I follow him as he starts to walk, my mind still trying to process that Vince is in front of me. How very different his life is compared to mine.

  And what now?

  We pass open doors—one where another party is clearly going on. Another where someone shouts out his name and he just lifts his middle finger at him. A third where the smell of pot permeates the air. People stop him to compliment him or ask him questions, and after each time, he apologizes.

  “It’ll be quieter in here,” he says and pushes open a door with his name on it. The room is medium sized. A leather couch is on one side, a table on the opposite wall with a variety of food and drinks set up on it. A rack of clothes is beside it. Jazz plays softly on a speaker in the far corner, which should surprise me most but he always did like to listen to it to unwind.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, still not sure what to do or say.

  “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Water. Beer. A Coke?”

  Right about now I could use a whole bottle of something strong to battle my nerves. “A beer is fine.”

  He lifts his brow at me, almost as if he too is having a hard time remembering we aren’t in high school anymore.

  I thought this would be so much easier than it is. We’ve always had an effortless friendship, so I don’t know how to be any other way with him.

  No time like the present to figure it out.

  “I didn’t mean to just show up. I saw you were in town and decided to drive down. I didn’t think that you might have plans with the guys . . . or other women to go out with or . . . anything. I just—”

  He puts a playful hand over my mouth from behind as he hands me a beer with his other before whispering in my ear. “You always did ramble when you were nervous.” He laughs. “Why you nervous, Shug?”

  He lets go and circles around me to take a seat on the arm of the couch with one combat boot on the cushion beside me and the other on the floor so he can face me.

  “I’m not nervous.” I take a sip of beer and cringe at the taste.

  He just stares at me, his head angled to the side, his hand reaching up to scratch the side of his neck. He has a couple of leather bracelets on his wrist. It’s so much easier to focus on them than him, but there is one in particular that catches my eye.

  It’s a thin, black, faded braid of a bracelet. I remember giving him that on his eighteenth birthday, because it was all I could afford but thought he would like.

  My eyes flash to his and one corner of his lips turn up, his eyes soft. “What can I say? It’s my good luck charm.”

  “You’ve kept it all this time?”

  “Something like that.” He takes a long drink of his beer and ignores a knock on the door. A little part of me melts knowing he’s kept it all these years. “What’d you think of the show?”

  “I thought you guys were incredible. High energy. Good set list. The crowd was really into it.”

  “Thanks, but we still need work. Rocket fucked up on a song. I missed a chord on another. Hawkin forgot the lyrics and just told the crowd to sing along to cover it up.”

  “Didn’t notice at all.”

  “Yeah, but there are a million other bands out there waiting to take our place.” He lifts his beer again, giving me a better view of some of his tattoos. Some Japanese writing. The neck of a guitar. More that I can’t make out.

  “You always were hard on yourself.”

  “We need to be better. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Better?” I laugh. “I’d say having the number one album in the country is pretty damn good. Can’t go much higher than that.”

  Vince stares at me, his cheeks flushing, and his sheepish grin reminds me of a little boy before he shakes his head. “It’s absolutely fucking crazy, isn’t it? A total mindfuck. The guys . . . we still can’t wrap our heads around it.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “We went from couch-surfing and ramen to The Ritz and private jets all within a year.”

  Another knock at the door. “Gotta go. Buses are loading,” a voice says through the door.

  My heart sinks. This is it? That’s all the time I get?

  Vince looks at me and then looks at the door before jogging to it and throwing it open. “Go on ahead,” he calls out. “I’ll catch up.” He turns to me. “I know a hole in the wall not too far from here. The food’s not great, but it’s dark so I won’t be recognized. Want to go?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bristol

  Seven Years Ago

  “Then there was Japan. We sold out the stadium built for fifty thousand people, before moving on to Germany. It’s fucking crazy there.”

  I study him across a table littered with dirty plates and empty beer bottles. I have no clue what time it is because it feels like time has stood still while we’ve been catching up in the dimly lit dining area. The staff left long ago save for one person who Vince slipped some ridiculous amount of money to. That person is currently sitting in the back room no doubt scrolling on his phone and bored to tears.

  I’ve enjoyed listening to him regale me with stories about his travels and crazy fans. About sold-out venues and empty dive bars. But that’s the famous Vince talking.

  “And then in Brazil—”

  “Vince?”

  He stops and looks at me. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t care?” He laughs, holding his hands out.

  I’ve had enough wine to take the edge off. I lean forward and whisper. “I. Don’t. Care.”

  “Shug—”

  “Look at you. You made it against all fucking odds. I’m so damn proud of you . . . but I hear you talking about all of this stuff and I don’t care, because when I look at you, I still see the teenager standing in my window at two in the morning.”

  I watch my words hit him. One by one. “Bristol.”

  “I’m serious. No one deserves this more than you.” My smile is soft and his matches as we stare at each other over the dim light.

  And for the first time all night, it’s there.

  It being that palpable chemistry we always had. The kind we never had to work at even when we sat beside each other as I tutored him. I fought it every step of the way, wondering how could this goody-two-shoes find a rebel so irresistible?

  I thought maybe it had gone with the years that passed us by, and there’s something in the way those light green eyes of his are looking at me that says I was wrong.

  The bob of his Adam’s apple and glance at my lips tells me he feels it too.

  “What about you?” he asks to break the silence. “We’ve spent all this time talking about me, I want to know about what you’ve been up to.”

  “I pale in comparison to your accomplishments.”

  “I want to know.” He reaches out and my hand heats under his touch. “Tell me about college and how you’re conquering the world.”

  My smile is stilted as I lie. “Just school and work. Normal things.” There’s no need to elaborate about how my parents’ divorce threw me for a loop. How I was desperate to leave home and get some space after feeling betrayed by them. But when my dad lost his job and the economy had its downswing, money was tight, so I opted for junior college rather than put them more in debt. How I’m working nights and going to school during the day, hoping to transfer to a four-year university next year.

  “Where’d you end up?”

  “Cal State.” I wave a hand at him, more than ready to be off this topic. “It’s two in the morning. We should let this poor guy get home,” I say about the employee and then realize that leaving might mean our night is over. Our time is done. And I suddenly want to take the words back.

  “You’re right. We should.” Vince stands, takes one last pull on his beer, and throws a wad of cash on the table, admonishing me when I reach for my wallet to pitch in. He grabs my wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

  But when I look up to meet his eyes, my protest dies on my lips.

  He’s close. So close that I swear it hurts to look at him. To be this close to him, to want him and not have him. The ache in my chest is so poignant I swear he can feel it too.

  My shaky inhale sounds like a scream in the silence, but Vince doesn’t acknowledge it as he reaches up to cup the side of my face.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says, his eyes locked on mine as he dips down and brushes his lips against mine.

  It’s a soft sigh of a kiss, a reminder of what used to be. A brief touch of our tongues is more than enough to remind me how much I craved the taste of him after he left.

  How much it hurt to pick up the phone and not have him there. How much I regretted not giving the part of myself to him that I could never take back.

  Instinct mixed with memories and longing has me reaching up, threading my fingers through his hair, and deepening the kiss.

  He puts his hand on the small of my back and pulls me into him as his other directs my head to angle the kiss. There’s no urgency, just the smoldering of ashes having new oxygen breathed into them.

  It lasts only seconds before he ends the kiss, but it’s enough to solidify that the connection between us is still there.

  When I open my eyes, his are squeezed shut and his hand is fisted at his side as if he’s chastising himself.

  “Vince?” Confusion weaves through my tone.

  He opens his eyes, his smile tight and voice clipped. “We should go.”

  I grab his hand and hold him in place when he goes to walk away. He looks down at our hands and then back up to me but doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to because the steel in his eyes is harsh enough. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for me to give an answer he’s never voiced the question to, but I don’t have a chance to.

  “That mistake was on me.” He shrugs his hand from my grip and then turns on his heel.

  I scramble behind him as his long strides eat up the sidewalk that leads to the limo. He opens the door to the car for me but won’t meet my eyes and doesn’t say a word as we get in.

  What am I missing? Did I do something wrong? What happened?

  It’s like a switch was flipped, and I’m on the wrong end of it.

  “Where to?” the driver asks.

  “What hotel are you staying at?” He finally speaks.

  “None. I wasn’t planning on staying.”

  His sigh is heavy. “It’s two in the fucking morning. Do you actually think I’m going to let you drive home right now?”

  By the way he refuses to look at me, I’d think that’s exactly what he wants.

  “That was my plan. How was I to know we were going to go out to dinner and talk till who knows when?”

  “So you figured you’d drive for four hours, say hi, shoot your shot, then turn back around again?”

  Shoot my shot? “Vince. What in the hell are you—”

  “The usual hotel, Brian,” he says to the driver.

  “I’ll let them know you’re coming,” Brian says and then slides the partition up.

  “After he drops you off, can he take me to get my car?” I ask. Vince doesn’t respond, instead he just stares out the window at the city passing by. “Great. Perfect. Thanks for the response. Good to know fame went to your head and made you an asshole.”

  He chuckles sarcastically but finally glances my way. “I’ll arrange for you to get your car in the morning. You’re not driving home.”

  “Well, I sure as shit aren’t staying with you.”

  “I’m not staying. The buses already have a three-hour head start on me. I’ve got to catch up with them. The show must go on.” He clears his throat. “I’ll get you up to your room, and then Brian here will get me where I need to be.”

  It’s my turn to look out the window and let the silence eat at my thoughts. He bailed on his band, on his schedule, on his after-party, for me. I never expected that—hell, I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t know what to expect. Guilt eats at me. Screwing up his schedule wasn’t my intention.

  Is that why he’s irritable with me? Is he regretting his decision? Is that why our kiss—oh shit. Does he have a girlfriend? Did he screw up, kiss me out of nostalgia, and then when I kissed him back it made him step back?

  I slide a glance his way. How weird is it to have his taste still on my tongue and feel the sensation of his guitar-roughened fingertips on my skin, and yet he suddenly seems a million miles away.

  I don’t know Vincent Jennings anymore.

  I should have left well enough alone. Being able to see him again, see that he was happy, and to tell him I was proud of him should have been enough for me. It should have been that unattainable closure I was looking for.

  Wanting Vince has always been the easy part. It was everything else that was the trouble.

  I guess some things never change.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, fighting the warring emotions within me. Accepting that that little piece of me that held on to her high school sweetheart never should have. “I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to see me. And to find a hotel room for me.”

  He nods, eyes holding mine briefly before looking back out the window again. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’d make time for you.”

  Then why do you seem so angry at me? I want to scream.

  “We’re here,” Brian announces as we pull into what looks like a generic looking building.

  “Service entrance,” Vince explains as he opens the door and ushers me out. “That way you don’t have paparazzi waiting for you in the morning. If someone sees us coming in the front, they’ll be parked everywhere thinking I’m still in your bed. They’re rabid. You definitely don’t want that kind of attention.”

  Or is it that you don’t want to be seen with me? An empty restaurant. The back door to a hotel.

  He definitely has a girlfriend.

  How much does it suck that my chest hurts at the thought? It’s not like I haven’t seen his many exploits splashed across gossip magazines and the Internet before, but having him so close, kissing him one more time, makes it all the more real.

  It’s not like I can lay claim to a man who was my high school sweetheart.

  “You’re right. I don’t. Thank you,” I say for what feels like the tenth time as the back door opens when we near it. A petite woman with a name tag that denotes she’s the manager greets Vince with a smile and hands him a key card. Clearly, they’ve done this before.

  They exchange quick pleasantries and within seconds we’re in the service elevator heading to the tenth floor, the awkwardness between us only growing more intense by the second.

  I’ve never been more relieved to hear an elevator ding in my life. The door opens to a short hallway with a lone door at the far end. I follow Vince off the car and as much as I hate acknowledging it, I’m going to be relieved when he leaves and I can be alone with my thoughts.

  But rather than opening the door with the key card, Vince crosses his arms and leans against the wall opposite me, eyes locked on mine. “It was good to see you, Shug. Really good. You were a small slice of normal in this crazy world I now live in.”

  “Same here. I mean, not the crazy world part but—”

  “What is it you’re doing here? Why are you here? Is it for money? For—”

  “What?” His questions catch me off guard and light a match to my temper.

  “I know all about your parents. Their divorce. Your dad losing his job and selling the house. You being at a junior college. You put it out there on social media for all to see, and yet you sat there tonight and blatantly lied to me. So I’ll ask the question again, are you here for money?”

  “Fuck you,” I grit out, an acrid ball of mortification burning in my throat. I stare at him—mouth lax, eyes wide—in utter disbelief.

  “Everyone wants something from me these days. Money. Fame. A hand up. A handout.” His nonchalant shrug only fuels my anger. “What’ll it be, Shug?”

  “You actually think that’s what I’m here for?” I take a few steps away from him and laugh because it’s all I can think to do.

  “One of us isn’t telling the truth, and it sure as fuck isn’t me. That’s usually how it all starts.” The way he can sling the insults so casually at me makes them sting all the more. The way he stares at me even more so.

  “There’s a huge difference between lying and omitting, Jennings.” I cross my arms over my chest and stand my ground. “Just because I didn’t tell you the whole sob story, doesn’t mean I want anything from you. You were my best friend. The boy I thought I’d have forever. But I can see now what a childish fantasy that was. I don’t need or want anything from you. I sure as fuck don’t want a single dime from you.” I jab my finger in his chest.

  “Hmph.” His smirk is as irritating as the sound.

  This was such a stupid mistake.

  “I just wanted to know if you were happy, Vince. That’s all I needed to know.” And now that I know he’s become a self-entitled asshole, I’m ready to get the hell away from him.

  “Everybody wants something from me, Bristol. I’ve got people coming out of the woodwork left and right. Family I’ve never met asking for money. A woman I don’t know claiming to be my mom.” He throws his hands up. “Christ, I even have women I’ve never met claiming they’re having my kids to get in on the handout action. So don’t give me your bullshit that you don’t want anything from me. Everybody fucking does.”

  “I don’t,” I scream, not caring that we’re in a hotel anymore and that people will be able to hear us. “I didn’t want a goddamn thing from you other than to just see you. Curiosity satisfied. Thoroughly disappointed.”

  I pluck the key card from his hand and stalk to the door, but his hand is on my arm yanking me back against him. We’re chest to chest. “Everybody wants something from you when you’ve made it.”

  “Well, I’ve never wanted anything from you other than you.” I try to yank my arm free of his grip but he just squeezes tighter, much like the vise tightening on my heart. “Let. Go.”