“It’s not date night,” I tell him.

“Fuck off,” he snorts. “I just thought you could use the company. You sounded like shit on the phone. What’s going on?”

I slap his back. “We need to talk about existentialism.”

He shakes his head in confusion, but I’m saved from explaining when Nix walks in right behind him.

“What’s with the emergency meeting?” Nix asks.

“How about a drink?” I ask and motion for them to have a seat on the couch.

“Is it that bad that beer isn’t strong enough?” Garrett questions, holding up the six-pack that he brought in.

These guys have been my brother’s friends for longer than I can remember. Actually, although I’ve never admitted it, they’re my friends too, and what I’m about to do is the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a really long time.

“How’s Dahlia?” Nix asks.

Walking over to the bar, I say over my shoulder, “She’ll be okay . . . but she can’t travel.”

Pouring whiskey into three tumblers, I turn around. Nix’s and Garrett’s jaws are on the ground, and it’s clear they know what that means. I hand them each a glass of whiskey and toss mine back. “Remember when Brian Chase accidentally hit himself in the nose and blood squirted out everywhere?”

Nix’s eyes narrow and Garrett just knocks his drink back, moving around me and stepping up to the bar.

I go on. “The more he bled, the harder he drummed, and the harder he drummed, the more he bled.”

They both nod, confused about my reason for telling them this, I’m sure. I continue. “That’s how I feel about our band. We keep going and going, but I really feel there’s a time for the bleeding to stop and I think it’s now. No more Band-Aids to stop the wounds from oozing.”

Nix clears his throat. “I disagree. I think we could take a different approach.”

I peg him with my stare and wonder where he’s going with this. Garrett sits down and I do the same as Nix keeps talking. “Do you remember the first time you heard Neil Young sing and you were like, ‘Really? This guy is popular?’”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything. It means anything can happen when you don’t expect it,” Garrett interprets for me.

“What’s going on?” I ask them.

Garrett looks at me a little warily. “Well, someone stopped by last night after you took Dahlia to the hospital.”

“Who?” I ask.

Garrett speaks up. “Ivy Taylor. She wants in.”

I stand up and slam my drink down on the bar. My lungs constrict and I have to raise my arms and cradle my head to breathe. Twisting my body, I mindlessly circle the room until I can finally speak. “No f**king way,” I yell at them.

“Xander, you and her happened a long time ago. Don’t let your history with her cloud your judgment,” Nix says.

“I’m not saying no because of our history,” I reply with a scowl.

“Then why?” Garrett asks.

“First of all, she doesn’t even sing in the same genre as the band.”

Nix rolls his eyes. “Come on, Xander, you know her. She’ll be able to sing our songs without a problem. For Christ’s sake, you played with her for years.”

“Even if she can, she’s managed by that prick, and I’m not f**king working with him,” I tell him very matter-of-factly. I want to be close to her in the worst way, but not when she’s with somebody else—that’s something I would never be able to stand.

“She says she won’t be for long. She’s trying to terminate their business relationship,” Garrett says.

I stop pacing.

“How much sweeter could this be? We’ve all known each other since high school, and we’re all in it for the music,” Nix says, trying to persuade me.

“Xander, come on. We’re flirting with disaster, and she pops in as our saving grace. People would follow her into a fire, and she came looking for us,” Garrett declares, and I stand there waiting for the punch line, but there isn’t one.

“Ellie agrees. She says she’ll talk to the label and she thinks they’ll be fine with it,” Nix tells me.

“Well, Ellie doesn’t manage the band,” I respond, running my hands through my hair.

“No, but it’s not just your band,” Garrett says, a little shakily.

My head snaps up and I know my eyes are focused and clear. I take a deep breath. “What did you tell her?”

“Ellie or Ivy?” Garrett asks.

“Ivy,” I bark.

“To come over and talk to you with us.” His face is determined. It’s a look that says it all. They’ve already made the decision.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” My voice wavers with uncertainty, but before I can put my issues on the table, the doorbell rings. My eyes flash to his and the pounding in my ears drowns out the sound of the bell. Walking across the dark hardwood floor in my bare feet, I take a deep breath and keep my face blank. Of course I want to see her. Fuck, I want to be with her. But she doesn’t want anything to do with me, even though apparently she wants something to do with my band.

When I open the door, there she stands—and she’s absolutely gorgeous. I tuck my hands in my pockets to control my nerves. Her beauty is only accentuated by the sunlight. Her hair is silky, her skin seems to gleam, and the sapphire earrings that my grandmother gave her follow the angular lines of her jaw . . . I can’t believe she still wears them. But it’s her eyes that capture me. They look darker, fiercer, more expressive, and they are focused on me. I can’t help but take her all in.

“Hello,” I say, ushering in her inside.

“Hi,” she says back softly, with a forced smile.

She’s biting her bottom lip and if I could have her right here, I would. Thoughts of her being mine race through my head. With her proximity, it’s hard not to regret having hurt her.

She stands in the entryway and looks around. “Nice place.”

I grin at her. “Thanks.” I wonder if she knows this condo was my grandparents’—the place they moved to when they left the house where we spent so many days and nights. This place is much smaller than their house—just two bedrooms. But it works for me. I hired a decorator who made a few minor changes when I moved in, but not much. Just enough to toughen it up.

“Are Garrett and Nix here yet?”

My eyes lock on hers. “As a matter of fact—they are.”

I motion toward the living area. “In there.”

“Hey, before we go in, I just want to say thanks for yesterday, and I’m sorry for being so rude.”

“Ivy . . .” Then I stop myself from blurting out the truth about the past. This isn’t the time or the place. “I was just concerned about you. That’s all.”

“I’m fine. Really, I can take care of myself.” She walks ahead of me before I can say anything else.

“Hi, Ivy,” Garrett says, almost like he has a schoolboy crush on her.

“Ivy.” Nix nods.

She fidgets. “Hey. Thanks for inviting me. So, have you guys talked to Xander about my suggestion?”

“We were just discussing it.” I’m trying to ignore how good her legs look in denim shorts.

“Great,” she says. “And my attorney confirmed that although my contract with Damon prohibits me from making any deals on my own, it does allow me to collaborate with other artists—he says it’s a loophole.”

“Yes!” Garrett says, pumping his fist in the air.

“Ivy, not that I don’t appreciate the offer. But what does your fiancé say about all this?” I ask her.

Nix clears his throat. “Hey, Xander, we didn’t get to that part of the news yet, but she broke it off with him.”

Ivy’s eyes collide with mine. For a moment I wonder if she’s doing this for us, but only for a moment, because I have to quickly look away from the hate I see in her face. “Damon aside, why would you want to ‘collaborate’ with us?”

“I want back in the music industry and I can’t do it on my own right now. Garrett and Nix told me River wasn’t exactly keen on hitting the road, so I wondered how you’d feel about having the two of us? I could stay on the road full-time and he could pull off whenever he needed to.”

“A few things have changed,” Garrett says. “River won’t be joining us after all. Dahlia has a complication and can’t go on the road.”

“Well, then, it looks like the situations we both find ourselves in seem to be a win/win. It’s a simple case of I help you, you help me,” she responds.

The room goes silent while I study her. It sounds like a business deal between two strangers, but we are far from that. Or are we? I bow my head, not sure what to say other than yes, because I sure as hell want her. “Okay, so if we do this, what’s next?”

“We start rehearsing. We have time to nail most of the tour songs before we have to hit the road again,” Nix says to all of us, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to persuade himself or me.

“I can meet you in the studio with Leif as early as tomorrow.”

We all turn our heads her way, but Nix is first to question her. “Leif? Who’s Leif?”

“Leif Morgan. He’s been with me from the start. He plays keyboard and bass,” she says softly, then adds, “And he travels with me. If you don’t mind?”

I nod and Nix and Garrett tuck their apprehension aside. There is nothing diva-like in her request. I know she’ll mix with us well. She’s the same girl she always was.

“We have ten days. It’s a piece of cake,” Garrett says confidently.

Her eyes find mine. “Look, Xander, we can give it a shot. If it doesn’t work out, what are either of us out?”

What can I say? She’s right—we have nothing to lose and everything to gain. We spend the next hour mapping out a strategy and discussing playlists. Changing from a male to a female lead means some minor lyrics changes. We decide I’ll go through those songs while the band rehearses the others.

“Anyone hungry?” Garrett asks.

“I wouldn’t mind something to eat,” Nix chimes in.

“I could throw together my famous Enchilada Bake,” Garrett says enthusiastically.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

“You’ve had it before—a can of black beans, a jar of enchilada sauce, and a tube of biscuits.”

“How about we order pizza?” I counter and look over at Ivy. “You in?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I actually have to get going. Logan’s in town for the night and I told him I’d meet him for dinner, but I’ll see you all tomorrow. And thanks again.” She walks over to Nix and Garrett and hugs each of them in turn.

She turns toward me and pauses.

“I’ll walk you out.” Standing near the entryway, I wait for her. She walks nervously my way. When she reaches me I automatically press my hand to the small of her back to guide her to the front door. When I realize where my hand is, I pull away, but I swear I see her shiver.

She reaches for the doorknob and my hand covers hers. I leave it there as I ask, “Logan—he joined the service?”

“Yes, he’s a marine. He joined up right after high school, actually.”

“Hmm . . . I thought he was going to Washington State?”

She looks up at me. “He was, but his parents divorced and money was an issue, so he decided to enlist. He’s a sergeant now and stationed at Fort Bragg. He has a wife and three kids. He’s really happy.”