I stare at him, using his compassion as a point to fix on, so that I don’t get angry, or depressed, or frustrated, or any of the other negative things that thinking about it makes me feel.

“She found out about the bet.”

Jax takes a moment, then rubs his temples like he’s suddenly got a killer headache as bad as the one I have.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Oh.”

“She thought you were faking all along. Well, damn.”

“I don’t blame her,” I say, looking up at the ceiling. “To top it all off, Rowland – my boss – has us all by the balls. Davis gave us Lexi. Then Rowland threatened me and Haley with his lawyers and forced Haley to sign a deal – with my help. And now I’m supposed to manage both of them.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ouch. You know, it took a really long time, a lot of days like this, and a whole load of women, before I could even stop dreaming about Lexi. And Haley…I…I don’t know. But this time it’s even worse. I’m so fucking stupid!” I ball my hand up into a fist and slam it on the sofa.

“Jesus, buddy! Calm down. It’s not over. Not yet, anyway.”

“Shit. Sorry,” I say, putting my hands on my face and leaning over to calm myself down. “What the fuck am I supposed to do, dude?”

“Here’s what you do,” Jax says, leaning forward and putting his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t think. Remember when you told me that? Well do it. Just go take a shower, put some clothes on, and come get something to eat. One step at a time. Get yourself off the couch, and then just follow your instincts. Keep on moving. Don’t stop to wonder.”

I let out a sigh.

“That sounds like good advice. But it’s the same damn reasoning that got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Sure it is.” Jax just grins. “And it’s the only thing that’ll get you out of it.”

Chapter 2

Haley

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve written down my dreams when I woke up. From the recurring one about a white horse, to the strange ones about flying through an auditorium. Even the anxiety dreams where I feel like I’m falling, and the nightmares about Freddy Krueger. I’d wake up and write them all. Maybe it was some way of trying to make my dreams come true, maybe it was an attempt to cling to the fantasy and weirdness in my otherwise typical life. At the very least, it gave me a lot of stuff to work from with song lyrics. I’ve done it almost every morning for over ten years.

But not anymore.

I’d like to say it’s because my life this past month has been pretty much a dream come true – which it has – but it’s not. I’d like to say it was because it takes me at least five minutes every morning to remember and realize where I am, in a beautiful new apartment I’m sharing with Jenna – but it’s not that either.

It’s because I keep dreaming about him.

The more I try to suppress it, and the more I try to fill my head with junk so that I don’t have to think about him, the more vivid and explicit the dreams become. It’s gotten to the point where I can almost smell him, taste him. The dreams are different, but the feeling’s always the same. The guilt mixing with ecstasy, the bitterness mixing with sweetness. But in them I can’t help myself. I can’t pull away. It’s only when I wake up, my thighs rubbing together, my hearth thumping, that I feel real enough and strong enough to remember what he did to me. The bet. Then I get angry.

This morning is no different. I wake up and realize my hand is between my thighs, the other against my neck where he was kissing me. I pull them away in annoyance and jump out of bed. I can hear the sound of the juicer outside my room, and Jenna’s voice. After pulling on a pair of sweatpants I push open the door, eager for the distraction of company.

“She’s alive!” says Josh, breezily.

My record producer is sitting on a stool at the counter while Jenna buzzes around the kitchen. Since we moved in together, using the proceeds of my advance and the money from the play she finally got paid for, Jenna’s been making sure she’s getting her money’s worth from the apartment’s furnishings and appliances. The juicer, the coffee machine, the bread maker, it doesn’t matter: if it does something, she’s been using it as much as she can.

“Morning, Haley!” she says as she pours out a big smoothie for herself, the toaster popping in the background. “Coffee?”

“Absolutely. Hey, Josh.”

“You’re up late,” he says, as I rub the gunk out of my eyes.

“We were up all night watching horror movies on the TV,” Jenna says, excitedly, nodding for Josh to turn around and look at it. “It’s fifty-five inches!”

“And you know how we ladies love our inches,” I grumble drily, not caring that I’m tossing out inappropriate innuendo to my producer. I know Josh can handle it, though. He’s seen worse from me by now. They both have.

“Oh, Haley,” Jenna mock-scolds me. I’ve been in a foul mood ever since things went south with Brando, but she (and Josh) (and my music) have been my rock this whole time. With their help, I’ve even managed to have a few happy moments.

I sit up on a stool next to Josh and he pulls out a couple of tapes and a USB stick.

“It’s a nice TV.” Josh smiles at Jenna, then at me. “Living the high life, I see.”

I shrug with my eyebrows. Jenna pours each of us a cup of coffee with the kind of quick, fluid motion I’m used to seeing, and I understand how she manages to cope with working at the café; she enjoys serving people, taking care of them in some small way.

Josh takes his coffee with one hand and slides the USB stick over to me.

“The takes from last week,” he says, pausing to take a sip. “A couple of them are really good. We should definitely use your guitar tracks from some of them.”

“Cool. I’ll listen to them today.”

Jenna suddenly explodes into a higher gear. “Shit!” she squeals, as she catches sight of the big clock hanging from the wall. “I’m gonna be so late!”

Josh and I watch with awed appreciation as she slaps a cover on her juice cup, finishes buttering her toast, sticks it in her mouth, uses a foot to close a cabinet, hangs a purse over her shoulder, and glides out of the door in less time than it takes me to sip my coffee and shout a feeble “Bye!” after her.

“Can she afford to live here?” Josh asks, a few seconds after she’s gone. “No offense. It’s just, this place is…” he gestures at the grandeur all around us.

“Not really,” I admit. “I’m paying most of the rent. But without her, I’d just be living here alone anyway. And besides, she’s got some auditions lined up. I really think it’s going to happen for her soon.” A smile crosses my face for a split second, because I mean it.

“That’s very generous of you.”

I shrug. “She believed in me for a long time. I want to repay that. I believe in her too.”

Josh looks seriously at his cup for a few moments before speaking again. “There’s somebody else who believed in you who could do with some of that support right now.”

I close my eyes and shake my head.

“Josh, I know Brando’s your friend, and he probably asked you to talk to me, but—”

“He didn’t ask me to talk to you. But he is my friend,” he says, before sighing. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I have some idea. Either way, he’s still your manager. You can’t keep avoiding him.”

“Why not?” I say, grabbing a slice of toast that Jenna left and sticking a piece in my mouth. “You, me, and the band are doing just fine recording the album without him.”

“If only music was all about recording,” Josh says, wistfully. “I’m not the kind of guy to preach, Haley. It’s none of my business. But you need Brando. For your own sake. He got you this far. If you can’t work with him, you’re not going to last long. I’m not telling you this because he’s my friend, I’m telling you this because you are.”