Amy’s hand slides down my arm and I have to blink a few times before I can hear what she’s saying. Glancing one last time at Ivy, I see that she’s staring at me again. Then suddenly her mouth forms a scowl and she flicks her attention away from me. Hooking her arm around Damon’s neck, she pulls him down for a kiss and I think I might throw up.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, not able to say a word.

“Isn’t that Ivy Taylor over there? The girl you used to date in high school?” Amy asks. There’s an irritated tone to her voice I’m not used to hearing, and it makes me agitated.

“Yeah, it is.” I try to sound casual. She’s not just a girl I used to date . . . she’s the only girl I ever really loved. She’s also the girl whose heart I broke. Seeing her now brings back all those feelings I blocked, ignored, cast away. So many times over the years I wanted to go after her and tell her the truth—but I never did. Why, I don’t know. Then one day it was too late—she had gotten engaged.

Amy chatters on. “I think that’s Damon Wolf with her. We should go say hi.”

My body goes cold at the thought. I straighten and just as I’m about to say, “No f**king way,” my phone vibrates in my pocket. Squinting at the screen, I see that it’s my brother. I look over to Amy and motion toward the bar. “Hey, this is River. I need to take it. I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”

“That’s fine. We can catch up with them later. I’ll go order us a drink.” She smiles and starts toward the bar.

Turning around to avoid staring at Ivy, I answer the phone. “It took you long enough to call me back.”

“I was in a meeting and stepped out as soon as I could, so don’t start. What did the doctor say about Zane?”

“He’s out for the rest of the tour and we’re f**ked.” I hated the sound of the harsh truth in my own words.

“You sure? You’re back in LA for almost two weeks after tomorrow night, right? Isn’t that enough time for him to heal?”

“Technically, yes. But his old man wants him out. The doctor said that he couldn’t be sure as to how long the blood that had accumulated under Zane’s vocal cords had been there, but obviously last night, the degree of ruptured vessels was severe enough to cause his voice to freeze. The doctor advised at least two weeks of rest before another evaluation to see if surgery is necessary. Zeak wants his son to take a longer period of time off. He’s afraid that if Zane keeps singing and it keeps happening, scar tissue will build up and cause his voice to change forever.”

“Do you blame him?”

“No, I don’t.” I feel like shit that I have to put River in a position to do what he didn’t want to do in the first place. But I also know that if I don’t, the band won’t survive. If I have to cancel this tour, the Wilde Ones are done. So I ask, “Did you talk to Dahlia?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I did. She’s cool with it, Xander. I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

“You know I’ll do whatever you need me to do, right?”

“Shit, why can’t you just be an ass and make it easy for me to say no?”

“Because you have no idea what this means to me.”

“Actually I do, and that’s why I’m going to make it happen. But, Xander, remember I can’t play a twelve-string.”

Laughter and relief take hold of me. I feel a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. “Right now I wouldn’t care if you only played the mandolin,” I joke.

He laughs and I add, “You’ll be here tonight?”

Now he sounds slightly annoyed. “I said I would. We might be a little late, so don’t get your panties in a wad.”

“That’s cool. Thanks for everything. Hey, one more thing.”

“What?”

“Ivy Taylor’s here.”

“No way. Have you spoken to her?”

“Fuck, no. You know she won’t talk to me. And besides, she’s with that ass**le.”

“You should talk to her. Tell her the truth.”

“What’s that going to do now? She’ll just think I’m lying.”

“You want me to talk to her? I can explain everything.”

“No. I don’t need my little brother to fight my battles. I’ll talk to her if I feel the time is right. Do you hear me?”

“Whatever you say. Look, I have to run, but I want to discuss this later. And, Xander . . . you don’t know he’s an ass**le. Just because Dad said his name once doesn’t mean shit.”

“Right. Okay, see you tonight,” I say and end the call. My head is spinning from knowing that after all these years I’m actually in the same place she is. I want to talk to her, tell her everything, but I can’t see how that would change anything anyway. Glancing behind me, I catch another glimpse of the two of them that turns my stomach. He’s such a slimeball. Since his father was hospitalized and he took over the business, he’s been scooping up labels, tearing them apart, and rebuilding them with bands he thinks are better fits. My guess is he picked up Jane’s label—that’s why he’s here. I heard they were having some financial difficulty, and he’s just the kind of bottom-feeder that would want to capitalize on being not only Jane’s agent but now also her producer. The sight of him touching Ivy makes my skin crawl.

Damon Wolf, now turned music mogul, is the agent to a select few stars. Damon Wolf—two of the last words my father spoke to me before killing himself, and I never knew why. Of all the guys in the world Ivy had to end up with—why him? I look up and they’re gone. I’m anything but relieved, though. Rubbing my chin, I’m antsy, agitated, pissed as hell, but I feel more alive than I have in years.

• • •

Our breakup is permanently etched in my mind—it’s something that, although done, was left unfinished. What matters the most is that she didn’t stay in LA for college. She got away from her mother’s influence and didn’t go into acting. She ended up right where she belongs—in the music industry. I felt at peace with what I did when her career started to take off. I was even okay with the fact that somewhere along the way she traded the alt-rock edge for the pop culture route—following in the path of Britney Spears instead of Alanis Morissette. However, whenever I watched her perform I did notice she seemed uncomfortable, unsure, and uneasy with the show she was putting on. Perhaps if she had taken the other route her comfort level would have been there, but who knows? I have to admit, though, that Damon Wolf did help create Ivy Taylor the vocalist, as the world knows her today. She may not have been at the top of the charts but she certainly wasn’t at the bottom. She was made for the spotlight—and I really want to know why she stopped performing.

The resort club is filled with staffers, managers, agents, musicians, and reporters sipping their drinks and talking—all waiting to hear the news from the label about the fate of Next Records. I’m on my second Jack and Coke when I notice Ivy enter the room. Damon surprisingly isn’t by her side. Gorgeous and alone—she looks incredible. At five seven, she is perfectly proportioned from head to toe. She joins a group of people on the dance floor. Her pin-straight hair moves across her bare shoulders as she sways among the guests. Her short black dress shimmers under the lights and accentuates her curves in the best possible way. It’s tight—longer in the back than the front, showing an edge only she could pull off. And my rebel girl has turned in her combat boots for thigh highs—flashing a bit of leg that is sexy as hell, but maybe just a little too much skin. No matter what she wears, I’ve never been able to take my eyes off her. And now, my mind can’t turn off how I once felt about her. But the large diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand signals a reminder that she’s not mine anymore.

I make my way around the room, networking, talking about the band, but somehow I never lose track of where she is. She catches my gaze at one point, but I’m unsure what she’s thinking. I wonder if what I did killed what she once felt for me. Just seeing her has made me want her all the more, and I know I have to talk to her. When I’m standing next to Amy and the guys, I notice Jane pat her on the shoulder. They move off the dance floor and close enough to where I’m standing that I can just barely hear their conversation. I can’t help but eavesdrop.

“It’s so good to see you. I’ve heard nothing but great things about that successful whirlwind tour of yours!” Ivy tells Jane. Hearing her voice puts a smile on my face. Her tone is still soft, but she seems more confident. It makes me feel somewhat proud.

“Well, you could be the next major tour to hit the road, but I heard you and Damon are actually thinking of starting a family,” Jane responds.

Hearing those words cripples me.

I turn to Amy. “I’ll be right back.”

“Everything okay?” she asks.

My feet are already moving. I have to get away. I don’t want to hear Ivy’s response. I dart outside, needing some air. I wonder if she’s already expecting a baby. Fuck. His baby. My head spins. I haven’t seen her in so long and now everything I’ve pushed away, locked away, is back. So many emotions I never wanted to feel again. When I thought we’d be together, there was a life I envisioned I’d have with her. I’ve never thought about that life with anyone else since then. I haven’t let myself—I let her go and my dreams went with her.

Wrenching my mind from the past, I reenter the room and look around at everyone shooting the shit, dancing, and flirting. I look for Ivy, but Amy finds me first.

“How about a drink?” she asks, unfazed as to where I’ve been.

“Sure,” I answer and lead her to the bar—I need another drink.

Soon I’m leaning against the bar facing the crowd and Amy is sitting on the stool next to me. Ellie is on the other side of her, talking to Garrett.

We’re talking about Lou Reed and Metallica cutting a new studio album and the buzz that the artists’ collaboration is perfection, but when I glance up and see my brother and his wife walking in, I smile for the first time all day. I can’t believe I’ve missed that pain in my ass and the muse, too. I haven’t seen Dahlia in a few months and I have to say River was right—she looks amazing. Seeing his happiness means everything to me. Years ago I promised my grandfather I’d look out for him and not let the same things that happened to our dad happen to him. I did the best I could and then I had to let him make his own decisions, and I’m glad to say I think he’s much happier because of it. I know my grandpa would understand, and I think he’d be proud.

Amy must see me staring because she turns around on her stool. Twisting back, she’s smiling too. “You didn’t tell me Dahlia was pregnant.”

“Sorry. With everything that happened last night, I never even thought about it.”

“How far along is she?”

“Three or four months, I think.”

“She’s got the cutest baby bump. She really makes pregnancy look good.”

I have no clue about pregnant women, so I just nod my head in agreement. River sees me and heads toward the bar with what I swear is a protective shield around Dahlia. Honestly, I feel sorry for Dahlia, because his overprotectiveness will probably reach a level of insanity. Ivy crosses his path before he reaches me and I can tell she recognizes him right away. He seems to play it cool. Giving her that same look he always gave her—the half smirk that seems to put girls in a frenzy, the one I used to think meant he was hot for my girl and the millions of other girls who were on the receiving end of the look. It actually wasn’t until River brought Dahlia around that I figured out the look didn’t mean anything. The look my brother gives his wife, the one with a full smile that brings out his dimples, is the one that matters. I realize now it’s the same look I used to give Ivy. He introduces her to Dahlia, who appears to be gushing. I watch as the two ladies seem to hit it off. Ivy points to Dahlia’s stomach and then Ivy is the one gushing.

“So are they both going?” Amy asks, and suddenly I feel like I must have missed half of the conversation. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen and put a finger up before I answer it. “Hey, Zeak, everything okay with Zane?” The music is so loud I can’t hear him, so I step outside. After a ten-minute phone conversation with Zeak trying to persuade me that I should postpone the tour, I finally head back inside.

The lights dim and the music gets louder as the DJ invites people to the dance floor. Making my way through the crowd, I come face-to-face with pale arched eyebrows delicately framing the most perfect feline eyes. However, their stormy blue color offers up a hint of her unease at seeing me. Only inches from me, she takes my breath away with just one look. Her normally colorless cheeks are flushed and her breathing is shallow, telling me she’s affected by my presence as well. “Ivy,” I breathe softly, almost not believing that she’s right here in front of me.

She quickly diverts her gaze, looking anywhere but at me, and it doesn’t take long for her pouty red lips to form a frown. “Excuse me,” she says a little too politely as she tries to step around me. The tone of her voice is so soft, so feminine, that my body hums just from the sound alone.

I clutch her elbow, my fingers tingling from the touch of her warm skin against mine. I pull her closer to me. The feel of her body is so familiar. I whisper in her ear, “Don’t act like you don’t know me. Talk to me.”

She stiffens the moment physical contact is made. Her breath quickens and when her eyes shoot to mine they seem to sparkle. For a moment I think their hardness is fading. But just as she opens her mouth to speak, the room brightens, the music quiets, and a voice comes over the microphone.