missed her; just talking to her, like we used to talk. Back in college… before I left. “Everything’s falling apart, Maggie,” I confessed, my voice small in the dark of the church.

“What is?”

“Me and Brody.” I whispered it into the shadows, like the walls had ears, though there was no one to hear it but me and Maggie.

“Oh?”

“Before you came on the scene, you know, years ago… we had a thing. Kind of. It’s… complicated. I mean, I had a thing, for him.”

Her eyebrows went up. “And?”

“And… I guess he’s always wanted me, too. You know… from afar.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, taking that in. “Afar.”

“Yeah.”

She eyed me skeptically. “Okay. Excuse me if I’m missing something here, but have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Um… sure?”

“So… you’re telling me he likes that from afar? What the fuck’s wrong with up close? What does he have, an aversion to beauty or something?”

I smiled a little. “No. That part’s kind of on me.”

“You’ve got an aversion to beauty? I know he’s my boss and all, but Brody’s hawt, Jessa. I can say that because he’s not my type, so I’ve never been tempted to go there.”

I grinned, curious. “What’s your type?”

“Ugh,” she said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Walking disasters. Brody’s got his shit together. Apparently that doesn’t do it for me.” She frowned. “But we’re getting off topic here, and I’m still confused. What’s the problem with you and Brody?”

“Maybe the problem is that he’s got his shit together.” I sipped my wine, a bit of a lump in my throat; I really wasn’t used to this level of candor. I’d spent most of my life avoiding it. But I took a deep breath and plunged. “I’ve always been afraid that if I let him get close, he’ll decide he doesn’t want me anymore. You know… when he sees how not-together my shit is.”

Maggie frowned, clearly unimpressed with that line of thought. Not that I expected her to be anything else. “Look, you know I love you, hon,” she said, “but if you’re gonna sit here and sell me bullshit, I’m not really buying.”

Okay. That was about the last thing I expected her to say.

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

“Oh, Jessa.” She sipped her wine. “You and I have always clicked, right?”

“We have,” I agreed.

“But you never really let me in, and sometimes that gets… old.”

“Sure I do,” I protested.

“No, you don’t. You keep me at a distance, just like you do everyone else. You tell me what you want me to know, let me see what you want me to see, and that is never the full picture. We’re all entitled to our privacy and our secrets, but Jessa, you hold yours in front of you like a shield and that is the bullshit I speak of.”

I shook my head slowly, processing that. “I never knew I did that. Only let you see certain stuff… that I used it like a wall. I mean, I know I’ve done that, at times, with people in the past. I didn’t know I was doing it now. With you.” I bit my lip. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Well, isn’t honesty refreshing?” She shrugged. “I’m not much for bullshit. I get enough of that from Zane.”

“Maggie. You give nothing but honesty. I’d expect no less, and I love you for it. Please don’t stop now, even if I give you bullshit.”

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself since the wedding. Before you went down to L.A. for your shoot.”

“Hanging at Roni’s. And, you know, we’ve had a few girls’ nights.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I guess I’ll be seeing more of my brother. And Katie. I’m staying at their place now.”

“I heard.”

“And making music, a bit, as you know.” I took a swig of wine, fortifying myself, getting a feeling where this was going. “Spending a little time with Brody.”

“Uh-huh. And you’ve been dying to get back to modeling the whole time, right? Dying to leave?”

“Well… no.”

She threw her hands up, in the direction of the stained glass window. “Hallelujah, Jesus.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “What?”

“It’s about time, is all.” She leaned over and handed me the bottle of wine so I could top up my own mug this time, which I did. Generously. “Look, Jessa. I’ve got no issue with your career of choice. You know that. While these other guys bitch and moan about you coming back to us, I figure you might as well rock the modeling thing while you can. I mean, you’ll have to choose a different path at some point, obviously, because no one wants to see a bikini model with crow’s-feet and sagging breasts, and that is the sad truth.”

I laughed again. “Yeah, I’m kind of aware that’s the way it works. Maybe I could be the first, though?”

“The first what?”

“Bikini model with sagging breasts and crow’s-feet. Set a new standard for beauty.”

“Not gonna happen in this life, but good luck with that in the next one,” she said. “Seriously. You ever think about why you were drawn to modeling?”

“I wasn’t really drawn. It was just an opportunity that presented itself when I was too young to think about it and I went with it. I was lucky.”

“More bullshit.” She shook her head at me. “Jessa, you were drawn to modeling. You can’t tell me any girl gets as far as you have and she doesn’t want it, and want it bad. You’ve got to compete against all those other gorgeous bitches for every job you get, and you know that isn’t easy. Looking hot in a photo or on a runway is one bit of work, but I’m gonna tell you, after mopping up Dirty’s shit for the past six years, it’s not the hard work they’d have you believe. Competing for those jobs where you get to look hot in a bikini? That’s hard work. Living on a diet fit for a very small rabbit, dealing with other bitches’ problems in your face whether you want them there or not, getting rejected over and over again for things that are beyond your control, that is hard work. And you’ve done it. You don’t fight that fight, and win, unless you want it. So why don’t you tell me again, and no bullshit this time, why you were drawn to modeling.”

Damn. Maggie was good.

“I don’t know,” I said, genuinely at a loss. “Because I got to travel and make money?”

“You were gonna get to travel and make money with the band. You serve up one more heap of bullshit and you’re out of here on that hot ass of yours. I mean it.”

“Damn.”

“I can tell you why you became a model. Because you were super fucking good at it. You were beautiful, you are beautiful, and when you rock that into a photo or down a catwalk, no one can touch you. Modeling, for you, is skin deep. I get that. I’ve met a lot of beautiful girls, and a lot of models over the years, at our video shoots, backstage, at parties, and some of them just aren’t there, you know? That’s the way it is for some girls. That beauty is a way to keep people out.”

“Yeah. It’s that,” I admitted.

“And not just men,” she said. “Everyone.”

I digested that.

Then I took a breath, took a sip of wine, and asked, “Did I ever tell you about the drugs?”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Drugs?”

“It started before I met you,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “And it’s not like I came to class wasted, so maybe you never knew.”

She looked at me with compassion and not one ounce of judgment. “Jessa, you never told me. But it’s not like I didn’t know.”

I stared at her, a little shocked. “What?”

“I saw you, at that party out at Brody’s… remember? That first party you took me to, when you introduced me to Brody and the band. You’d come with that guy, and Brody caught him dealing coke, and there was a bit of a kerfuffle when Jude bounced him out. You weren’t too happy… I wasn’t sure exactly what happened there. But I saw you, later in the night, arguing with Seth outside. You were upset.”

Shit. Maggie saw that?

How much had she heard?

“I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything,” she added quickly. “I went out to smoke a joint with some of the guys, in the backyard. Zane dropped a comment, something about Seth and you and ‘too much speed.’ I don’t know, at the time I didn’t think much of it. Just figured you guys were high, and there were a lot of drugs going around back then, but… I guess maybe Zane knew more?”

Zane knew?

Oh, God… I’d been so stupid. So naive.

If Zane knew, maybe my brother knew.

Maybe everyone knew.

Maggie sighed at the look on my face. “Would you please do me one sweet favor and stop being so hard on yourself?”

I chewed on my lip, just kind of stewing in this uncomfortable mix of relief and shame.

Why did I think I had to hide from Maggie? Sure, I knew she was kind of a straight arrow; a little booze, a little pot… but it’s not like she hadn’t seen it all and then some working in the Dirty universe. Her dad had lived that life, too; so in a way, she was born right into the craziness. And it’s not like I was being served up heroine on a silver platter; I’d heard stories about her dad’s parties back in the day, and whatever I’d heard, she’d heard more. Maybe even witnessed. If anyone would understand the things I’d been through, it was Maggie.

“Jessa, please listen to me,” she said softly, before I could say anything else. “I know you lost your parents, young, and I know there was pain. A lot of it. We all saw it. You think you hide that stuff and you are good at hiding, hon, I’ll give you that. Behind that pretty face of yours, it’s hard to know what’s really going on. But believe me, I’ve seen the worst there is, and it is not pretty. It might’ve once been pretty, but that pretty goes fast. My dad was more or less an addict, you know? I mean, I never really thought of him as one, but he put his party life over me and my mom, so what else would you call it? He’s pushing sixty and he’s still high every time I see him. God only knows how he’s made it this long with whatever shit is in his veins. But that’s the glamorous life, you know? He’s rich, he’s got a new young babe on his arm every other month, and he likes his drugs. Whatever. It’s ridiculous the shit he gets away with. I’ve seen what drugs can really do. You know I volunteer at a women’s shelter? I have for years.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well, those are the ones who’ve fallen through the cracks. They didn’t end up with the glamorous life. I’ve met women who’ve lost teeth to meth addictions and men’s fists, who’ve lost everything, and worst of all their self-esteem, their self-worth, their self-preservation. They’ve lost themselves. Believe me when I say, I’ve known lost women. What I see when I look at you is not a lost woman. I see a woman who found a way back to herself, long before it was too late. Don’t give up on that.”

“Thanks, Maggie,” I managed, tearing up. “But would you understand what I mean if I say that sometimes I think I’m not hard enough on myself?”

“Fuck that,” Maggie said. “As your friend, I’m here to tell you it’s okay to let yourself off the hook for whatever’s happened in the past. And I’ll tell you something else that may be a revelation to someone like you. I know it is to a lot of women who walk into the shelter.” She leaned in and said, “It’s okay to ask for help.”

“Yeah,” I said, starting to really get that concept. Especially when I saw all the strength and compassion in Maggie’s pretty gray eyes. “I know we’re the same age, but you know, I’ve always kind of looked up to you?”

“Shit. What kind of drugs did you say you did again?” She grinned and sipped her wine.

“I didn’t say. And I’m serious. I’ve always admired you. You’re tough as shit, but you’ve always kept your sweetness, you know? Like you come strutting into a room in your high heels, all five-foot-nothing of you, and start kicking butt and taking names, and all the guys just melt. They’re useless globs of putty in your manicured hands. Even Zane, and that’s saying something, believe me. You just always seem to have it all figured out. You have this amazing, perfect life you’ve built for yourself that’s just so you, and I envy that.”

Maggie just stared at me, her eyebrows going up… way up. “Perfect life?”

“Yeah. You know. You’ve got the band. You kick ass at your job, and you’ve got the work you do at the shelter, too. You rock all of it. You help people. You help me. And, you know, you’ve always been an incredible friend to me, and shared with me, let me in, and I haven’t even—”

“I married Zane in Vegas,” she blurted.

I froze, stunned.

“You… what?”

“Oh, for the love of Christ,” she gushed. “That felt so fucking good to just say it out loud to someone. Pass me that wine?”

I passed her the bottle and stared at her in disbelief, my mouth gaping open as she took a swig.

“You… How? When? Why?” I stammered.

“Exactly.” She sighed. “You see, Jessa, we all do stupid shit we’re not proud of. Perfection is an illusion. Even beauty is kind of an illusion. And that’s what you are when you model. An illusion. But here’s the thing: you’re a real person. You deserve a real life. So go out there and live it already, and stop worrying what everyone else thinks. You don’t need to be perfect or even beautiful all the time. Just love yourself and the rest of it will figure itself out.”

Yeah, that was some kick-ass Maggie advice, but I was kinda stuck on that other thing she said…

“You… married Zane?”

“Yeah.”

“Zane.”

She rolled her eyes and took another swig of wine. “Yeah.”

“Zane.”

“Yes.”

“And then… you got a divorce?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“No.”

“As in… you are married to him? Right now?”

“Technically… yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know. ‘It’s complicated.’”

“Oh, no. Do not throw my words back at me,” I said. “You are not getting out of this that easy.”

She grinned a little, kind of painfully.

“When did this happen?”

“Last April.”

“April! That was almost a year ago!”

“I’m aware.”

“And you’re living together?” I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Zane lived in L.A., and she lived here.

“No. We are not.”

Oh.

“So you’re just… married.”

“Technically.”

“But not really… married?”

“That’s about it.”

“Because… Zane…” I floundered, unsure how to put it. “He isn’t really…”

“He’s not husband material,” she said flatly. “You can say it. We both know it’s true. And yet, I’m the idiot who married him on a stupid fucking whim in Vegas.”

“Right. And you aren’t… like… secretly an item, then?”

“Well, every other time I see him he has some random woman wrapped around him, so no.”

“And yet… still married?”

“Yup.”

I gaped at her. I couldn’t help it. This was huge. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“No one. Well, my dad and his latest arm ornament. They were there, at the fucking ceremony. Other than that… no. And we made them promise not to tell. But Jesse saw us, apparently. Coming back to the hotel in the middle of the night, me with my bouquet and all, and he put two and two together… He asked me about it about a month afterward but I just denied it like hell. Laughed in his face, actually. Told him we were just partying, that I was wasted and Zane was looking out for me, that the bouquet and the ring he saw me wearing were just gags, party favors given to Zane by some bachelorette party we ran into while we were bar-hopping. Guess he figured the whole notion of me marrying Zane was so ridiculous, when I laughed it off, he bought it… ended up apologizing to me for even asking.” She shook her head, her shoulders dropping. “God, I’m such an asshole.”

“You are not an asshole. It’s your private business. If you don’t want anyone to know, that’s your choice.”

We sat there for a few minutes, drinking wine, me from my mug and Maggie straight from the bottle.

“It is pretty ridiculous, though,” I ventured, cautiously. “You. And Zane. In Vegas.” I cast her a sideways glance. “Married.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mrs. Zane Traynor,” I mused.

Our eyes locked. I snorted a little as I tried not to laugh—which made Maggie lose it. Apparently, we were both in need of some tension relief, because once we got going, we totally fell apart.

“Hey, babe,” I said, in my best impression of Zane, “can you fetch my slippers?”

“Oh my God.” Maggie mopped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. “Stop making me laugh or I’m gonna piss myself.”

“Shit,” I said, getting a hold of myself. “I really don’t mean to make light of your troubles.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“No. Seriously,” I told her. “I really appreciate you telling me this. It means a lot that you trust me enough. I have very few real female friends, and I need to start valuing the ones I have more.”

“Well, you’re doing better than me, anyway. I’ve got pretty much none. Except you. And maybe Elle on a good day. And now of course there’s Katie. You might say… I’m married to my work.”

We fell apart again.

Yeah, we needed tension relief. Big time.

Ah, shit. Speaking of tension relief… I sobered again.

“Have you had sex with him?”

“It’s Zane,” she said, mopping her tears away again. “What do you think?”

“Uh-oh.”

“Just don’t ask. You really don’t wanna know.”

I wrinkled my nose. Zane was hot and all—like way hot, objectively—but there was still the brother thing, as in he felt like one to me. “No, actually, I don’t.”

“Good. It’s too depressing.”

Ouch. That sounded bad.

Like really bad.

“So I take it… things aren’t good between you two?”

Maggie took another swig of her wine and gave me a look. “It’s complicated.”

Right… “So… are you planning to stay married, then? I mean, I’m assuming not, if you’re still keeping it a secret.”

“If I knew the answers to such questions, Jessa Mayes, I wouldn’t be drinking wine straight from the bottle.”

Ouch again.

I chewed on my lip, considering. “Have the two of you… talked things through, though? Together?”

“Come on, Jessa. You know there’s no talking to that man.”

“Damn.”

“You could say that.”

“So… what are you going to do?”

She wasn’t laughing anymore, and suddenly the tears she was wiping away were real.

Oh, shit.

Shit.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “What would you do, if you were me?”

I stared at Maggie, stunned. I’d never seen her cry before. And I felt so much compassion for her in that moment. So fucking much. Because she had feelings for him. Real feelings. That much was obvious.

If she didn’t, there’d be no problem at all. Just divorce his ass, or get an annulment or whatever, and be done with it.

But she hadn’t done that.

“I guess that would depend,” I told her honestly, “on how much I loved him.”