"Polly hates me-and things are already weird between the two of you," I remind him. "I'm actually having fun doing my own thing." I'm being completely honest.

"Without me?" He frowns, making a silly, overly sad expression. "Are you using my body to get out and see this side of the country?"

"Maybe," I say, grinning. Also, possibly being honest here, too. "But seriously, I'm no Yoko Ono, okay? I don't want to make things worse with Polly-and those parties aren't really my thing."

He doesn't press me further, and I think a part of him is relieved.

But thinking of the Beatles brings my dad to mind, and I wonder how my parents are. I haven't gotten any calls or texts from them. Not even an email. But I haven't sent any either. A part of me is relieved I don't have to tell them what I'm doing. But mostly I'm hurt they don't even want to know. I realize communication goes both ways, but they're my parents. I swear someday when I have kids, I will never let them get away with what I'm doing. Because no matter what happens, I will never, ever push my own child away. Even when they're in college. Even after.

Although it dawns on me that I have no idea what it feels like to lose a child like they have. And if it's even half as painful as it is to lose a sibling, maybe I'd lose myself, too.

Goddamn it, Jason.

My thoughts are dragging me down to a place I don't want them to, so tonight I decide to go to the hotel party. Or, maybe I can convince Luca to come out with me, instead. We're in Raleigh-practically my own stomping grounds, North Carolina being my collegiate state and all. I know this city rather well. We'll be here two nights instead of the usual one, so maybe he'll spend one night out with me and we can spend the other with the band.

I almost text Quinn, to see if she's around, but she spends her summers lifeguarding in the Outer Banks. And...there's nobody else in the state I want to text. It's sad, really. My peers are my competition; it's hard for genuine friendships to emerge in all the drive to get ahead. Plus, after turning down my internship, I'm too embarrassed to face anyone. Though none of them are on tour with Luca James...

So yeah. Actually, on second thought, I'd love to run into classmates if Luca's by my side.

A glance at the clock tells me the band is probably done with their set by now. Which gives me about half an hour before Luca's back, so I head down to the hotel restaurant to grab a bite to eat. Luca would roll his eyes and tell me to just order room service because it's footed by the concert venues where they play, but there's a satisfaction in buying my own dinner. Although when I open my wallet to pay, it hits me that maybe I do need to take advantage of paid-for room service.

My funds are seriously dwindling. Panic tightens my stomach, making the burger I've just finished threaten to come back up. I've taken this whole screw responsibility attitude too far. A couple hundred dollars won't be stretching much further.

Shit.

I think, perhaps, this fun little ride is about to come to an end. For which my first ping of regret is that I'll miss checking out all the cities on tour, instead of that I'll have to leave Luca. Which adds a bit of confusion to the panic.

In a bit of a daze, I stumble through the lobby toward the elevators, but halfway there I freeze.

Because Gage is at the check-in counter.

Watching me.

I blink, waiting for my brain to catch up with what I see.

Gage. Looking really freaking hot.

Gage is here. In North Carolina.

A bucket of ice water tossed over my head couldn't shock me more right now.

"Gage?" I take a tentative step toward him. "What are you... I mean..."

"Hey, Cassidy." His voice carries through the air and he strides across the distance between us, stopping short a few feet away.

His hair is messy as ever, and all I want to do is run my fingers through it. His eyes are as golden brown as I've fantasized about in my memories. He's wearing a T-shirt just tight enough to remind me of the smooth, firm shape of him underneath it... Okay, Cassidy. Get it freaking together.

He points toward the chairs stationed in the middle of the lobby. "Do you want to sit?"

But I'm glued to the spot where I stand. "What are you... You're in North Carolina. I mean..." Come on. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Why?" And why isn't my brain catching up with this yet? But the warmth of utter happiness traveling through my veins tells me it's on its way. Gage, my body is saying. Yes, this.

"Why do you think?"

"You told me never to call you again."

"I know." His eyes don't leave my face. "But now I'm here. And I'm asking you to come home."

"With you?" But the thought of going home has my emotions spinning even faster. Yes, finally, says one part of my brain. No, not ready, insists another.

"To your friends. They're worried about you."

Hurt filters through the shock of seeing Gage. And a little anger. I might not have the right to feel it, but I do. "You're here for my friends?"

"I'm here for me, too."

"So, what? Are you all getting together talking about me behind my back?"

"Hard to do it to your face when you're so far away."

"You told me not to call you anymore," I repeat.

Something in his expression hardens. "Do you know what it did to me, to see your number on my phone?"

"No."

"What do you want from me?"

"I..." I don't have an answer. "Why did you come all this way?" Thank God you're here, I want to say. I'm so happy to see you. I want to touch you to make sure you're real.

"I told you. To talk to you."

"I have a phone."

He pauses, like he's trying to figure out what to say. Finally, a sigh. "I wanted to see you. You broke things off with a note, Cassidy. I deserved more than that... So did you."

All I have to do is reach across the space between us. Take his hand. Hold his arm. Pull him toward me. Tell him I made a mistake. But my arms are made of cement and stuck to the sides of my body.

"How did you know where I was?" Obviously he could've looked up the band's tour schedule, but what I mean is, "How did you know which hotel?"

"Vera knows one of the roadies."

Right. Jeff, of the heavy make-out sessions. Why didn't she tell me Gage asked about me? "Did you tell her you were coming here?"

"I didn't even really know myself until I started driving."

I don't know what to say to that. I can't figure out how to feel, not that I have any real say in the matter. Joy, for one thing, is flooding me. But...it makes a strange dichotomy with the fear following its trail.

Why am I scared?

I know the answer; I just don't want to face it.

"How is Katy?" I ask, instead. Awesome. We're standing here with so much tension between us I can barely breathe and I start making small talk. But his expression tightens, and I notice the skin under his eyes is darker than it should be. He's exhausted, I realize.

"Things aren't great right now," he says. "I need to get back to her, actually."

Please don't go. Not yet. Let me look at you a minute longer. An hour. A day. "What's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then why are you here?" Though I know. I just...want to hear him say it again. I want the thrill that comes with his words.

"I told you. To take you home with me."

Home.

With Gage.

For the briefest instant my entire body lightens at the thought.

And then...here it is, the reason for the fear. I think I want to leave with Gage, but I'm not ready for the reality that would come along with the ride.

Home. To my parents. The job I ditched. The friends who are talking about me behind my back. (Which, part of me realizes isn't maybe the fairest thing to assume, but it's easier to think it right now than anything else.) Because the thing is, I'd also be going back to the place where I have to relive Jason's death all over again. And again.

I spent six months working my ass off to recover from it the first time.

I take a deep breath. "No."

"Cassidy." He's looking at me like he knows I'm full of shit, like he knows I'm saying no with my tail tucked between my legs. Like he knows I'm scared.

"I said no." It's like I've lost control of my mouth. But I can't help it. There's a ramrod pole of stubbornness along my spine, taking over my emotions. I can't go home. I chose this path and I'm staying on it.

"You can't honestly want to stay here," he's yelling now, suddenly, like he's been holding back his anger this whole time. "You're following this guy's tour-this complete sellout's tour-and you don't even like his music."

People are looking at us. The concierge and front desk staff. Nobody bothers pretending not to watch.

I keep my voice as low as I can, though I really want to yell right back at him. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep the tension at bay. Failing. "His music is growing on me... And, anyway, it's complicated."

"No, it isn't." He reaches for me, pleading. I step back. "You have to stop avoiding life at some point, Cassidy."

I hate how much he gets me. I don't want to look at myself through his eyes. Especially not now. "I'm having fun."

He winces, maybe imagining the specific kind of fun I might be having with Luca, and I want to shove my words right back in my mouth. There's steel in his gaze a second later, though. "The further you run the harder it's going to be to get back."

"What is this, Philosophy 101?" Why am I acting like this? Why can't I stop? Because you know he's right. Ugh. I wish my brain would shut the hell up.

"This isn't you," he says, moving toward me. He lifts a hand, stopping just short of taking hold of my arm. "I know it isn't."

"Like you would know what's me and what isn't?" I hate myself so much right now, but I can't keep the words from spewing out. "Please. We had a few nights together. Get over it."

And that does it.

His hand falls to his side and his eyes go purposefully blank, his expression carefully bland. "Maybe you're not the girl I thought you were, after all. Maybe I imagined the depth I swore was there. My mistake." He pulls keys from the pocket of his pants. "Maybe, you know, maybe we'll catch up some other time. If you're ever back in Virginia." As if he didn't just drive four hours to North Carolina to see me.

I've never felt more shallow. I want to tell him he didn't imagine anything, but maybe he's right. Maybe I've become a girl without depth. But if that's the case, why is it killing me to let him think it? "Gage. I don't want..."

"You don't want what?" He glances at my mouth and I realize a split second too late that I'm biting my lip. God, I'm a walking mixed-signal machine.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Doesn't it get old, saying the same thing over and over?"

My heart squeezes, painfully. "I'm sorry."

He barks out a short laugh. "Yeah, well."

"I'm sorry." This time the apology comes out in a whisper, maybe because of how heavy it feels in my mouth. In my chest. I don't have the strength to make it louder.

"Cassidy. I wish..." Behind the bitter disappointment in his expression, I see a lingering tenderness. He cups my face with a hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb. I want to stay here, to freeze the moment, to bottle the way his palm feels against my skin. To know what he wishes-and to give it to him.

"Gage," I say. "I've missed you. I think maybe I've-" My name is called from behind me and the rest of my words stick in my throat. I look over my shoulder. Luca is standing by the elevators.

His eyes slide quickly over Gage and then focus back on me. "There you are, babe."

Oh, God. He's calling me babe in front of Gage. I want to die. And the mottled shades of red settling across Gage's cheeks tell me he's feeling similarly. He drops his hand. "Forget it."

He walks away. I hold my hand out toward his retreating figure, but can't find the words to call him back. He turns right before reaching the doors, though. "You missed Vera's birthday, by the way. Maybe you should call her."

A second later, he steps out into the night.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE.

"Who was that?" Luca asks, as we ride the elevator up to the Penthouse.

I stare at my feet. "A friend."

"You sure about that?"

"Are you jealous?"