Soon I found I’d gone in a circle and was back where I started. This was bad news as my bladder was sending up the yellow emergency flag and I was doing the pee-jig to keep myself together. Thankfully, I encountered a pair of intoxicated women who appeared to be on a mission. On a hunch, I followed them and sent a silent thank you to the heavens as they stumbled into a nondescript—and unmarked—women’s bathroom with several stalls.

At this point I was cutting it close, so after my business was finished I jogged back to the backstage area and rushed through the door just in time to hear Fitzy say, “She’s not even with you! Katy is none of your business—”

I halted, my eyes flickering over the scene before me. Abram was smirking at Fitzy, leaning his shoulder against the brick wall. Fitzy was standing in the middle of the room and appeared to be quite riled up. Willis was between them, apparently keeping them apart. And Janet was nowhere to be seen.

All eyes turned to me as I entered; I didn’t know quite what to do. The only person who didn’t appear to be upset was Abram. In fact, he looked positively pleased.

At a loss, I stared wide-eyed at the trio and gave the room a little wave. “Hey, guys… What’s up?”

***

Abram didn’t stop casting sinisterly pleased looks in my direction through most of the fourth set. I assumed this had everything to do with getting under Fitzy’s shirt collar, so I ignored his antics.

But then abruptly, his expression sobered during the last song and turned irritated, his eyes narrowing on me as we wrapped up the last stanza. No sooner was I off the stage, I felt his hand on my upper arm leading me out the steel door I’d used earlier on my hunt for the bathroom.

“Where are you going? We have one more set!” Willis called after us.

“Just for a quick walk,” Abram called over his shoulder, practically pulling me behind him.

Once the door closed behind us, I demanded, “Let go of my arm, this is a very uncomfortable way to walk.”

He didn’t turn, but his hand slid down to mine. Abram threaded our fingers together and continued leading me forward.

We came to the fork in the path and I volunteered, “It’s a circle. No matter which way you go we’ll end up back here.” I was honestly too tired to give his strange behavior much consideration.

He pulled me to the right and finally spoke. “Your boyfriend is here.”

“My boyfriend?”

“The stockbroker.” His eyes slid to mine, his big jaw working, his brown eyes dark and unhappy.

I stumbled, forcing Abram to stop. “Martin? Martin’s here? Where? I didn’t see him.”

“He showed up at the end of the last set.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. Now, why would he be here? I thought you two were over.”

I tugged my hand from Abram’s and crossed my arms over my chest. My heart was racing now.

“We are over. But we’re…we’re friends. I’m staying with him.”

“You’re staying with him?”

“This week. I’ve been staying at his place in Manhattan for the week.”

Abram’s hands moved to his hips and he released a frustrated sigh. “If you needed a place to stay, you could have called me. You don’t have to stay with your douchebag ex.”

I scrunched my face, not liking that Abram was calling Martin a douchebag. I knew this reaction was silly as he’d done it before and I didn’t object. But things between Martin and I had changed. I’d always cared about him, yes. And now that I’d let go of my anger about our breakup I didn’t want people calling him names.

“Listen, he’s not a douchebag. Like I said, we’re friends. It’s no big deal.”

“And nothing’s happened?”

I grew very still, but felt compelled to ask, “Why is that any business of yours?”

He grit his teeth, his eyes abruptly dimming. “I guess it’s not. It’s none of my business.”

We stared at each other for a long moment in silence and I could see him building a virtual wall between us. He was making his mind up, having a conversation in his head, while I stood here and waited for him to give me a real response.

But he didn’t. He closed himself off, burying his thoughts and feelings, and I realized Abram and I were extremely similar.

He wasn’t fearless. We were both feelings hoarders.

He may have suggested a few weeks ago that I sleep with Fitzy, or use him as my rebound guy and whatever that entailed, because I wasn’t in any danger of falling for Fitzy. And then Abram wouldn’t be my rebound guy. He wanted to be with me, but wanted everything to be just right, just perfect, and all sorted before really putting himself out there.

I briefly wondered if the scene I’d walked in on earlier was Abram trying to push Fitzy in that direction.

I felt a smile of ironic understanding claim my features and I exhaled a small laugh, realizing that if I wanted bravery and honesty, it was going to have to come from me.

“Look, I think I like you. And I think you like me, too. I don’t need a rebound guy. In fact, I don’t need any guy. But I would like a partner. I would like to be part of a team.”

Abram’s cold expression didn’t change but I did see something pass behind his eyes, a flicker of acceptance, of understanding.

He cleared his throat, his gaze moving to the carpet then back to mine. “It’s none of my business, I know. But we’ve had, at least I’ve had, a really good time with you this week. So, what are we doing here? Are you back with your ex?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Are you over him?”

I hesitated, my attention moving to a spot behind Abram as I thought about the question, how to answer it honestly. “I don’t know. He was my first everything. I’m starting to think it’s not possible to ever truly get over that person, the first person who made you feel like… But maybe it is possible to move on.”

He was silent for a beat, then acknowledged quietly, “I get that. I know what you mean.”

We gave each other quick, commiserating glances and flat smiles. I twisted my fingers while he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Katy…do you want to be over him? Do you want to be with me?”

My eyes collided with Abram’s and I saw it cost him something to ask the question. As much as I wanted to respond, Yes, I want to be over Martin. Yes, I want to be with you, I couldn’t. Because my feelings were so much messier than a yes or a no.

He nodded, just a subtle movement at first, as though I had spoken, as though I’d already given my answer and he was processing it.

Before he got too far ahead of me I rushed to clarify, “I don’t like feeling this way. I don’t like being stuck in limbo and wanting two completely different things. Yes, I want to be over Martin. I know he’s moved on, as he’s had a girlfriend since we broke up—at least one that I know about. And, honestly, I don’t trust him not to hurt me again. But part of me feels like things aren’t finished.”

“That’s just you wishing.” He didn’t look upset, he looked resigned. “But I get it. I do. Because I didn’t feel like things were finished with me and my ex. I hadn’t moved on and I kept wishing things could be different.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No. I was a coward.” He uttered this with no bitterness, just a matter-of-fact assessment of himself.

“When did you stop? When did you feel like things were finished?”

“Not ’til recently. Not until I met you.”

I sighed. His words, made with his powerful and deep voice, his soulful brown eyes, caused my heart to ache.

“Abram—”

“Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re still wishing?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Abram gave me a sardonic smirk and shook his head, his eyes teasing but also a little sad, like he felt sorry for me.

“You and I are a lot alike, Katy.”

I returned his smirk and shrugged at my weakness. “I don’t know how to tell him. I feel so paralyzed. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Abram closed the distance between us and threw his arm over my shoulder, tucking me close to his broad chest and steering us back for our last set.

“If he hasn’t moved on and he’s wishing too, then you need to put him out of his misery and tell him what’s going on in your head. Be brave.”

“Ha! Says Abram. Self-professed coward.”

He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “But if he has moved on, you need to know for sure. Because then you can move on, too.”

***

Martin was in the audience. He was standing by the bar and was surrounded by people. I spotted him almost immediately when we took the stage; I explained away this phenomenon to myself, reasoning that he was several inches taller than everyone else.

But really, I found him so fast because he was Martin. I think my blood chemistry had changed when we were together, because locating him in the crowd had been exceptionally easy.

His eyes lifted and found mine, and he held them until I looked away. I felt his gaze on me for the duration of the set. At first it was distracting. But then I settled into it, accepted it, and it began to feel oddly comforting.