“So I got a thing tonight.”

From the other side of a patch of grass in Central Park, Elle cocked a brow. They’d eaten at some purely New York place with incredibly juicy burgers and onion rings, which she’d scarfed down with relish since she didn’t have to worry about kissing him. Lifting the burger wasn’t as easy in her current predicament, but Mal’s crack about offering to cut up her burger in little pieces had given her new resolve.

After that, they headed to the park and sat around like bums all afternoon, camping out near a trio of guitarists who ran through a repertoire ranging from Creedence Clearwater Revival to the Fugees.

It was a fairly warm, overcast day in November, and they were blissfully anonymous in the crowd. They didn’t talk, beyond dispensing the snacks they’d bought at a corner bodega. Chips. Soda. Pull apart licorice that stained her fingers—and probably her lips—red.

She didn’t have to try to impress him, and he definitely didn’t worry about impressing her. Since he didn’t text or do much with social media, he wasn’t on his phone all afternoon. Her one-handed predicament made her leave her phone in her pocket too.

Besides, her company was interesting. Not what he said, but because he didn’t say much. Didn’t have to. There weren’t any uneasy gaps in the conversation, because silence swelled between them like a song.

Speaking was so rare between them that even hearing his voice jarred her a little. She imagined he had a lot of “things” from one day to the next. From his behavior on the bus, she doubted a twenty-four hour period passed without one.

“Is this ‘thing’ blond, brunette or a redhead?”

When he didn’t respond, she pursed her lips. “Two out of three? Or wait, you don’t know yet. Depends who you choose from your little black book.”

“Ain’t so little.” His painfully direct stare would’ve made another woman blush, but she was well used to his comments.

She braced the side of her knee on the pack of licorice to hold it still and yanked off another piece. “Well, you have fun then.”

He picked up his bottle of soda and popped off the top, taking a long drink. Then he slowly screwed the top back on. “It’s not a woman.”

“A man?”

This time, he arched a brow and she hid her smile behind her piece of licorice.

He didn’t say anything more for so long that she figured the subject was closed. Fine by her. They were just killing some time while they were both in the same place.

No big.

“You wanna come?”

The question was so unexpected, she turned her head to blink at him. “Say what?”

Again, the silence. Then he cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

“Now I’m curious.”

“I’ve got a gig. Club called Purple Egg in the Bronx.”

“Come again?” When he didn’t reply, she leaned forward and whipped him with the end of her licorice until he reluctantly met her gaze. “You, the guy who doesn’t even like to play with his band? With who?”

“I never said I didn’t like to play. You assumed.”

She snorted. “Right. Us judgy meanies, being so harsh.”

“Band’s called Venus Rising. They put out the call for a replacement drummer on Craigslist. It’s my second night sitting in with them.” He shrugged and flipped off the cap of his soda, tipping back the bottle again.

“So, what, you’re inviting me to your show?” She bit into her licorice. “I do know how you play. I might’ve heard you a time or two.”

He shrugged again. “So don’t come.”

“Can I bring a guest?”

His gaze went from flat to knife-sharp in an instant. “Hook up somewhere else.”

“I meant Teagan, asshole.” But she laughed, shaking her head. “For a guy who gets so much play, you sure are cranky about the rest of us getting any.”

“Just not in the mood to crack open any more skulls because of your bad choices.”

All at once, she wasn’t so amused. “I didn’t ask you to do a damn thing. Ever,” she added meaningfully.

“You know what? Forget it.”

“Already have.”

He shoved his empty soda bottle into the paper bag that held their wrappers and other discarded bottles and lumbered to his feet. “You ready?”

She was tempted to sit there and make him wait. Jerk. Worst of all, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d been the asshole this time.

In fact, she was almost certain it was her, and that was pissing her off.

“Look, you’re not normally nice to me.”

He watched the guitarists strum the opening of “Stairway to Heaven” and ignored her.

“Then you get all self-righteous about me bringing a friend when we both know you’ve had about triple the amount of women on the bus than I’ve had guys.”

Still nothing.

“You didn’t even say if you liked the drumsticks. They cost a lot of money, you know.”

Yep, she was now officially the asshole.

“I liked them,” he said shortly.

“Jesus, don’t be so effusive.” She finished off her licorice and closed the package as best she could before tucking it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Then she shifted onto her knees and was about to struggle to her feet when he simply plucked her up and set her on them.

Worse, he didn’t even breathe heavy.

“Ready?” he said again.

“Impatient much?”

He obviously was, but he matched his pace to hers as they headed back to the parking garage where they’d paid an exorbitant amount to park for the afternoon. Almost evening now.

The silence back to Teagan’s place in Brooklyn wasn’t as comfortable as the earlier one had been. He pulled up to the curb down the block and she climbed out, hesitating before she closed the door.

He never looked her way.

Yeah, you messed that one up royally, Crandall.

Teagan wasn’t home yet when she went inside, and she was at loose ends so she struggled through a shower. More like a sponge bath, really. She had no idea why, since she was in for the evening. But she also did her best to wash her hair one-handed too.

TV held little interest. So did the book she’d bought on Amazon yesterday, a juicy romance novel. Until Mal had shown up, she’d been riveted.

Now nothing kept her occupied.

When Teagan texted her she was on her way home with takeout Chinese, Elle was struggling through pulling on a pair of skinny jeans. She happily took a break from that fruitless task to sit on the edge of her bed to text her friend.

You up for a club tonight?

A club? Where?

My bandmate’s playing at a place called the Purple Egg in the Bronx. Know it?

One of your bandmates is still in town? Who?

Malachi.

*Sigh* Mercy, he’s a big, delicious bite, isn’t he?

Elle frowned at the winking and kissing emojis Teagan sent. Lord, did her friend have a crush on Mal?

Of course she does. Most women with pulses do. And he knows it, the obnoxious oaf.

I think he’s got a girlfriend.

Elle groaned at what she’d replied. Why the hell had she said that? He surely did not have a girlfriend. At least not singular. He was a multiples kind of guy.

Bummer. Still smokin’ hot though. I don’t know the Purple Egg, but we can check it out. What time’s the show?

Elle released a long sigh. She would’ve known, if she hadn’t been such a raging bitch to him when he’d asked.

I don’t know.

Hmm, so maybe I better skip the Chinese, and we’ll grab something there?

Do you mind?

No way. How often do I get to hang out with real live rockstars?

More winking.

Kidding. I have one crashing in my spare bedroom, and it’s wicked cool.

Elle smiled and tapped out a reply.

I’m not a rockstar, and hello, you’re a musician yourself. No stars in your eyes, girl.

Dude, I play sax at weddings and bar mitzvahs. Not exactly the same kind of audience. On my way home. We’ll leave my car then & Uber it to the show so we don’t have to deal with parking. Curl your hair or something.

A minute passed and another text came through.

On second thought, don’t. My naturally curly hair is my only advantage if I’m going clubbing with a hottie like you.

Elle laughed and went back to trying to pull on her jeans. What a pain in the ass. Another text came through when she’d finally accomplished it, this time from Denver.

When you coming home, Crandall? It’s been two days since you’ve been sprung.

Elle had to smile. They’d had the same conversation every day since she’d told Denver that she would be sticking in New York a while longer.

Soon, I promise. Why isn’t that husband of yours keeping you naked and off the phone?

One needs to break for sustenance now and then. Seriously, how are you?

Getting by. How are you? How’s everyone?

Fine. The same.

Biggest lie ever told.

How is Jules? I know she can’t be good, but I’ve texted her and she hasn’t answered.

She’d texted her half a dozen times, truth be told. It wasn’t as if she’d expected Jules to say much. A confirmation she was still alive would’ve been plenty. But she’d said nothing. Almost as if Elle didn’t exist.

Elle was trying to wait her out. Jules knew what she needed right now. And Elle understood that.

No one could quite get what it was like to live through something like that if they hadn’t. And Elle hadn’t lost her soulmate.

Denver finally sent back a text.

She’s still breathing. About all we can ask for right now. She and Tris have been pretty holed up. We’re trying to give them what they’re asking for, and right now it’s space.

The baby’s okay?

She still hasn’t officially admitted she’s pregnant, but we all know it. She’s said she’s all right, so I have to hope the baby is too.

Elle set down her phone and pressed her fingertips to her closed eyes. God, just thinking about Jules being pregnant in the midst of this made her queasy. She missed her friend so much. All she wanted was to wrap her arms around her and hold on until this horrible nightmare ended.

But it never would. And Jules didn’t need—or want—her hugs right now.

It was probably just as well she had opted to stay in New York. Mal too. For all Elle knew, maybe Jules would just see them as bad reminders of a night she could never forget.

Denver texted again.

I don’t like the thought of you alone all day while your friend is at work. I don’t think it’s healthy.

What Denver didn’t say was that she felt it gave Elle too much time to think. She was right—normally. But not today.

Actually, I had company today. I’m okay.

What kind of company? Making friends already?

Nah, I hung out with Mal.

Denver didn’t reply for so long that Elle figured Ryan must’ve come home or something. She stood to root through the few shirts she had with her, finally deciding she’d go with a tank top. More room for the damn sling without causing sleeve friction. Plus, clubs usually got hot.

But then there was definitely the bra issue. She didn’t normally rue her C-cups, but she was right now.

“Fuck my life,” she muttered, grabbing a plain cotton bra out of her drawer. Then she went back for a push-up one. Hell, if she was going through that much effort, might as well shove the girls nice and high.

Denver texted again just as she was closing the front snaps. She sighed and grabbed her phone, narrowing her eyes at Denver’s one-word question.

Why?

Because he’s here? I don’t know. We just chilled. No big deal.

She wanted to say more. Like that they’d had fun. Or at least she had. There had been no stress. No need to think. And she hadn’t felt alone, something she often did even when she was in a group. That pervasive loneliness had dogged her since childhood and the feeling had only grown worse since the night of the concert.

But not today.

You hate Mal.

I don’t hate anyone.

Pretty sure you hate him. If I polled the band right now, they’d all agree with me.

Fine, have it your way, I hate him. I still had fun today. Okay?

Denver’s pause in texting was even longer this time. Elle took the opportunity to turn off her phone.

She loved Denver. Out of all the girls, Denver was probably her closest friend. But she didn’t want to justify seeing Mal to her or anyone else. It wasn’t as if they’d made out, for fuck’s sake. They’d just had lunch and watched some guys play guitar. And argued about petty shit.

What was the big deal?

Oh, maybe that you’re wearing a push-up bra to watch him play at some club? And skinny jeans, which are basically equivalent to a chastity belt for you now in terms of effort required to put them on.

She growled under her breath and stalked to the bathroom mirror. She wasn’t wearing the bra and skinny jeans for Mal. That would’ve been ludicrous. She was just going to support the guy because he’d asked her to come see him play.

Before she’d thrown the invite back in his face.

She shut her eyes and lightly thunked her forehead against the mirror.

Smart move, Crandall.

Recovering from a concussion and she already had a headache building and what did she do? Bang her head some more.

All because Malachi Shawcross was ridiculously sexy and absolutely no one in the world seemed to want her to go within fifteen feet of him.

* * *

She was still restless and itchy as she and Teagan waited in line outside the Purple Egg at a quarter to nine. Early by clubbing standards, but they didn’t know when the set was due to start. Her phone pulsed in her hand and she growled at the message before shoving her phone back into her pocket.

“If I get one more text from Michael about keeping clear of Mal, I’m going to scream.”

Teagan grinned. “Only makes you want to spend even more time with him.”

“I’m not being contrary. I just don’t get what the BFD is. I’m a grown woman. Besides, if we were going to do something crazy, we could’ve done it months ago. His bed is like five feet from mine.”

Teagan pushed her round frame glasses higher on her pert nose. Everything was pert about Teagan, from her bouncy red curls to her stacked ass. And Elle didn’t feel weird for noticing, since Teagan had asked her repeatedly if her butt looked okay in her ripped jeans.

Answer—yes, it looked fabulous and Elle was jealous as hell.

“But he hadn’t saved your life then. That’s, like, Titanic-type shit right there.”

“What is it with Titanic? Everyone uses it as an example of some great love story, and hello, Rose could’ve made room for Jack on the board. She didn’t because she was just using him for some cruise ship booty and planned on landing herself a new rich guy the moment she got back to shore.”

Teagan’s mouth dropped open. “That is quite possibly the most cynical thing I’ve ever heard you say, Richelle Crandall.”

Elle shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Your jaded view of one of the most romantic movies ever aside, what Mal did for you is enough to create some serious vag-clenching moments.”

“He would’ve done it for anyone. We didn’t even talk about it. It’s not a thing.”

Except it was, in the back of her head. Especially since she kept having weird flashbacks to the night of the show, both when she was and wasn’t awake.

The ones she had during sleep were far worse. Knowing Mal had witnessed at least the tail end of one of those nightmares should’ve freaked her out, but it hadn’t. Neither had his checking out her rack. She’d felt at ease with him in a way she couldn’t explain.

It hadn’t always been that way between them. Maybe it wouldn’t be again since she’d screwed things up so colossally.

But she was there for his show, wasn’t she? And whether or not he wanted her to stick around, she intended to stay for his entire set.

That was what a friend would do. Because that was all they were. Barely even that, but still.

“But he didn’t do it for anyone. He did it for you. Have you seen the pictures?”

A pang went through Elle’s chest, somehow resonating in the dull ache at the base of her skull. “There’s pictures? God. I don’t want to see.” She glanced over her shoulder at the line already winding down the sidewalk behind them. A burly, stern-looking security guard was checking IDs at the door, and it was taking forever.

“Yes, there’s pictures. Look.” Teagan scrolled to a webpage and held out her phone to Elle. “He looked so hot carrying you out of there. I mean, of course it was a horrible tragedy, and I know people were hurt—”

“My bandmate’s husband died. Went far beyond hurt,” Elle said shortly, pushing away the phone. “I don’t want to see them.”

“If you’d just—”

“Teagan. I said no.” Her sharp response made the people just ahead of them turn around to stare.

Elle shook her head and covered her face with her hand. Her head felt as if someone was driving an iron spike through it. And her arm was prickling with pins and needles, a sensation she was becoming all too familiar with.

Why had she thought coming out tonight was a good idea? She was in pain and uncomfortable and the crush of bodies against her on all sides was making sweat pop out on her brow and between her breasts. A crowd this size was dangerous. If anyone was packing a weapon, or decided to cause some trouble, shit could go south fast.

You didn’t think of that earlier, with Mal. Think he can protect you from everything? That he’s your own personal savior now?

“Whoa, sorry, Elle. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Teagan touched Elle’s back lightly, pulling away when Elle braced. “Are you okay? You look sick.”

“I’m fine.” Just two minutes away from tossing what’s left from my lunch on the nearest pair of shoes. No problem here.

“If you aren’t feeling well, I’m sure you could text Mal and send him your regrets.”

Elle barked out a laugh. “Right. I’ll just do that, since he isn’t speaking to me at the moment anyway.”

Teagan’s perfect auburn brows pinched together. “Then why are we here? I thought you said he invited you?”

“He did, but I threw it back in his face.” Elle rubbed the knotted muscles at the back of her neck. “We have a complicated relationship.”

“I guess so.”

“Actually, we don’t have a relationship at all. We barely speak, just grunt insults at each other most of the time.”

The line shuffled forward. Finally. “But he saved your life,” Teagan insisted.

“Do you know I would have died for sure? No. Neither do I. If it’s not your time, you don’t die.”

“But you can’t know. The article said he shoved a burning beam out of the way, then he carried you through the crowd while you were injured and bleeding all over him.”

Elle shut her eyes as the smell of smoke infiltrated her nose, making her lightheaded. A cigarette. It had to be someone smoking. She wasn’t back there on that smoky stage, struggling to breathe while consciousness drifted away.

I’m here. I’m here with you.

She sucked in a deep breath of air as her heart fluttered. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she muttered, grimacing as someone pushed too close and she drew the sling in too tightly to her body. Pain ricocheted through her shoulder into her neck, and she nearly groaned in agony.

Christ, she had to get out of there before she passed out. And guess what, there was no Mal to save her so gallantly now. What was he supposed to do? Leap down off the stage mid-set and part the crowd like the Red Sea to find her?

Behind her, a couple of girls were giggling. “Shh, shh, put those away. Wait until we get inside.”

“Dude, I need one. I’m totally crashing. We have enough. One now, one later.”

More giggling. “C’mon, you know I have way more than that. I never leave home without our party favors.”

“Thank God. My cramps are killing me.”

The second girl snorted. “Take a few of those and you’ll be feeling no pain.”

Teagan snapped her fingers in Elle’s face. “Earth to Elle. Though gotta say, I still want to call you Ricki. Hard to change after all these years.”

“Call me whatever you want. I answer to lots of things. Even Little Ricki now and then.”

Teagan laughed. “Well, considering you’re taller than me, not sure that fits. Who calls you that?”

Elle swallowed his name before she said it. She was afraid even saying it aloud again would conjure him in front of her and she wasn’t ready.

You need one of those pills.

She didn’t even know what they were, but it hardly mattered. Those two chicks were smaller than she was and they weren’t stumbling around or too messed up. If they could take them and not suffer many ill effects, so could she. It probably couldn’t be much different than her pain pills, and she hadn’t even had one of those yet. She’d been so good.

So now you can be bad.

She shook her head. No, that wasn’t why she wanted one. Her head hurt. Her arm hurt more. She was so wobbly and kept looking over her shoulder. She’d never had panic attacks before, but she would’ve sworn she was on the verge of one. Maybe this was what Nicky felt like when he walked on stage.

Nicky. Dear God, she couldn’t slip. Not when she’d managed to stay strong for so long.

He’d called when they were on the way out. She’d sent him a quick text, promising to get back to him later.

He’d know if she was high. She’d know even if he didn’t. And she couldn’t mess with her sobriety. It had been—fuck, how many days had it been? She’d kept a solid count until the day of the accident, scrolling it every morning on the inside of her wrist in pen. When she’d awakened in the hospital, she’d noticed the number the next day and had scrubbed it with soap to make it go away.

They’d pumped her full of crap. She hadn’t chosen to take it, but it was the same. And if it wasn’t, she’d been too disoriented to find the logic that said otherwise. Standing in front of that sink in the tiny bathroom, she’d felt like a failure.

She felt like an even bigger one now, because her mouth was watering and her skin was buzzing and she hadn’t even taken a single hit yet.

Yet.

Her sponsor. She should call Kristy as soon as they got in the club. She’d talk her down off the ledge. She had before. All she had to do was wait until they were inside and find a quiet corner and make the call. No matter what Kristy was doing, she’d answer if she was able to.

And if she wasn’t able to, Elle would just take that little pill, whatever it was, and no one would be any the wiser.

Just one pill. What could it hurt?

She wouldn’t even have to talk to them. Nicky wasn’t the only one in the family who could pick locks and swipe things out from under people. If she wanted to, she could just slip that little baggie out of the brunette’s back pocket, take what she wanted, and return it without saying so much as thank you.

“Here we go,” Teagan said enthusiastically as they finally reached the security guard.

Her friend made small talk with him as they flashed their IDs, and Teagan laughed and flirted as easily as if she’d been born doing it. That was just her personality. She’d recently gone through a rough breakup, so Elle was reasonably sure her friend wasn’t looking to hook up tonight.

What about you? You looking to score anything besides a high?

She nearly laughed despite the relentless ache in her head. Score, yeah right. She was trussed up like a Thanksgiving bird. She couldn’t even undress herself without help unless the guy wanted to wait half an hour. He’d probably be snoring by then.

Besides, she wasn’t ready to be touched. Or looked at intimately. She had so many fresh bruises and wounds now and her body didn’t seem to fit her right anymore. As if she’d woken up in the form of a stranger with her face.

Teagan walked away from the security guard with his phone number. “Well, look at that.” She grinned up at Elle as they found the last unoccupied table on the raised level to the left of the stage. There was space to stand right in front, flowing to the back. People were already dancing near the front of the club to the canned music coming through the speakers, but glittery purple curtains pulled tight across the stage were fronted with a glowing neon sign that said Venus Rising.

Glitter and neon, so not Mal’s scene. Yet there they were.

And Elle couldn’t see those girls who had been behind them anymore. She should’ve watched them more closely. Now she might be shit outta luck.

Some luck, that an addict can’t find her high.

A waitress came over with a sticky pair of menus and slapped them down on the table. Teagan popped one open and rubbed her hands together. “God, starving. What do you feel like getting? I’ve been craving onion rings all day.”

Elle shut her eyes. “Already had onion rings today,” she said faintly, trying to shove the memory of lunch with Mal away. “But I’m always up for more.”

“Perfect. Did you try that little deli on the corner I told you about?” Teagan asked distractedly, still perusing the menu.

“No. Not yet.” Shakily, she rose. Time to call Kristy. She was on the ropes, big time. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Okay. Don’t get lost. The set should be starting soon.”

Elle nodded, backing away from the table. She was sweating again, and this time she wasn’t sure it was from the pain. She needed a hit. It had been a while, but she was craving hardcore.

How had she ever ignored this feeling? The shakiness, the gnawing hunger in the pit of her belly that no food could fill. Her skin went clammy then hot, and spots danced in front of her vision as she made her way through the people laughing and milling around with drinks in their hands. Everyone was having a good time.

She could be too. Soon. Very soon.

Slapping a hand against the wall to stop it from shimmying, she passed through a doorway that could’ve led to the hallway by the bathrooms or another world. Either one seemed plausible. She blinked until the spots receded, walking forward as gingerly as a child on the ice.

One step in front of the other. One step at a time. That’s it, Ellie. Hang on to Mommy. You don’t want to fall.

Ahead, the brunette from behind them in line was going into the bathroom.