Page 79 of Wreckage and Rain

"You look like a man who's given up on basic hygiene. When you see Summer, if you see Summer, you're not going to do it looking like you've been living in your car."

I listen to Dom. Shower, shave, steak. It helps more than I want to admit, and I tell him so with a look. He arches an eyebrow and goes back to his phone.

"You ready to do this?" Dom asks.

"More than anything," I tell him.

***

Vibes isn't what I expected.

I don't know what I expected. A dive. A strip club with pretensions. Some dark, seedy place where my wife has been hiding from the wreckage.

Instead I walk into a room that's warm and beautiful and alive. The show is about to start. The seats are packed. The bar isthree-deep. The whole place hums with energy, excitement and anticipation.

We sit near the back of the venue. Dom is hypervigilant, scanning the room like he always does. It is the automatic tactical assessment of a man who's been casing spaces since college.

The lights dim and the low hum of a song begins as the bass drops and a woman appears on stage. Sequins, feathers and the confidence of someone who commands the attention of an entire room. The first performer is extraordinary. I'm not a burlesque guy. Or I wasn't. The artistry is undeniable. This isn't people taking their clothes off. This is storytelling through the body.

The second act. Another woman takes the stage. A petite dark-haired pixie. A face that's both fierce and beautiful. She dances like she's fighting something. Every movement is sharp, deliberate, controlled. Not pretty. Powerful.

Dominic grunts and leans forward in his chair. He is locked in and hyperfocused. Not at the show in general. At her. This specific woman. And the expression on his face is one I have never seen in fifteen years of friendship. The look of a man whose entire system just rebooted. I nudge his thigh with mine.

"Who is that." Not a question. Closer to a prayer.

"Focus, Dom."

"I am focused. Extremely focused."

"Summer. We're here for Summer."

He tears his eyes away with visible effort.

The show continues. Then I see her.

Not on stage. On the floor, near the front, in the space between the tables and the stage where the light is low. She's with a man. Tall, dark-haired. His hands on her hips.

She's dancing.

Summer is dancing in a way I've never seen. Free. Sensual. Her whole body moving with a freedom I didn't know she possessed.Her hair is down. She's in something dark and simple that moves with her. She's laughing. Head tilted back. Eyes closed. Laughing at something the man behind her said. The laugh that starts in her chest and bubbles up and takes over everything.

The laugh that used to be mine.

She leans back into him. He says something against her ear. She turns her head.

His hand spreads over her stomach and she leans back into him without looking, settling into him like her body stopped keeping a guard up around him a long time ago. He says something low against her ear. She laughs again. It's the ease that guts me. Two people whose bodies have gotten comfortable in the same few inches of air.

Every cell in my body wants to cross that room.

Dom's hand lands on my arm with an iron grip.

"DO NOT walk over there." His voice is low and hard. "You aren't that guy. If you want her back you cannot be that guy."

"She's..."

"She's living her life. A life she built because you destroyed the one she had. You do not walk into her safe space and make a scene. Colt, I'm serious right now"

I'm breathing hard. My hands are fists. The man with her, Sam, the PI told me his name. He's not what I expected either. He's relaxed. Easy. The look he gives Summer has none of the hunger I'd braced for. Warm. Comfortable. The look of someone who cares about the person he's with and isn't performing a goddamn thing.