The upper rooms of the house were quiet when I let myself in and climbed the stairs. Both bands were down in the studio already. I was half-glad for the space and silence, and half-wishing there was someone around to talk to.

I walked around the kitchen, but I’d already eaten, so it wasn’t like I could kill time there. I stopped and stared at the two mostly empty coffee mugs on the island. Micah’s and Bellamy’s, probably. They seemed to have claimed those seats.

Micah had put his life back together without Eric. He hadn’t filled in any of the holes Eric had left—he’d made space for other people, other choices, other things. I knew it hadn’t been easy for him. I’d been there with him, trying to help him through the roughest spots as best I could. Got him a job, got him a way out of the home and city that were all tangled up in his memories of Eric. Encouraged him to be with Bellamy. I hadn’t meant to step in where I didn’t belong. I just . . . I liked the guy. And I’d wanted to make up for not being there when I should have been, for not helping him support my brother.

I knew I was being ridiculous. That the day and night I’d spent with Nicky and Josh had nothing at all to do with Eric. I needed to move on, keep that in the past, and make the present its own thing. But it was like I was . . . adrift. Like the past and present were all tangled: Eric and Nick and Josh, responsibilities, being there for someone.

I couldn’t quite figure out what I was feeling. I was pretty sure I was . . . happy. Really happy, like this amazingly good thing had happened to me—because it had—and I couldn’t quite contain all the awesomeness of it. But stepping back into the house and the normal daily routine I’d been getting used to made things seem slightly out of place. As if reality had shifted a half an inch to the left. Around me, the house was quiet, except for the very faint strains of music coming up the stairs, and I could almost imagine that I was invisible and separate. As if two sides of my life—the side before I’d met Nicky, before I’d slept with him again, and the side after, with everything that meant and everything that came with it—were crashing together. And they weren’t quite clicking correctly in my mind.

I wandered toward my bedroom, down the hallway with all the musicians’ photos on the walls. All that history. All those songs, soaked into the walls and the floorboards of this place. Other sounds, too, probably: laughter and fights and shouting. Discussions, compromises. Whispered words of love, probably, to people in the same room, to people on a telephone line. This place could tell stories.

I flopped down on my bed. Tuck’s was neatly made, and I remembered that his girlfriend Lissa had been on her way up. She must have gotten here yesterday. It was probably better that I’d stayed with Nick. Maybe I’d sleep on the couch tonight. Not that we weren’t used to pretty close quarters when we were on tour, but if I could give them space, we’d all be happier.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply, take a second to myself while I had it, to reconcile the day and night I’d had with all the days to come. I couldn’t figure out why things felt so out of place in this moment. Maybe I was just confused. It would be fine.

Footsteps on the stairs cut off my train of thought. For a second, the music from down in the studio got louder as the hallway door opened. Then it clicked shut again, the music cutting off. I turned my head, but I didn’t bother to get up. Nobody knew I was here, and now that someone was here to talk to, I wasn’t sure if I wanted the company.

It turned out I didn’t have a choice. Ava came down the hallway, a muffin on a napkin in one hand. She was obviously headed for her own room, but ours was right at the corner of the hall, so she couldn’t help seeing my feet dangling off the edge of the bed. She paused, then stepped into the room.

“When did you get back?”

I shrugged. “Fifteen minutes ago, maybe.”

She took a bite of her muffin and chewed while she contemplated me. “Did you have fun?”

I nodded against the pillow. “Yeah.”

“That sounds honest as fuck.” She took another step into the room.

“No, I did, I just . . . Why are you up here?”

She paused, tensing up, her shoulders rising defensively. Then she slumped and walked the rest of the way into the room so she could sit cross-legged on the end of the bed. She swiveled to face me and offered me half the muffin. I shook my head.

“Lissa’s here.” She picked at the muffin, breaking off a chunk and stuffing it in her mouth. “If I don’t have to watch her and Tuck being all lovey on each other, better for me.”

I’d suspected, for a while, that Ava might have a thing for Tuck. She hid it really well, though, so I’d always wondered if it was all in my head. But there had been something . . . a certain way she looked at him, a longing in her. She’d never admitted it though. Definitely not like this. But I wasn’t surprised.

“Cara?” I asked, not sure exactly what I was going for.

She smiled. “I love Cara. And I don’t want anyone but her. I know Tuck and I aren’t ever going to . . . We’re never going to have that. And I’m happy for him that he has Lissa. But . . . sometimes it still hurts.” She waved her hand around. Muffin crumbs scattered, and she stopped abruptly and started picking them off the bedspread and dropping them into her napkin. “It’s like I’m staring at a possibility I can see but I can’t ever touch. I don’t really want it anymore. But it still hurts.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

She cocked her head to the side and smiled again. “Cara’s flying in this afternoon. She took a week off.” She got this flushed glow to her when she talked about her girlfriend. Like just the thought of her lit Ava up from inside. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have that glow when she talked about Tuck, but I knew the way she felt about him, the relationship they had, was older and different. And I understood, in a way, seeing your future diverge from what you imagined it would be, or what you wanted. The loss of that, even when you were happy with what you had.

“Tell me about Nicky?” she asked, nudging the side of my leg with her knee. It was a pretty bald attempt to change the subject. I wanted to humor her. I didn’t know what to say about Nick and our night, though, about Josh and all the time the three of us had spent together.

“He’s . . . such a dad.” It was the first thing that tumbled out of my mouth.

She laughed. “Right? It was weird to see. He was always wild. He still is. But he went into, like, parent mode.”

“Do you like kids? Is that something . . .?”

She shrugged and ate some more of the muffin. “I never really wanted any?” She didn’t sound convinced. “I mean, it was what I was supposed to want, you know. Being a girl. It’s like it’s my job. If you tell someone you don’t want kids, they jump down your throat about how you’ll change your mind eventually, how everyone really does deep down. ‘Give it time.’” She waved her hand—the hand without the muffin, this time—like she was flicking that all away. “It’s bullshit. But . . .” She looked down at her lap. “I think Cara would be a great mom. And sometimes I think I’d like to see that.” She raised her eyes up to mine, and a smile flickered across her mouth. “Being in love is weird. It makes your brain mush.”

“Yeah.” I stared down at my own hands. God, the things I’d done with them yesterday. I’d held Josh. I’d helped him spoon up dinner onto his plastic little kid utensils. I’d held drumsticks, made music for the first time ever, really, and I’d liked it. And then, later, I’d touched Nicky. I’d held his face in my palms, skated my fingers over every part of him. I’d been inside him.

“Hey,” Ava said, softly, but with concern in her voice. I looked up and found her staring at me, her smile gone, her eyebrows pinched together. “You okay?”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I . . . I had a really good time yesterday. With Nick, and Josh. And then, uh, I had a really good time last night. It was . . .” God, if I said good again one more time. But I couldn’t think of another way to describe how it had been. How right it had felt. How much I’d wanted it, and been so happy it had happened, even while it scared me. “But then this morning, all I can think about is all the ways this is going to go wrong. I mean, he’s got a kid. I can’t . . . I don’t know . . .” I hadn’t actually realized that was what I’d been worrying about, until I’d said it out loud. All those jagged edges of my thoughts suddenly made way more sense.

“Sounds like you ran out of endorphins.” She touched my knee—a light pat, but a reassuring one. “It happens—it’s normal, after sex, for your brain to go into overdrive. Or crash. Sex opens you up in a lot of ways.” Fuck, she was blunt. I was blushing all over the place, but she was completely calm. She wasn’t exactly meeting my eyes anymore, though. “As for him having a kid . . . That’s a lot to take on, man. I don’t mean it’s a reason not to be with somebody. But it’s probably good that you’re thinking about it. Kids are so fragile. I mean, it seems like they are. I’d be afraid to fuck it up.”

I hadn’t told her what I was thinking about Eric, but her thoughts were an eerie echo of everything that had run through my mind this morning. What if I did fuck it up? What if I was diving into this headfirst, and by the time I realized I was in too deep, it was too painful to get out?

Ava was watching me, an uneasy expression on her face. “Why do I feel like I just said the completely wrong thing?”

“You didn’t.” I sat up and stole a bite of her muffin. “It was what I needed to hear.” She didn’t look convinced, and I sighed. “I just keep thinking . . . about Eric.”

Her face did something between a frown and a pout and some vaguely guilty, uncomfortable expression. “Like, missing him?”

I wobbled my head back and forth, not a nod and not quite a shake. “Yeah. I always miss him. But . . .” I drew my hands back into my lap and squeezed my fingers together. “I’ve had a long time to . . . not get used to it.” I would never, ever get used to it or over it. My life would never be the same. I would always, always be missing him. “I’ve had time to start moving on,” I finished, softly. “I can’t forever be . . . I need to move on. Micah moved on. Even my mom is still . . . going, seeing her friends, doing her job. I need to, too.”

“So what are you thinking about him, then?” She kept her focus on her muffin, her fingers picking little bits off, as if she didn’t want to spook me by meeting my eyes. Didn’t want to put too much pressure on me.

“I think it’s . . . this place, and the recording, and Nick. And Josh,” I admitted. “I keep trying to measure how Nick takes care of Josh with how I took care of Eric.” I didn’t say anything about how I was measuring it against how I took care of the band. How they had needed me and now all of them had someone else to do that. Ava was trying to be kind, and it wasn’t anything she needed to feel bad about.

She cocked her head to the side, and now she did look up at me. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath. “I mean, I should have been there for him, and I wasn’t. I mean I should have tried harder to take care of him.”

Pure pity crossed her face, but she smoothed over her features admirably quickly. “Quinn. Eric was an adult. He didn’t need you to take care of him.”

“Everyone needs someone to take care of them,” I argued.

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Good point. But I mean, you weren’t actually responsible for him.” She shook her head. “No, that sounds wrong, and it’s not what I mean at all.” She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, before dropping her gaze back to me. “He was his own person. Everyone needs to figure out their own stuff. If he’d needed your help, if he’d realized that he did, he would have asked you.”

It was almost exactly what Micah had been saying to me all along. But coming from Ava, it was somehow different. Hit me differently. I always brushed off what Micah was saying when he said stuff like that, because I always figured he was trying to absolve me or something. That he was trying to take away my guilt. I’d never quite convinced myself that maybe he actually believed what he was saying—that Eric hadn’t needed me in the way I’d thought he had.

“Quinn?” Ava said, and I realized I’d been quiet too long, lost in my own mind. For a second, I considered asking her to clarify, but it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change what she was saying, and it wouldn’t change what I was feeling, either.

“You’re right,” I said finally. My throat was tight, but somehow I managed to make the words come out sounding normal.

“Nick and Eric are two different people,” she said gently.

I nodded. “I know.” That, I definitely did know. But me, I was the same person. Maybe that was the real problem.

Ava looked like she wanted to keep pressing, but I snagged another bite of her muffin and asked her about Cara. She was happy enough to go along with that, and I was glad, because it distracted me too. She told me all about her, even though I’d heard it before, and outlined their plans for the week. I was happy for her. I liked hearing about the good things going on in her life.

The rest of the band, and Rest in Peach, came up for lunch a little while later, and Ava and I joined them. Not long after, Nicky came back too. We smiled at each other across the room, and I was probably blushing with the way he stared at me. But he got involved in talking with his band, about what they were going to record that afternoon. I was okay with the space. It gave me some time to keep thinking about everything.

I spent the remainder of the day on the couch in the recording room. I had a book, and I flopped over and read and listened to music, letting my mind sort through things by itself. It was hard to concentrate on anything, so I didn’t make myself. I just wanted to be for a while.

Nick found me later that evening. We’d all gone out to eat, and we were walking home in little groups. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Nicky—at dinner, I’d gotten shuffled around to the other side of the table from him. I’d let it happen, even though both Ty and Ava had given me raised eyebrows. I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it, draw any more attention to what Nick and I were doing. Not because I was embarrassed, or because I didn’t want anyone to know, but because it still felt so new. I wanted to keep it as something that was only ours, for a little while longer.

Now, though, he caught up with me and slipped his hand into mine. I squeezed his fingers.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He looked over at me. I could just make out the shadowy black-and-white lines of his face in the dark. “I didn’t really see you at all today.”

“Yeah.” Now that we were walking together, and he was close enough that he could lean over and talk just for me to hear, I was wondering why I’d let any space come between us at all. It had seemed like a good idea that afternoon to stay with Escaping Indigo and . . . let things cool down? Let us have room to breathe, maybe. But having been away from him, when whatever was going on between us was still in that first-blush stage, only made me want him closer.

“Tuck told me Lissa’s staying another night. Do you . . .” He took a breath and pressed his palm more firmly against mine. “Do you want to come stay at my place tonight?”

I stopped and turned to him. We were the last ones in the long, strung-out line of us, so there wasn’t anyone who had to walk around us, or anyone to notice that we’d paused.

He pulled his lip between his teeth and sucked on it, before letting it go so he could speak. “It’s fine if not.” He smiled, but it seemed to come more from nerves than happiness. “Whatever you want.”

“I’d like to.” I was surprised at how quickly I’d answered, but everything seemed clearer when Nick and I were touching. Simpler. I wanted him. He wanted me. That seemed so easy.

It was as good as last time—better, maybe. We switched this time—I was still flat on my back on the bed, but it was Nicky who slipped fingers into my body, and it was . . . It had been a long time for me, and I had forgotten what this was like.

I didn’t buy into that crap about penetrative sex meaning more than any other sex act, generally. But it did make me feel open and vulnerable and seen. Focused on.

I was breathing too hard, too fast, getting caught up in all of it, and Nick stopped, leaning over me so he could stare into my eyes. “Quinn.”

I shook my head and tightened my hand around his hip. “It’s good, I’m fine.”

He laughed and stilled his hand. “Quinn. That is the least-convincing thing I’ve ever heard.”

I barked out a laugh too, and the movement of it caused his fingers to rub inside me. Which turned my laugh into a moan and made me push my hips up against his palm.

His face went serious. “I don’t care how we do this. Or if it doesn’t work out tonight at all. It’s fine with me. We can cuddle and nothing more, I don’t care.”

That made me relax more than anything. “It’s just a lot. It feels . . .” I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to be able to explain it to him. “I can’t shut my brain off. I want it, though, Nicky. I do. Like this.”

He smiled gently, and then ducked his head to brush kisses along my collarbone. His fingers started moving again, the slow glide of them, and this time I shuddered and let myself dissolve into the sensations.

“What’s your brain telling you?” he asked, the words muffled against my skin. The hand he didn’t have between my legs moved up my side, along my ribs, soothing.

I slipped my own hands up his back, along the curve of his spine. I thought about answering his question. But with the way he was melting me into a puddle, I was sure that if I said anything, I’d say the truth. Exactly what I felt. And there was still enough rational thought left for me to think that would be a bad idea.

His lips curved against my shoulder, and his fingers pulled free of my body. “Quinn. Tell me?”

I arched up against him, helpless and needy. His hand drifted to my cock, stroking far too lightly.

“That isn’t fair,” I whined.

His lips drifted lower, pressing here and there across my chest, leaving warm, damp spots when his tongue flicked out. “Tell me, then.” He glanced up at me. “I won’t make fun. I promise.” His tone was serious.

I went still all over, and he did too, freezing above me. The teasing in him was gone, and I looked up into his face. “It’s telling me this is too big.” I waited for him to laugh at the obvious joke, but he didn’t. He kept watching me. I took a deep breath. “It feels like so much. Not just a fling. Not just for now. Like it has weight.”

He went, impossibly, more still, his body poised above mine, and I was sure in that second that I had ruined this. That he would pull away, or worse, that he’d continue, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Instead, he bent forward and kissed me so softly, so gently. It went on for a long time, the velvet brush of his lips on mine. He lifted a hand and held it against my face, his fingers tangling in my hair, and in the moment when we separated, I saw him staring down into my eyes.

“Want you,” I whispered, even though I had half forgotten in those kisses that we had ever been on our way to something else.

He nodded and reached for the condom he’d set on the nightstand. He rolled it on, then scooted forward so his hips were nestled up against mine. Then he was slipping inside me, slowly, in a long, tight glide.

He didn’t look away from me while we moved together. He fell forward onto his elbows and kept his palm to my cheek, his other hand cupping the back of my neck, while he thrust into me.

It wasn’t less intense, like I’d feared it would be after I’d blurted those things out. We hadn’t disconnected. The opposite, really. It was like he was breaking me apart, a piece at a time, opening up all my secret places. Exposing me.

He came first this time, pressing hard against me, snapping his hips forward, and I followed. It seemed to come from deep down, welling up instead of flashing through me, slow and harsh and forceful. It took a long time for the aftershocks to stop, for me to come back down to myself.

Afterward, we lay on top of the covers, so tangled up I couldn’t tell who was holding who. I had my arms around Nicky’s middle, and he had his around my neck, so my forehead pressed to his chest.

“Quinn.”

“Mm-hmm?” I’d been quiet for a while. Lost in the sensation of him around me, and the way my body felt, and my own mind.

“Was that . . . okay?”

I let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah, Nicky. It was definitely okay.” I leaned forward and kissed the center of his chest.

He snuggled in a little bit closer. “Oh, good. It’s just . . . you’re so quiet. That’s fine,” he added quickly. “But I . . . I wanted to make sure it was okay. That this was okay.”

“It is.” I sighed. “Nicky. I meant those things. Those things I said while we were . . .”

He tensed, and then I felt him trying to not tense. “Yeah?”

“I . . .” I was glad I wasn’t looking at his face. It was much easier to get words out this way. “I don’t want only right now, Nick. I never did, I don’t think. I want more than that.”

He shifted slightly under me. “Like what?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “What do you want?”

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, so I could feel the movement of it underneath me. I could hear his heart thumping away too, and the rhythm of it had gotten slightly faster.

“I like this,” he said. “What we’re doing now. Dinner and sex and hanging out and being together.”

I turned that over in my mind for a second, and then I sat up, propping myself on an elbow so I could gaze down at him. “Because it’s fun?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fun.” His voice wasn’t quite steady, though.

“What about . . . beyond fun? Past fun?”

He swallowed but didn’t answer, and I realized he was probably as nervous and unsure about this conversation as I was.

“I mean.” I had to stop and think. It felt like my lungs were too tight, like I couldn’t speak over the pounding of my heart. I hadn’t known this would hit me so hard, hadn’t realized it would . . . mean so much. When had I gotten in this deep? But as soon as I thought it, I figured I had probably always been in this deep. I had always liked Nick a little too much.

“I mean, do you want more than just fun? I mean, is this, what we’re doing, a fling? A thing that’s happening while we’re both here and you’re recording?”

He shook his head, his hair drifting across the pillow. “I don’t know, Quinn. I always wanted more than one night with you. More than a fling.” He chewed on his bottom lip, and I wanted to reach out and soothe the red spot with my thumb, but I didn’t. “But that was last time. Before. I don’t want . . . I don’t want to get too attached and have you tell me no. And I don’t know how this will work. We live apart. We have different lives.”

“I’m not saying no.” I was saying the exact opposite, I was pretty sure. I sat up all the way, turning to face him. The sheets were bunched around my waist, but they weren’t really covering anything, and I felt exposed and vulnerable all over again.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “But you might. You did last time.”

I blinked. “But that was because of . . .” I raised my hand but then let it drop. I did not want to talk about my brother now.

He sat up too, sliding to rest against the headboard. He looked anything but comfortable, though. “I know, but . . . I’m . . . being honest. Or realistic.”

“That’s not being realistic,” I said, before I could think. “That’s being afraid.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a sound of amusement at all. “And what are you doing, then? I could have been there for you—as a friend, if nothing else. All of Escaping Indigo could have been there for you. But from what I hear, you pushed everyone away. Tuck told me they didn’t know Eric had died until Micah told them.” He waited, giving me a chance to respond, maybe to deny it, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. “What am I supposed to think when I hear something like that? I can’t imagine it means you’ll be open with me, Quinn.” He lowered his voice, gentled his tone. “I’m not asking for everything at once. I know we still didn’t know each other very well. But I don’t want to hope for anything more than these couple of weeks, because I can’t imagine you’re willing to give more than that.”

I drew in a shaky breath. “It’s not the same. Escaping Indigo . . . Micah . . . I’m the one who takes care of them. That’s my job. Not the other way around.” Although I’d lost that too, really. If nothing else, this trip to the recording studio, with everyone happily paired off, had proven that. And I didn’t resent it, I told myself for the millionth time. I didn’t. It was just that it made me feel so alone.

“That’s bullshit.” Nick pinched his lips together, hard, as if he was trying to stop himself from saying anything more. It didn’t work. “Getting them where they need to be as a band is your job. Making sure they have what they need. Hotel reservations and dressing rooms and lights for their shows. A place to eat. That’s your job. Being there for them? Taking care of them? You do that because you’re their friend. And friendship goes both ways.” He flung his hand up. “This, what we’re doing? It goes both ways. Neither of those things work if it’s a one-way street. They can’t. So it’s not any different at all.”

“It is.” I shook my head, hard. To clear it or deny what he was saying, I wasn’t sure. “And I already failed at taking care of people once. With Eric. I’m not going to do it again.” Although, maybe it was too late for that. I wasn’t happy about the pity party going on in my mind, but I couldn’t stop it, either.

“Eric is completely different from all of that. But it’s the same too—being a brother goes both ways. Reaching out for help goes both ways. It’s not something one person can carry alone. Relationships don’t work that way.”

He was trying to be gentle, and reasonable. I could hear it in his voice. But I didn’t want to hear it. “I’m worried I’ll screw up again. With you. With Josh, maybe. I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

Nicky’s eyebrows rose. “Josh is not Eric. The relationship you had with Eric—that will never be the same relationship you have with anyone else.”

“I know, but—”

He swept his hand to the side in a chopping motion, cutting off my words. “And he isn’t your responsibility. I’m not asking that of you. Yeah, maybe someday, if that’s how this goes, and things work like that, but . . . I’m not asking you that, Quinn.”

“But you kind of are. I’m here. I met Josh, I spent the day with him, and I . . .” I didn’t actually know what I was arguing for. I didn’t know what I wanted, or didn’t want, I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I just knew that something was off, strained, that something was out of place and I wanted to do something about it before it got worse. But I didn’t know how to put it into words or tell Nick what I meant.

“So what you’re asking me,” he said very slowly, as if he wanted to be absolutely clear, “is to trust you, to allow you to get close, to let this continue, but you won’t open up with me. You want me to trust that you won’t hurt me again, you want to keep doing this . . . whatever we’re doing, after this week. But you’re basically saying, at the same time, that you don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know if you can care about me. Or my son.”

“What? No. That’s . . .” I reached out to touch his hand, but he slid his across the bedspread so I couldn’t. It was a child’s gesture, petulant and stubborn, but it didn’t really come across that way. It seemed . . . hurt. Like he was too tender.

“You wouldn’t let me care for you before. And I get it, I really do. It was too new and too soon. But if we start this back up . . . I can’t do that again. I can’t have you push me away whenever anything gets rough.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t put that on Josh, either. And honestly, I don’t think my heart can take it.”

I swallowed, trying to sort this out in my mind. This wasn’t how I’d imagined the evening going. I’d thought . . . When I started talking, I’d thought maybe we’d work things out, that we’d agree to . . . something, and everything would be simpler and more comfortable afterward. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe Nick wasn’t thinking along the same lines as I was.

“I’m not saying any of that.” But was I? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know. I was so scared. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do this. I want to do this. I just . . .”

He smiled at me. The expression was bitter and sad, and I didn’t like seeing it at all. “You’re saying you’ll call. You’re saying we’ll meet back up again soon. Like last time. Right? Last time, when what we had was really good, and we went our separate ways, and when I got home again, I waited and waited for you. Last time, when I finally gave in and called you, even though I was afraid I was pushing too hard. And you never returned my call, not even to tell me you were done. You left me hanging, wondering what I’d done wrong. Going over and over it in my mind.” He squeezed his hands down on his knees. “I know I’m not supposed to let that stuff bother me. I’m an adult, I can move on. But I couldn’t, Quinn. Because I liked you a lot. And I didn’t know how I’d messed up.”

“You didn’t mess up at all.” My voice was a whisper.

He nodded. “I know. But I told you, remember? I’d be an idiot to let you hurt me like that twice.” He blinked. “If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, stay. But don’t do this in-between thing. I can’t take it from you. And I know you’d do it indefinitely if you could.”

“I wouldn’t. I . . . I don’t want to leave.” I wanted to reach for him again, touch him, but this time, I couldn’t make myself reach for him.

“But you don’t want to stay, either. You want everyone to exist outside the bubble you keep around yourself. You want to keep yourself safe in case . . . of what? In case you make a mistake? Or we do? You can’t keep people at arm’s length and expect them to go on loving you without conditions. It doesn’t work that way.”

I definitely didn’t know how to answer that. And my brain had gotten tangled up on the word love. I opened my mouth, but then I had to close it again. I didn’t have words for what I was feeling.

“You don’t know what you want,” I said at last. “You kiss me, you go out with me. You introduce me to your kid. Then you tell me that this is all only fun? That it can’t keep going? Because . . . why? Because I can’t promise you everything right away?”

His expression went hard. “You could try harder. You could stop being a coward and make more of an effort.”

I huffed. “Speak for yourself.”

For a minute, he was perfectly still. Then he said, “I think you should go.”

“Nicky . . .”

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Just go. Let’s make it clean this time, okay?” He took an unsteady breath. “We tried it again. It didn’t work. If we stop here, it’ll be better. Easier. Please.” For a second, I thought he would try to smile, try to make this better, but he didn’t. He shook his head again. “Please go, Quinn.”

I stared at him, but he’d closed himself off to me. Wrapped his arms around his middle, ducked his head to the side so he was staring at the pillows, at the place where our heads had been resting together a few minutes before. What the fuck had I done to get this so wrong? I didn’t know where it had happened, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I couldn’t think. So I did as he said, and left. I got out of bed and grabbed my clothes, threw them on, tugging my shirt quickly over my head, stuffing my feet into my shoes while I tried to simultaneously zip up my jeans. I stumbled around, flustered and confused and embarrassed, but he didn’t say anything else. I didn’t even think he was watching me.

And then I was gone.

It took me until I was half a block from his house, the night cool and silent and still around me, to remember he’d driven us here, and it was a long walk back to the studio. I considered calling someone. Tuck would probably come pick me up, but he was also probably warm in bed with Lissa. Micah would come. I didn’t doubt that for a second, and I wouldn’t have minded getting him out of bed as much. But I didn’t want to have to tell him why I was walking home instead of getting Nick to drive me. The bands had another week together at the studio, and if everyone knew Nick and I had had a falling out, it would only make everything strained and awkward. Besides, I didn’t know how to explain it to myself. And maybe Micah wouldn’t ask—probably, he wouldn’t. He was tactful—but I didn’t want to have to see him wondering.

I considered calling a taxi or something, but then I decided I’d rather have the time to think, after all. I wasn’t positive of exactly where I was, so I brought up the GPS on my phone and put in the name of the studio. Ta-da. Technology at its finest. Helping you get home when you’ve been kicked out of your maybe-boyfriend’s bed in the wee hours. I turned the sound down, so the precise voice telling me which streets to turn on was just loud enough to hear. Then I walked home.