Dark rocker Drax with his new mystery bride. What was he thinking...or drinking?

But it doesn't stop there. The blogger has drawn a speech bubble over Drax's head that says, Accepting drinks laced with roofies? YOLO!

I try to hide my horror but Savory is sensitive enough to see it immediately, unlike the other two dolts, who are chortling away.

"Why don't you sit down?" he says, guiding me to the couch. He looks up to the front of the bus. "Drax. You need to see this."

Drax swivels, sees me, and quickly averts his gaze. It's painfully clear he doesn't want to breathe the same air as me, and I'd go back to the bedroom if my limbs would just obey my brain. But they're paralyzed with humiliation.

"What?" he grumbles as he approaches.

His bandmates are reading the story so he leans over them to see what's so important. I can't peel my gaze away from his face. At first, there's confusion, similar to what I felt. Then, as it all sinks in, anger. He flicks a glance my way, and a small, squeaky part of my brain wonders what he sees. The gross girl in the photo or the woman he made love to last night. I know the image on the screen is burned into my memory forever.

Doesn't matter. This just confirms what I already knew: We don't belong together. An ugly tingle forms behind my eyes and I don't even try to stop the tears. I certainly can't look any worse than the photo they're all staring at.

"What's the article say?" I whisper from the couch, not really wanting to find out.

"Nothing," Drax blurts out. "It says nothing. Just a bunch of bullshit guesswork. Fuckin' asshole! If I ever meet that douchebag, I'll kill him."

He slams the laptop shut and storms back to the bedroom. I'm trembling all over and tears stream down my cheeks unchecked, more proof than I ever needed that being in the spotlight isn't for me. Neither is Drax.

I expected to be fired as Roadkill's manager the minute we got back to the Bay Area but Savory informed me that they voted to keep the status quo...for the moment. He didn't mention if the vote was unanimous.

Naturally, I immediately sent out a press release denying the unfounded rumors, blah blah blah, knowing Drax was getting his lawyer to process the annulment. By the time anyone has a chance to figure it out, it'll be like the so-called wedding never took place. In the meantime, the media frenzy has died down to a dull roar over the past couple weeks and no one's the wiser that I'm the mystery girl in the photo.

So I'm doing what I can for the band, which is precious little, from the tiny back office in my dads' record store. Every day I push farther and farther out from California, contacting all the normal venues and promotion companies, but no one will touch Roadkill with a ten-foot pole. It seems Marvin Harmony managed to make good on his threat and the band has been blackballed.

I suspected as much but my old coworker Michelle confirmed it when she had to pass on a show. "Sorry, Lo, but I'm still new here. Now's not the time to put my neck on the line. Marvin's a spiteful old fuck. Don't hate me!"

I could never hate her but I'm frustrated as hell. We're dead in the water until I can figure out something, and it doesn't help that the drummer is off in a pricey gambling recovery center and that the lead singer has been MIA ever since the bus rolled into town a couple weeks ago. I can't very well book any shows that do come our way when I don't know if we'll have a full band.

"Any luck, honeybear?" Dad, wearing an ancient 'Frankie Says Relax' T-shirt,  sets a steaming cup of Sleepytime tea in front of me. Normally, that's the strongest thing I'll take to relax, and as much as I appreciate the thought, it's not going to come close to doing the trick.

"Nope."

"Well, you'll figure out something. You always do."

I snort. "Oh, really? Dad, I suck. I'm a complete and utter failure at this band management thing. I mean, I didn't really think I could do it in the first place, so I don't know why I'm surprised, but it just really bums me out."

"Lauren, I so wish you could see what I and everyone around you sees. You're a smart, beautiful, capable woman. You stepped into an impossible position with that band and you saved their asses. Twice. Who else could have done that? Who else would have bothered even trying?"

I shrug, still feeling a little sorry for myself but my father's praise is like a salve. He's always known just what to say to make me feel better. And if he didn't, Papi did.

"It's too bad that Draymond fellow didn't want to pursue things. He seemed...nice."

Um, yeah. I maybe didn't tell anyone about my little elopement. My dads would have been over the moon thrilled -- mostly at the idea of getting me out of the house, I think -- and Pepper would have flipped her shit on me. She may be smaller than me, but I'm pretty sure she could kick my ass two ways to Sunday. Thank God they don't read the gossip blogs.

No, it's better to let that little secret fester away until the dust settles. Maybe someday, many years from now, when everyone's telling their craziest stories, I'll pull it out of the vault to shock them all. After all, I always lose that game because I never do anything crazy. Well, almost never.

But his mention of Drax sends me reeling. It's not like he's been far from my thoughts, no matter how hard I try to push them away, but hearing his name -- even his real one -- threatens the tenuous grasp I have on my emotions. That prickly feeling starts up behind my eyes, remembering how tender he was the night of the concert.

The night of our wedding.

"Sweetie? Earth to Lola. You okay? You look sad."

I jerk at Dad's words, startled that I'm still in his office. Where else would I be? In Drax's arms? Stupid little girl!

"I've got something stronger than tea, if you need it, you know."

Normally his efforts to get me high are annoying, but I don't have the bandwidth to bother. I just sigh. "No, thanks."

"Okay," he says, kissing the top of my head. "I'll leave you alone."

Alone.

That's me. Alone. Always and forever, amen.

My phone buzzes next to my keyboard, telling me to hurry up and read this very important text message. I almost ignore it so I can continue wallowing in my pity party but I can see out of the corner of my eye that it's from Savory.

Band mtg @ 9 on boat. Y or N?

I hesitate. I want to ask if Drax will be there, if he's heard from him since the last time I asked, but that just sounds sad and desperate. Instead, I type back a simple 'Y'.

Why indeed.

The Marina District is a funky mix of drunk college kids, snobby rich people and troubled homeless folk. Going down there at night can either be a fun party or land you in jail, sometimes both. Not for me, of course, but I'm okay with that.

I'm grateful Savory gave me a key for the marina's gate because I wouldn't want to have to stand there and wait for him to come collect me in the dark. As it is, I make sure to pull the gate tight behind me so no one can follow me in.

The docks are kind of rickety but not dangerous. Smelly and wobbly, more than anything. It doesn't help that packs of sea lions regularly haul themselves onto the docks to sleep. A seven hundred-pound bull is bad enough for a floating dock; imagine the damage he and his harem of five females wreaks.

The scruffy setting doesn't seem like the right place for the dark-hulled beauty that Savory and Jake are staying on, but it's surrounded by other fancy yachts. I guess with real estate this prime, marina owners can get away with neglecting upkeep for a good long while.