Page 19

THE NEXT MORNING, Mom was at the breakfast nook sipping her coffee and helping Dad with the Thursday crossword puzzle as if last night hadn’t happened at all. I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, got a cup of coffee, and went to sit beside them, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment.

But Dad just asked me, “What’s a nostalgic term for a romance book? Twelve letters. Ends in an R , I’m sure.”

“Something about historical?” I guessed.

Mom scrunched her nose. “Smutty something? A one-hander? Fabio’s paycheck?”

I snorted a laugh. “A one-hander?”

“You know, the dainty little bodice rippers you can read with one hand—ooh! That’s it! Try that, Hank,” she said, tapping the newspaper. “Try that one.”

“ One-hander doesn’t fit …”

“ Bodice ripper ,” she said. He looked doubtful, but as he scratched in the letters, it fit. Mom beamed. “Take that . It’s going to be a good day.”

To which Dad kissed her on the cheek and replied, “Every day is a good day with you.”

While last night had been a nightmare.

It was like they had blinders on. They refused to face the storm, ignoring it as long as they could—and it was beginning to drive me mad.

I couldn’t ignore the lists everywhere, the sticky notes on the refrigerator and on the door and the cabinet and the bathroom mirrors, the crumpled-up ones in the trash can.

I peeled my banana and shoved it into my mouth before I could say something I’d regret, and listened as they worked through the rest of the crossword together.

After a while, their voices became white noise, and the earworm returned. It had a few more notes now, but the song still felt half-formed. Like a statue I was only seeing from one angle.

Faintly, I heard Sasha’s voice, too. At first I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but I really couldn’t help it.

He was arguing with someone. Heatedly. Something about a birthday …

or at least some sort of anniversary that was yesterday.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me—but then again, I didn’t hear all his thoughts, just like he didn’t hear all of mine.

“You okay, daughter?” Dad asked, giving me a worried look. “Headache?”

I let go of the conversation. Sasha’s voice faded again into a dull murmur. “A little. I’m going to go take a shower. Wanna do something today, Mom?”

Mom sighed. “I would love to, but I have to go to the Rev early to set up for the show. Tonight’s Sexy Beaches, you know. They’re always a killer.”

“Well, I’ve got nothing to do today if you want me to help you set up—”

She held up her hand. “You’ve yet to spend a day on the beach. Are you even my daughter anymore?”

“I’ve gone to the beach!” I defended. “To deliver your mixtape with you!”

Dad shook his head solemnly. “Wyn,” he told Mom, “I’m not sure where we went wrong …” And he gathered up her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Maybe we should try again.”

“Oh, Hank, I’m postmenopausal.”

“I love it when you use big words.”

“Pandiculation,” she said.

“Ooh, I got the tinglies .”

“Nudiustertian.”

“You saucy minx, you.”

“Absquatulate.”

I grimaced and pounded back the rest of my coffee. “Okay, this is getting gross. I get it, I’m gone.” I fled, my parents’ laughter carrying me up the steps to my room, where I dug out an old bathing suit from my suitcase, and did, in fact, go to the beach.

MOM WAS RIGHT —she usually was.

I did need to go to the beach. It was just me, the stretch of sand in front of my parents’ beach house, and a rusted beach chair pulled into the surf.

Waves came up around my ankles and washed back out again.

I’d stolen Mom’s sun hat, slathered on sunscreen, and sat watching the navy-colored waves crash in over and over, as constant as the white noise that came with them.

The beach was really one of the only places where I felt like I could empty my head.

Even in LA, when I felt like the city overwhelmed me, I fled to Santa Monica, dug my heels in the sand, and listened to the rush of ocean.

And it was perfectly calm and pleasant, right up until Sasha popped into my head.

“I booked a flight.”

My eyes snapped open. “ What? ”

“I’m on my way to the airport now.”

I sat up in the chair. “Wait—what? Now? ”

“Is now not a good time?”

“I …” Honestly, never would be a good time. A tremor of anxiety pulsed through me, along with burning curiosity. I’d see what he looked like. I’d know. “I guess it’s fine? Do you know where I am?”

“Vienna Shores, North Carolina, right?”

That surprised me. “Yes. How did you … ?”

“I do pay attention, bird,” he admonished.

“But don’t you have work? I mean, I don’t know what you do, but you can take off? And a last-minute flight is so expensive—”

“I need a vacation,” he interrupted, “and I used my miles.”

“I’m touched. You must really want me out of your head,” I teased.

“As much as you want me out of yours,” he replied, and promised that he’d see me in a few hours.

“Oh, about that,” I added, tugging at my braid. Why was I suddenly nervous? “I’m working tonight. My family owns a music hall. I’m home for the summer helping out. It’s—it’s small. And sort of … eclectic. Don’t judge too harshly.”

“Who’s playing?”

“A Bette Midler drag cover band called Sexy Beaches.”

He barked a laugh, bright and joyful. “Oh, I will not miss that!”

And that was that. Sasha was coming to Vienna Shores—and maybe with him here in person we could figure out how to get out of each other’s heads. Even though, secretly, I was beginning to enjoy his company.

SEXY BEACHES WERE, in fact, killer. Just not in the way I thought they would be.

To be fair, the Bette Midler drag cover band and their sappy rendition of “Wind Beneath My Wings” didn’t leave a dry eye in the house, but if I had to pour one more Sex on the Beach, I was going to lose my will to live.

Then again, it was better than being asked to pour a Hairy Nipple, for obvious reasons.

Halfway through the set, we ran out of whipped cream and Mitch dipped out to get more schnapps from the store.

Meanwhile, I refilled the bowls of roasted peanuts and tried to keep Dad from running himself into the ground.

This was the liveliest I’d seen the Revelry since I got here.

I kept checking my watch and peering into the crowd, wondering if Sasha had arrived yet.

I was almost afraid to ask—and our link had been quiet most of the day, the earworm louder than either of our thoughts.

I was beginning to dread it, now that I assumed it had everything to do with our connection.

Toward the end of the set, I finally heard from Sasha.

“Bird, I think I’m here.”

I about dropped the glass I was holding. Now?

“Now,” he agreed.

Oh. I quickly served the drink and rubbed my hands on my shorts. Why were they clammy all of a sudden? I checked my reflection in the liquor shelf mirror before getting a hold of myself. What was I doing? It didn’t matter what I looked like.

I slid up to Mitch at the other end of the bar. “Hey, I gotta go meet a friend real quick, do you think you can hold down the fort?”

“A friend?” he asked, eyebrow wiggling. “Maybe an old friend ?” He thought it was Van.

“No, it’s—”

“The hell is happening in the lobby?” he interrupted, looking toward the exit, where a small crowd began to gather in front of the photo wall.

“What a charming venue, bird. I can see why you love it.”

My heart rose into my throat. I untied my apron, guessing it was a bachelorette party or something. “I’ll go see what’s up.”

“Tag it out,” he replied, high-fiving as he slid up beside me to take the next order.

I dipped out from behind the bar. Most of the crowd was nodding along to another Bette Midler song, cell phones in the air like candles, swaying like reeds in the wind.

Where are you? I asked.

“A bit distracted at the moment.”

I squeezed through the crowd and into the lobby. There, quite a few people had defected to gather around some guy, taking photos with him and asking for his autograph.

I tried to see between the throngs of people, bobbing left and right, until finally the crowd parted, and I got a good look at him.

Dressed in a black T-shirt and dark-wash jeans, he bent in to take another photo with a young woman.

His brown hair brushed against his shoulders, half pulled up into a messy bun behind his head, showing off a collection of ear piercings and a tattoo behind his right ear in the shape of a constellation.

His smile was easy, hands in his pockets as he moved to another fan and took another photo.

Somehow, no matter which way he turned, no one ever caught Sebastian Fell at a bad angle.

No fucking way.

I’ll come find you in a minute. I have to deal with something real quick , I said, a little dejected. Some one , really.

The last person I really wanted to deal with in the lobby of my family’s music venue.

Just behind him on the wall, Roman Fell peered out from the photograph like a broody rock god.

Sebastian and his father looked so similar—from their noses to their easy smiles to their dark hair.

The only difference, really, was that Sebastian had longer eyelashes, dark and thick and lovely, framing bright cerulean eyes.

He really was gorgeous, even though I already knew it. Even though I’d seen him much closer before. Even though I still remembered what it was like to be so close, how he smelled, how soft his lips were, how gentle his fingers as they cupped my face …

Sebastian Fell’s eyes flicked to me and held my gaze.

The rest of the world fell away, until there was only me, and him—

And that song without a name, playing so loudly in my head I could no longer hear myself think.

He recognized me from Willa Grey’s concert, because a knowing sort of grin curled across his mouth. It was the kind of grin you didn’t give strangers.

“I hope it’s no one too difficult,” Sasha said in my head.

I snapped back to myself, remembering that Sebastian Fell and I had not left on good terms. I didn’t know why he was here, but I needed to deal with him before I found Sasha. It was just rotten luck that they’d shown up at the same damn time.

“Excuse me,” I said to the crowd as I gently pushed my way to the front, telling them they couldn’t loiter, that this was a fire hazard.

Obviously, no one listened. Sebastian signed someone’s arm and handed a Sharpie to someone else, and then turned his attention back to me as I came up to meet him.

“Hi,” I greeted.

“Hi,” he echoed, his voice rumbly and soft, laced with a sort of familiarity we didn’t have. It gave me pause because his voice sounded like … No, he couldn’t be, and I quickly pushed the thought out of my head. My ears were playing tricks on me because Sexy Beaches were so loud. “I’m here—”

“To see the show, sure,” I said over the music, being jostled by the crowd. “We have a private balcony if you’d like. Fewer people. More privacy.”

“That would be nice,” he agreed, and after he posed for another selfie, I led him out of the lobby and up a narrow set of stairs just before the doors to the theater, to a dark and secluded balcony that overlooked the stage and the crowd.

It was tiny, with only two rows of four fold-down seats, and it hadn’t been used in a very long time.

My parents used to tell me that in the heyday of the Revelry, famous rock stars would sit up here and drink whiskey on the rocks and smoke a blunt or two, but only burn marks on the seat cushions remained.

Sebastian Fell made himself right at home in one of the seats and put his feet up on the balcony railing. Of course he did—he probably went through life like he owned it all.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral, and tapped his feet to get him to lower them. He did without question.

It was hard to forget the last time we were in a balcony alone—and I definitely was not going to make that mistake again.

He propped his head on his hand and looked up at me from under long, dark eyelashes. Like he was waiting on me to do something. Or say something. Expecting something. Finally, he said, “You still don’t recognize me, do you.”

I squared my shoulders. “It was one subpar kiss.”

“ Ouch. ”

I rocked back and forth in my heels. I just wanted to go find Sasha. Sebastian would be fine up here alone, right? “Right, well, if you need anything, I’ll send my brother up.”

“No, wait,” he began, but I was already turning to go. I had too many things to deal with, and one of them couldn’t be Sebastian Fell.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “there’s someone here I need to meet.” “Well, as it turns out—”

“And I’m not sure what he looks like—”

“I’m here.”

My feet slowed to a stop.

“I’m here,” Sasha repeated.

Behind me, Sebastian Fell rose to his feet again. Hesitantly, I turned around to face him. His gaze searched mine, as if he was trying to find something familiar in me, too. His eyes were navy in the darkness, deep pools that reminded me of the Atlantic just before a thunderstorm.

“I think,” he said slowly, and then without him moving his mouth, his voice echoed in my thoughts, “you’re in my head, bird.”