As our feet made their way across the floor, the only thing I could think to say was, “I’m not sad.”

  I knew there were a million things he wanted to say. A million things I needed to say. However, silence took over. With everything that had been laid out on the table in front of us, finding the right words seemed impossible. Sometimes silence was all you needed because words weren’t always what you wanted to hear.

  “What do you say we bust the hell out of these four walls and get some air and a fucking drink?” Syn was still holding my hand as he led us to the door.

  “You know I was prepared to kick your ass tonight. Oh, and I broke up with Carter. We are a shit show, Syn, an absolute mess.”

  Never looking back, he pulled the door open, but his words wrapped their arms around my heart and didn’t let go. “I know, baby girl, but we are real, up-close, and in your face. Fuck all the Hallmark Prince Charming and Cinderella shit. We are enough, and all I’ll ever want. That’s what I love the most.”

  Brooklyn - Two Weeks Later and We Still Haven't Talked About “It”

  “You know, B, I always did love Vegas. How come you don't invite me to your place anymore?” With pouty lips, he batted his eyes at me. I just shook my head and smiled at him. Dammit, if he knew exactly how to make me smile.

  “Synister, I don’t invite you to Vegas because you always invite yourself,” I proclaimed while I plopped myself down in my chair. I adjusted my oversized shades and ball cap when I felt his hand on my leg. It had been two weeks since Chicago, and neither Synister nor I had discussed the eight hundred pound elephant in the room. We were both trying to ignore it so maybe it would go away. It was a childish thought, more like a hope that we would find a way around it. We both knew it would have to be addressed, but today was too beautiful to burden with bullshit. Frankly, neither of us was any good with feelings, so watching Synister and me try to navigate the emotional roller coaster of love was more awkward than a nun at a strip joint.

  Synister looked every bit the rock star as he lay on a lounge chair—black Oakley sunglasses, black and gray board shorts, hair pulled up off his face. I had been trying for months to get him to allow me to put his hair in a man bun. He threatened me with bodily harm and never speaking to me again before he would ever rock the bun. He was the right amount of sex and class wrapped up in the most delicious of candies. Synister had an insane amount of ink, most of which was done at the hands of Hawke. Synister and Hawke shared a connection almost as close as Syn and Scottie. Hawke and Syn were cut from the same cloth—tattoos, chicks, and the eternal lone wolf in the pack. Synister loved talking about his “stripes” as he called them. Each was perfectly placed, each with a meaning that I was sure had made its way into a Push song over the years. I swear, they were touched up every week because the color never seemed to fade. Synister, no matter the badass exterior, was sensitive in his core. He had a kind heart no thanks to his parents—that was for sure.

  The ink was for Synister; his piercings, well, those were for me. A night of too much Captain and Coke, strippers, and one dare to put the cherry on top. He thought I would shy away from it because of the pain. Wrong. We both got nipple piercings, or as I liked to call them “love clamps.” I went first, never flinching, so when it was his turn, well, let’s just say that he couldn't look like a wuss to every dude in the tattoo shop. Synister hated them, thought it was a chick thing, but when the ladies started “reacting” to them, he retreated and agreed I was right. Although I did love the nipple piercings, I had to say his tongue piercing was my favorite, for obvious reasons. I was his friend, but I was still a woman.

  Let me stop your mind right there. Synister and I had never consummated the friendship, but that didn’t mean I had never “sampled the goods,” if you know what I mean. One drunken night after a kick-ass Push show, things got pretty heavy. Synister ended it before we went too far. Hell, that was years ago, though. And although I refused to live a life with regrets, I could say that night I wished it had ended differently. Syn thought he was being the good guy, the friend. We were both naked from the waist up when he put his hands on my neck, tilted my head so he could look me in the eyes, and told me that he couldn’t be that guy. I was the good girl, and he didn't want me to hate him when he let me down and fucked this up. Now, he owned the bad boy list, and that made me sad. I had lost bits and pieces of him over the years, and part of me knew some day, maybe too soon, the guy I loved would be gone completely.

  As we sat by the hotel pool of the Cosmopolitan, Synister was between shows at the Hard Rock, and I had two more hours until I needed to head into work. It was a Saturday night, and I knew we would not see much of each other until Monday. Although I had traded in my showgirl glitter and headdress years ago for an adult job, I still did special shows at Bally's. The money was great, and the girls were a blast. I did not female friend well in social settings, so being around those girls was like having a room full of sisters without the take-home drama shit.

  “B, what’s with the frock? You know you have a bitchin’ body, so why are you covering it up with that?” Synister threw his hands in the air, waving them in my general direction. “I’m just sayin’, if I was a chick with a set of tits like yours, I would show them off to anyone that wanted to see them.” Leaning his head back on the seat, he left me speechless.

  “It is called a cover-up, asshat. You act like I have a muumuu on. You know what, leave me alone.” Bringing my drink to my lips, I took a long pull on my Shirley Temple and slumped in my seat, soaking in the sunshine. Of all the “activities” I had partaken in, alcohol was never one of them. This was because during my party years I spent so much time dealing with a drunk and confused Synister that I didn't see the draw of alcohol. Sober Synister was a badass rocker. Drunk Synister was a weepy sap. He would absolutely murder me if I ever told the band mates, that when he was drunk, he loved to listen to Celine Dion. I didn’t mean like one song, or just that damn Titanic theme song that made me want to punch a baby, I mean full-blown YouTube concerts with singing, the whole nine yards. One time when he was in Vegas, we snuck into her show. He had a blast. He knew every word of every song. At one point, I swore I saw a tear, but he said it was just sweat. I didn’t correct him. I figured it was okay to let him have that moment.

  Synister was a puzzle, and I knew every piece. I would be lying if I didn't admit I enjoyed the perks of being best friends with a rock star. Particularly when he did things like today, renting out the entire pool at the Cosmopolitan for the afternoon just so we could get some peace. The rest of the band was joining us in twenty minutes. I knew once they arrived it would be show prep and all that bullshit.

  “I am not in the habit of showing off my goods just because I can. Plus, sweetheart, if you forgot, I get paid to show off these babies, so you are not getting a peek until you pay the price for admission. So, boom! And, unlike you, I actually like the idea of keeping some things a secret. I have seen one too many Google images of you and some bimbo in a compromising situation. I will keep my standards, fuck you very much. Thank you for the sage words of wisdom, Mr. Smith,” I explained in the best mom voice I could muster.

  “Okay, okay, B. Go right for the throat. Shit.” Leaning up, he placed his drink onto the glass top table beside his chair and headed to the bar to fetch another Captain and Coke. Before Syn made it to the bar, I heard the doors open, and noise and chaos filled the space. The band of brothers and their significant others entered like a cast of crazy misfits. They were fucking awesome. Sitting back and taking in the group, I wondered how I ever got so lucky. I was hanging out with the coolest of the cool, and not because they wanted something from me. They were my friends. Syn and Scottie were there for me when I was at my lowest. Every one of them was my family, and I wouldn’t change any of it for all the money in the world. After pulling off my shades and ball cap, I removed my cover-up. I could hear the sounds of whistles and catcalls from the band. Shooting a scowl over my shoulder, I raised my right hand in the air and presented my best middle finger before I ran toward the pool and cannonballed into the deep end.

  As I floated through the air, I kept the image of those guys tucked in my brain. Time was running out on keeping Synister’s secret. That was the funny thing about time. There was always too much and never enough. When the water rushed around my body, the sensation of the cold on the warmth of my skin was exactly what I needed to lose myself in the feeling, the sensation. That was when it hit me. Maybe feeling, being, living was superficial when you couldn't see another way. Synister was going to have to find another way. As my feet hit off the bottom of the pool, I didn’t automatically push my way to the surface. I pulled my knees to my chest and opened my eyes. The immediate response was stinging in my eyes and a sense of disorientation. The water was clear, but the depth had my equilibrium off center. The sounds were amazing. The loud booms and thuds of the water as it moved past me gave an overall sense of being suspended in time. It was like I was completely alone and centered at the same time. I could hear my heart beat. Taking in the moment, I began to realize how quickly I, we were running out of time. My oxygen was about out, and I could feel the burn in my nose as my brain was telling me to breathe. As much as I knew I was in trouble if I stayed under for another second, I did not want to break the clarity of the experience. Then it hit me. Maybe the way to deal with Synister was to give him a new perspective. I used my arms to push my body farther down in the water until I felt my feet connect with the bottom.

  In one thrust from my knees, I was propelled through the space that just a minute ago was peaceful, but now a rush of waves and motion. Once my head broke through the surface, I instantly took at huge gulp of air. It was an immediate reaction to the carnal need to survive. Another involuntary reaction was bringing my hands to my face and removing the excess water and pushing my hair out of my eyes. Reaching for the ladder, I pulled myself out of the water.

  “What the hell, B? You gave us a scare when you didn't pop right back up. I was about to come in for ya.” The calm, soothing voice of Oscar met me at the ladder. Oscar was the pianist in Push, and he looked like he belonged in a boy band versus a heavy metal rock band. Oscar was my height, five-eight, with sandy blond hair cut short and wire rimmed glasses. Although he was classically trained, he gelled with the group from day one. It had been over five years since he joined Push, but he would always be the noob of the group. As he reached down and offered me a hand, I took it because I was still getting my bearings. “Brooklyn, you sure you don't need mouth-to-mouth? You look a little, um, confused. I am more than willing, love.” I gave him my best I’m-okay-but-not-okay look, and Oscar got the message. Being the newest member of Push, he was still earning his keep. I secretly thought the other guys put him on Brooklyn detail as part of a band hazing. I was fairly confident that I scared the shit out of him, so he was doing his best to win me over. There was even the murmuring of Synister convincing him that I was the Venus flytrap of women and would kill my lovers once I was done with them. I assured Oscar that no bodies had even been found so...no body, no crime, right? That memory put a smile on my face.

  When I was out of the pool, I was handed a towel, although from whom I was not immediately aware. “No, Oscar, I’m cool. I would take you up on the kiss, I mean, mouth-to-mouth if I didn’t know your wife and the fact that she would kick your ass.” Giving him a wink, I turned my attention to find Synister. I was not able to spot him at first, but I did stop and take a minute to realize the amazing view of the city from this height.

  Although Vegas was truly beautiful at night, there was something about all the concrete, glass, and steel in the middle of the desert that called to me. I never felt at home in any other city like I did in the city of sin. Maybe it was the possibilities. Maybe it was the access and the opportunity to be whomever you wanted with whomever you wanted. There was something about the freedom of the city that made me feel complete—like a modern oasis that I called home. I was having a little moment within my own brain when the sounds of screams filled my ears.

  Syn was doubled over in a lounge chair, and Scottie was apparently the source of the screaming.

  “Holy fuck, B. Come over here and look at what the bastard did.”

  There were tears streaming down Syn’s face because he was laughing so hard. Scottie’s face was red and contoured into the male version of resting bitch face. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I twisted my hair into a bun and continued to walk in the direction of all the commotion.

  “Whatever, asshat. Just because fucking Hendrix can’t keep his mouth shut about it. Kiss off, dickbag.” Scottie grabbed his drink and headed for the doors back into the hotel.

  “Scottie, dude, come back!” Syn shouted as he headed in the direction of his brother. “You know we all love you, man.” When the brothers were finally standing side-by-side, you could see the resemblance in their jawline and raven black hair. Syn reached up and put his palm flat on the back of Scottie’s neck and pulled his forehead to him. Silent words were exchanged, and with a slap to the shoulder, both men were headed back in the direction of the rest of the group.

  “I am so lost. What the hell happened?”

  Oscar and his wife, Gigi, just shook their heads. Oscar was the first to speak up, “We have no idea. Scottie and Hendrix took off to the Pussycat Lounge about two hours ago. No clue, B.”

  “Where is Hendrix?” I spoke up.

  “He was meeting up with some dude from the club last night. Don’t ask, don’t tell, B. Whoever he was had Hendrix all flustered last night,” Oscar explained.

  As Scottie and Syn reached where we were standing, the suspense was killing me.

  “Okay, Scottie, what the hell happened? Got to know deets, and now, man.”

  What happened next was not anything I could have prepared myself for. In an instant, Syn grabbed on to both sides of Scottie’s swim trunks and yanked them down right there in front of everyone. I wished that were the biggest shocker. Oh no. Oscar doubled over in fits of laughter. Gigi threw her hands in front of her eyes while yelling, “You guys are gross as hell. Really?”

  “Looks like my little bro decided he needed a Prince Albert. Takes stones, man, to allow someone to shove a needle through your dick. Figures Hendrix would be the one to take you. Where is the bastard anyway?” Syn was barely keeping from laughing as Scottie leaned over and pulled his shorts back to their rightful place.

  “Fuck you, dude.” Scottie scoffed, turned on his feet, and walked back into the hotel.

  “Syn, that was shitty, dude. Like I really needed to see Scottie’s junk.” Oscar slapped Syn on the shoulder and escorted his wife to a chair as they prepared to relax before the show.

  “Oh, come on, man. Serves him right. That little shit gives me so much hell every time I get a tat. Trust me, I owe him.” Reaching for his drink, Syn settled back into his lounge chair. Tonight was going to be the last show before a two-week break for the band. A much needed break because they were each starting to get the need for a little space.

  “B, do you remember the first time I came to Vegas?”

  “Yes, Synister, we almost ended up getting married. That would have been a disaster.” As I walked over to the bar, I couldn’t help but feel my heart in my throat. I didn’t want anything more in that weekend than to end up with Synister by my side. Again, timing was a complete bitch. I might have come to terms with my reality, although it didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Brooklyn - Ice Cream, Oreos, and Thor Make Everything Better

  Three Years Earlier...

  Men. They didn’t know everything like they thought. As the driver loaded the last of my things into the taxi, I was sure when Royce got home he would be in a state of total shock. Okay, maybe when I was packing my things, I took scissors and cut the crotch out of all his pants. Childish. Maybe. But today, in that moment, it fit perfectly. He was the coward, and I was working on pure rage. We had been married for three years, and then to leave me a motherfucking note telling me it was over. And better yet, he had his mother deliver it to me with a plane ticket and a check for one hundred thousand dollars. I wanted to rip that check up in her face, but I was not going to give her the satisfaction.

  Let’s rewind for a minute and discuss how just sixty minutes earlier I was packing for the Keys, and now I was homeless.

  Sixty minutes, yet, a lifetime ago…

  I could still hear her soft, hate-filled voice as she stood across from me in the foyer. She said she was just needing to stop by and talk about plans for Royce’s upcoming thirtieth birthday party. I found it odd because we were planning on going away to Jamaica, just the two of us. So when she stopped by and kept her coat on, I knew the jig was up.

  “Dear, this is for the best. Royce needs a clean slate. You did your best, honey, to give him what he needs, but I think we all knew this was a short-term fix. He had his fun, and now it’s time to think long-term.”

  What a raging bitch. I knew when I took the envelope from her that my hands were shaking. Not because I was upset. No. I wanted to slap the shit out of her. But I didn’t. Oh, no, I just politely took it from her hands and told her exactly what I thought of her pretentious, Botox, fake-ass Stanton family. To say she had never been talked to in that way was a fucking understatement.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stanton. Thank you for saving me from a lifetime of below average sex with your son. I was beginning to get bored of him anyway, so you really are doing me a favor. Frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t call you every night before bed to come over and tuck him in. I believe they cut the cord almost thirty years ago, ma'am. You may want to loosen the vise grip you have on him if you ever want any grandchildren. Thank you for saving me from those boring ass parties, making small talk with those half-witted, shallow-minded women that you call friends. What. A. Fucking. Snooze-fest they are. You may want to tell your friends to lay off the bleach and Botox because it is shrinking their brains. Really, are any of them capable of independent thoughts? And, we can all tell that Joanne has had a facelift, and Layla is getting fat, although none of you want to tell her. You just talk about them all behind their backs because that’s what a ‘Stanton’ does, right?” Grabbing my purse off the floor, I turned away from her so I could “collect my things” as she put it. “Oh, and Mrs. Stanton, one last thing.” With her arms crossed in front of her chest, she let out a huff.