PATTY
She’s moving into Tripp’s grandpa’s house with Ash.
SEAN
…
She won’t be living with Ash for long. Rusty’s fixing to pop the question.
I almost rock back. I shouldn’t be surprised—Rusty’s been in love with Ash for a long time, but they’ve only been dating for, what, six, seven months? Not that it matters. Rusty’s a good friend, but he’s allowed to get married. Even if he’s years younger than I am. Even if he’s had some of the same struggles I have …
But Sean is trying to distract me.
PATTY
You’ll still see her all the time if she owns the team. Mullet Ridge teams support each other. It goes with the territory.
SEAN
So? It doesn’t concern me. And it shouldn’t concern you, either.
PATTY
If you say so.
Sean doesn’t respond right away, and after only a moment, I stop waiting for him to say anything at all. Rusty is one thing—when he and Ash get married, I’ll be the first to congratulate the guy. But my brother? What could have inspired him to get involved in Kayla Carville’s love life?
I push my curiosity aside as my eyes turn to the closed door to Lou’s suite and to another, stronger curiosity.
Why was Lou so upset? And how can I make it better when I can’t let myself get close to her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOU
The shower can’t get hot enough to overcome my shivering. After a workout, I usually stay warm for at least an hour. But I must be coming down with something; ten minutes under hot water, and I’m still shaking. But my stomach isn’t roiling, and I don’t feel the deep, pulsing headache or the muffling in my ear that tells me I have a migraine coming on.
Instead, I just feel …
I just feel …
Sad.
The kind of sad that sinks into your bones, making every breath feel heavier, every thought foggier. I want to shake it off, but it sticks to me, working its way into the spaces between my ribs. My muscles ache from the effort of pretending I'm okay.
And just admitting that carves a deep frown into my face. I’m not ready to think about why it hurts to have a new roommatereplace one of my best friends—especially after already watching the others move forward while I stagnate.
One by one, the best friends I’ve ever had—women who are as close as sisters to me—have fallen in love and moved out. And each time, I’ve acted like it doesn’t hurt, like our dynamic is no different simply because Jane goes home to Tripp and Millie goes home to Duke and Lottie. Next up, Parker and Sonny. And I’m not even there to help Parker plan her wedding.
Each of my friends has battled her demons and found her happily ever after, while I’ve done the opposite—inspecting my walls, fortifying them for cracks. I love music like it’s an essential organ, like it’s what pumps the blood through my body in place of my heart. I refuse to give it up.
But it’s not like my friends aren’t satisfied with their careers. It’s not like they’re unfulfilled in their day jobs and are settling for love over life. If anything, they seem happier and more fulfilled, more complete because of love.
So why did my mom have to choose?
And do I have to, too?
An hour later, I’m sitting at my desk in my suite, writing lyrics that refuse to go anywhere. Page after page of garbage, I scribble away, willing my muse to strike. I haven’t written anything in weeks. I flip back to that last song and groan when I see it. It’s the one Patty and I were working on.
