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“I know, Reese. But, I think it’ll be a good idea for your share that with your followers. Hearing it from me is one thing, but they want to hear from you, and I don’t think it’ll be a bad thing if you did a ‘raw’ video about what’s been going on in your life. Talk about Mel and Ryan, without going into the details, and consider introducing them to Eli.”

“I’m not going to use my personal experiences as fodder, Mya.”

“And I’m not saying that you should,” she replies patiently. “Just talk to them, remind them that you’re a real person, going through some real shit. All they know is the woman who’s built this incredible lifestyle business, who’s shared her journey in fitness and who’s helped people on theirs. But they don’t know Reese, and let’s face it, that Eli is a heartbreaker. You need to express yourself somehow, because keeping all your emotions stuffed in a jar on your bathroom counter is not healthy.” Her observation is pretty accurate considering it feels like that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Stuffing every feeling, and emotion into a jar, and sealing it shut. “I don’t know, Mya.” I stand, and arch my back. I have no idea how long I’ve been scrubbing the damn floor, but my house is now spotless because I’ve cleaned every nook and cranny. It’s 2:30 in the morning, but I can’t sleep. There’s just too much ruckus in my head, in my chest. Even in my bones. An unscratchable itch under my skin, in my muscles. “When was the last time you wrote a song?”

That stops me in my tracks. “How’d you know about that?”

It was one of my most well-kept secrets. The only people who knew I used to write songs is Ryan and Thorin. I stopped when I graduated college, and really, it was just a form of expression when I wasn’t studying, or working my ass off in the gym.

“Remember when we got wasted the night of graduation?”

“Yeesss…” I think. Graduation night is still a blur, and it’s not because it was five years ago.

“You told me about it, in your drunken stupor, and then you told me all about Thorin Jude Decker.”

“Oh God,” I groan. “Did I really? How drunk was I?”

“Well, considering we’d just survived four years of hell, you got hammered. I stopped after two drinks because someone had to get us back to our apartment in one piece.”

Mya and I met at freshman orientation, and luck was on our side because we ended up sharing a dorm room until junior year. Then we got an apartment together, and the rest, as they say, is history. She studied public relations and communications, and when we graduated, she became my assistant. She’s basically helped me build my business, and encouraged me to pursue just about every avenue, including the launch of my own fitness app and clothing line.

“I haven’t written since college,” I admit. “I kind of threw everything I have into everything else, and forgot about it.” That’s what I tell myself, when really, the truth is I’m scared to write again, scared of what will come out when I put pen to paper. My mind had a nasty habit back then of dredging up old feelings about Thorin, and putting those feelings into lyrics. I had to sever the connection at some point. “I think you should get back to it.” Mya makes it sound both appealing, and easy, but it’s the exact opposite. I stopped when it no longer felt like a release, and only reminded me of Thorin, especially after their first album went platinum, whatever that meant.

“I’m not sure,” I tell her honestly, with my heart backing it up with, bad idea!

“I am. And I’m giving you one more week before I get my ass on a plane, and come to you.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me. I’m a single girl, you have a spare bedroom, and if I’m being real, this whole virtual assistant and only seeing you one week a month is a load of horse shit.”

There’s a mumble in the background, and I’m willing to bet it’s Mya’s avó reaming her out for swearing. Mya might come from a traditional Portuguese family, but nothing about her is traditional, least of all her potty mouth. It’s her lack of a filter that first drew me to her, and then I got to know her, and we ended up sticking to each other like glue. She’s the crazy to my calm, the spontaneous to my over-cautiousness.

“Sorry,” Mya says. “As I was saying, I’ll be in Texas in a week, and I’ll be staying with you until I get my shit together.”

“You and Kyle not work out?” Truth be told, Mya’s boyfriend is a preppy dick with more money than sense. I hated him the moment we met, but luckily I was already living with Mel and Ryan so I never saw much of him. I just know he hated the one week a month Mya was here helping me.

“I caught him banging one of the rich bitches he’s friends with,” she says nonchalantly. “But, I’m not going to lose sleep over it, and since you have enough to deal with, I’ll fill you in when I get there.”

“You’re really coming?” The idea makes me smile. Being around Thorin, and the guys, without a buffer scares the ever loving shit out of me, if I’m honest with myself. Maggie will be heading back to Florida soon, and then it’ll just be me, and a bunch of men. I don’t consider the ranch hands, or the men who worked for Ryan because I have little to no interaction with them, unless I want to take one of the horses out for a ride.

“Duh.” She hesitates, and then asks, “If you’ll have me?”

“Duh.”

She laughs when I imitate her. “You’re a dork.”

“Takes one to know one,” I tease.

“God, I’ve missed you.”

I swallow hard. “I’ve missed you too. Dealing with everything alone has been…”

“I know, babe. But you won’t have to once I’m there. I’m going to get your ass organized, and ready to go, and until then, you need to start writing again, and try be less awkward around Thorin and those cockheads.”

I snort. “Cockheads?”

“Yes. Every man on this planet is a cockhead,” she says. “Well, except Eli, but that’s because he’s still a bebê, and you won’t allow him to become a cockhead, will you?”