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“Nobody talks about those friends who come into your life when you least expect it. The friends who, from one conversation, make you feel like the most transparent person on the planet from how well they seem to know you.” — Excerpt from Henry Hayes’ Notebook

As I stare at the same empty page I’ve been looking at for two weeks, I sigh heavily.

I don’t know what the hell is going on with me.

I don’t know why I can’t seem to put the feelings of this character into words on the page.

Usually, when I force myself to write these days, it all comes out sounding flat and uninteresting.

The only writing I’ve been doing lately has been forceful because I need to finish this manuscript.

But my words are dull, vague, and two-dimensional. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.

My phone buzzes, and I don’t reach to look at it, already knowing an email is on the other end of it. The same one shows up in my inbox every week like clockwork. It’s from my agent, expressing his excitement about how he and my editor can’t wait to see what I have in store for my next novel.

I can never seem to reply and tell them I have nothing. At the rate I’m moving, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to finish this book.

My first book—the one about a married couple who realize each of them is leading a double life—sold more than I could have ever dreamed of.

I couldn't believe the response to it. Then, my second book—the one about a family whose patriarch gets diagnosed with a terminal illness—oversold my first by thousands of copies.

I thought I was living in some sort of dream.

I couldn't believe it. I was touring with authors I’d long admired and they were asking me questions about my process, my characters, and more.

These past few years of my career have been beyond my wildest dreams.

Yet, I still can’t figure this third book out.

The idea I pitched was about a man who survives an attempt on his own life and how he and everyone who loves him come to terms with what almost happened.

It’s about second chances, seeing life in a new perspective, and how the people who really love you will carry you through the tough times.

I outlined thirty chapters and sent them in, and every week since then, my agent is hounding me for pages to get to my editor. I know they’re excited about them, but they aren't even written yet, and I haven't found the right words to tell them I’m struggling.

I know I have to answer eventually, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it .

When my phone buzzes again, I decide to check it. Rarely does another email come through so quickly, but when I see who’s texting me, my heart drops to my stomach.

Grant: Is this thing on?

Oliver: Grant, seriously? That’s a terrible way to start this conversation.

Grant: I thought it was funny! Sue me, Oliver.

Unknown: I’ve got a really good lawyer if you need one, Grant.

Oliver: I regret this already.

Grant: Do you think he still has our numbers saved? Henry, it’s us, in case you couldn't figure that out yet.

Leo: You’ve only met me once years ago, but I’m Leo Zimmerman, Ella’s boyfriend.

I can’t help the smile that appears on my face as I read all the messages from people I used to call friends—well, and Leo. I’m not sure I can call him anything, because the last time I heard the name Zimmerman, Ella was cursing him out and trying to kill him.

How the hell did they go from that to dating?

I would ask, but I’m a little afraid of the answer.

I can’t help but wonder why they’re texting me.

The group haven’t really stayed in touch since everything fell apart, but I do miss these guys.

We got pretty close in college when we were all dating the girls of the book club .

At the mention of that, my breathing quickens, and I have to remind myself to stop thinking about her.

I grab my phone before I can stop myself.

Henry: Hey, guys. Long time no talk.

Grant: Oh my gosh, he answered.

Henry: Why wouldn't I?

Oliver: He thought you hated us.

Henry: Why would I hate you guys?

Leo: There seems to be a lot to unpack here.

Grant: Author Henry Hayes, are you available for a chat perchance?

Oliver: Did you seriously just say that?

Grant: What? He’s an author, Ol. I’ve literally shown you his books in stores.

Oliver: Forget it. Henry, can you hop on a call?

Henry: Sure.

Four seconds later, my phone is ringing, and three faces show up on my screen. Oliver and Grant look how I remember them, but I forgot how terrifyingly suave Leo looks.

“I’m just here for moral support,” Leo says in the accent I almost forgot about. Has it really been that long? “Nice to formally meet you again, Henry.”

“Yeah, you too,” I say, my guard still up. “No offense, but it’s been a long time since we’ve talked. I can’t say I’m not a little nervous you’re reaching out to me out of the blue.”

“And we apologize for that,” Grant says. “Not only does life have us all extremely busy, but we regret pulling away from you after everything that happened.”

Everything. I don’t know how one word can carry such weight, such meaning as it does in that sentence.

One word cannot sum up how heartbroken I felt—and still feel—about what she did to me at the airport.

I may be a writer, but there will never be any combination of words I could string together that would adequately tell the story of how I felt watching her walk away from me.

“It’s okay. I didn't expect you guys to hang around me after…” I trail off, not wanting to say it. “But why are you contacting me now?”

“Well, Oliver here is getting married, and before you ask, yes, you heard that right. Mr. Freeze is the first of us to get married.”

I can’t help the smile that forms on my face.

“Paige is a lucky girl,” I tell him. I knew they were both still dating Hads and Paige because I see their posts on social media.

Nowadays, it’s so easy to stay connected with people because of the internet, and I wasn't going to remove them from anything.

Hads, Paige, Grant, Oliver, and Ella didn't do anything to me.

I have no reason to hold anything against them.

“I’m the lucky one.” Oliver smirks.

“The stone has officially cracked,” Leo jokes, and Oliver merely tilts his head as Leo, Grant, and I laugh. I can’t help it. The first time I met Oliver, I thought he was going to stab me—especially since he was in the middle of solving a murder case with Paige.

“Why am I friends with you guys again? ”

“Because our girlfriends are all best friends. Therefore, we have to be best friends. It’s just how it works, Ol,” Grant reminds him. “And my girlfriend is your sister, so realistically, you’re stuck with me for life, buddy.”

“Great,” Oliver says in the most monotone voice ever.

“Well, I’m entirely sure the only reason Ella would marry me is to be able to say Alissa is her sister-in-law.”

“And because she loves you,” I tell him. “She does, right?”

“Most days, yes, although I do piss her off a lot.” He smirks at the rest of us. “But that’s basically foreplay.”

“Is this the reason you called me?” I ask. I don’t necessarily have to rush back to writing, but I do want to get some words in before my afternoon walk. I try to keep the same routine every day. That used to help when I was in a funk, but I’m not sure how to dig myself out of this one.

“No,” Oliver says as he adjusts his phone. “I wanted to invite you to whatever shenanigans Grant has planned for my bachelor stuff.”

“Henry, you’re not going to want to miss it. I’ve truly outdone myself.”

“Mate, you say that every time you host, or really anytime you do anything,” Leo reminds him.

“And have I been wrong yet?”

Leo searches his head for an answer. “No, I guess not.”

“Leo, don’t encourage this,” Oliver tells him. “He still wants to do a blood oath, and I wouldn't put it past him to lock us all somewhere during these festivities to get it done.”

“So, what does this entail exactly? I’m on a pretty rigorous writing schedule.” I’m not, but they don’t know that.

“Laptops are welcome, Hen. Can I still call you that?” Grant asks me, and I nod. “Okay, good. Basically, we’re hitting a few different spots in Virginia for a week before we meet the girls down in Virginia Beach for the actual wedding. ”

Oh. That isn't at all what I expected. “I don’t know, guys.”

“Grant, I told you it was too short notice. We would need an answer by September 7th,” Oliver tells him. “If you can’t make it, it’s okay. We would understand.”

“And the other reason he’s inviting you is because Oliver has no friends and Grant won’t stop making fun of him for it.” Leo smirks. “Which is valid, because I’m pretty sure Grant and I are his only friends.”

“Really? I could end this call right now,” Oliver snaps. “Just think about it, okay? Let us know your answer. Festivities—or whatever Grant called them—start two weeks before the wedding.”

Well, I guess it can’t hurt to think about, right? “Okay. I appreciate the invite, you guys. I don’t really leave my little bubble unless I’m going on a book tour or something. It might be good to get out of my apartment for a bit.”

“See?” Grant says, raising his eyebrow at the rest of them. “I told you he’d at least be open to it.”

“Just let us know, Hen. Take this as confirmation that you’re always welcome in our circle—or square, if there’s four of us,” Oliver tells me.

“And I look forward to learning more about you, mate,” Leo tells me, a genuine look on his face.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to get the weird feeling in my gut to settle. “I’ll give you an answer soon, but I have to get back to writing.”

“Sounds good,” Oliver says before he exits.

“See you at game night, Grant,” Leo says before he also leaves the call.

“You didn't feel bombarded, did you?” Grant asks me.

I shrug my shoulders. “No. A little caught off guard, but I did miss you guys. It’s nice hearing from you again.”