Undone, Volume 3

“What did she send the eggs back, three times?” I laughed, remembering how furious she’d looked, how outraged at the insult and injury from an improperly cooked meal.

“Seriously, mate. Four times.” The room broke out in laughter.

“No.” I didn’t think it had been four times. Connor liked to exaggerate. But maybe he was right? I couldn’t really remember the details, all I knew was he was nailing it in his impression.

“Do you call this an egg?” Connor drew himself up to his full height, not more than 5’6” but he worked it. Pursing his lips and waggling his index finger, he had her down.

Later, much later, I stumbled my way into the kitchen. Some water would probably be a good idea. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I thought I recalled something about leaving early the next day. As in the day it now was. So probably in a few hours. That might not happen.

Stooping over the faucet, I let the water run as I stared at it. Interesting thing, water. At least when you were drunk.

Bumping up against a counter, Conner lurched in after me. He looked like an extra from a zombie movie, his shirt torn at the bottom, his hair wild and his skin deathly pale with a faint tint of green.

“You look like shit,” I informed him.

“I’m fresh as a fucking daisy!” he insisted in an exaggerated Irish brogue, then attempted to dance himself a wee leprechaun jig. It didn’t go so well. Tripping on his own feet, he crashed into the fridge and then landed down on his ass with a loud thud. We both started laughing so hard we could barely stop.

“You OK, man?” I managed once I could.

Sprawled out on the kitchen floor, he shook his head. “Not at all.” But somehow that devilish smile coupled with the accent made everything sound like he was taking the piss out of me. He looked like he had one foot in the grave, but you could never really tell with Connor. Just when you’d think he was down for the count, he’d jump up and catch you with a mean right hook.

I gave him my hand and helped him up. “Thanks, mate.” He clapped me on the back, then joined me in filling up a glass of water at the sink. “So, where you been, Ash?”

From the serious turn his voice took, I figured he wasn’t just talking about the last couple of days. But I decided to go for the easiest answer, anyway.

“We got snowed in up here.” I gestured out the window, though with no lights on outside you couldn’t see a thing.

“Yeah, I figured. But where’ve you been the past month. It’s like you”—he clapped his hands together, then brought them up like a magician after a trick—“disappeared.”

I winced and scratched the back of my head, uncomfortable. I didn’t feel all that drunk anymore. At least not drunk enough for this conversation.

“I’ve had a lot going on,” I tried. “I’ve been dealing with this Mandy Monroe shit.”

“Seems like more than that.” Connor suddenly seemed sober as a nun. Where was a bottle of Jamison when you needed one? I fidgeted like I was in the principal’s office instead of talking with my best friend. That made me feel even worse.

“I miss you, mate.” He looked up at me, all rumbled and sad.

“Yeah, me too.” And I did. I missed how it used to be, how much fun we used to have. Back when we were just starting out, it had felt like we’d gone from outcasts to the most popular kids in school overnight. Or like we’d gotten away with a multi-million-dollar heist, walking away scott-free with the profits. Together, we’d been unstoppable. When had that changed?

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” He looked down at the floor. I realized I had no idea what had been going on with him, none at all.

“What’s up?”

“Tandy’s in rehab again.”

“Aw, fuck.” His sister had been in and out for the past few years. I knew it was hard on him. They’d relied on each other for so much growing up.

“She swallowed a needle and her lungs got infected.” Connor’s voice broke and he raked a hand through his hair like he wanted to rip it out.

“I’m so sorry.”

“She almost didn’t make it.”

“Christ.” I shook my head. I still remembered her when I’d first met her, over break the first year Connor and I had met in school. She’d been nine or ten, all chubby and round-faced and completely in love with me. She’d been a cute kid. Last I’d seen her, she’d been skin and bones, her hair hanging in lanky strands.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked again. Oh shit, Connor’s voice shook and nearly broke. He looked like he might cry any second.

I was used to a lot of drama from Connor. High and yelling at the top of his lungs while standing on top of a table? I’d seen it many times. Connor messing around with three girls at the same time? Sure. Connor coming up with a bloody genius guitar lick in between doing shots of tequila? That was the Connor I knew like the back of my hand.

But this Connor, looking scared and vulnerable in the kitchen? He scared the shit out of me. His hand trembled as he brought it to his head. I didn’t know if I’d ever seen him cry before. I didn’t think I could take it if he did.

“Are you going Beyoncé on me, mate?” he asked, thank God lightening the mood though I could tell he had a dead serious question in there. “What am I, Destiny’s Child?”

“Don’t go chasing waterfalls.” I brought my hand to his shoulder, trying to laugh it off.

“That was TLC.” He looked at me with disgust. “So now you don’t even know your R ’n’ B girl groups anymore? Who are you?”

“Sorry, sorry. My bad.” At least he was teasing me now. That, I could handle. But he wasn’t done yet.

He looked at me, serious as the grave. “I miss you, man.”

No, that was a fucking tear at the corner of his eye. Aw, no. Not a tear. It hit me right square in the middle of my chest like a fist. Fuck. Connor, whom I’d known since I was 12. Connor, who’d jumped into a fight to help me out when I was a 120-pound weakling getting my ass kicked. He’d gotten his ass kicked right alongside of me. We’d bled together. And now he stood there next to me choking back tears.

“I’m sorry.” I snuffled out, feeling like a grade-A asshole.

He nodded. “S’OK.”

“No, it’s not. I guess I have been pretty wrapped up.”

“We’ve always been in this together. It’s always been you and me. And now it’s like you think I stink. Like you don’t even want to be in the same room as me.”

“No, no, man, that’s not how it is.”

“You remember last New Year’s?”

I scratched my head, squinted, tried to make the hamster spin that wheel in my brain. Nope.

“It was the fuckin’ bomb, man. That’s how we do.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He went on, pulling out a couple more memories I didn’t admit to him that I didn’t even have, myself. I went on feeling like shit.

The worst part of it had to be the fact that I didn’t even want to be standing there talking to him. Even as I stood there and reassured him that I was going nowhere, that nothing was changing, my mind kept darting back to the bedroom. I wanted to be back there in with Ana.

She’d be in bed, naked and warm. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, pull her down on my chest, listen to her breathing so content and peaceful. That’s where I wanted to be.

But guilt was a hard thing to fight. It kept me nailed right to the floor, nodding and laughing along. Because in my heart, I knew Connor was right. I was moving on. I hadn’t even fully known it until he named it. I probably needed to take some time off from the band. That was going to be a fun conversation to have with everyone.

And it wasn’t a conversation I was going to have half-drunk in the middle of the night standing in a kitchen with my former BFF. No, right then I took the easy way out. I stood there with stupid words tumbling out of my mouth.

“No, man, nothing’s changing. Yeah, can’t wait to get back to the way things were.” And the more I protested an

d denied that anything was changing and insisted on everything going back to the way it was, the more I knew that would never happen.

CHAPTER 8

Ana

When I woke up, I had no idea what time it was. I did know that my head hurt like I had a bad hangover, even though I’d had nothing to drink. I guess I had gone to bed in a high dudgeon. Anger, resentment, spite, those weren’t great emotions to tuck in with for the night. I must have brewed in them as I’d slept, steeping myself in all that yuck, and now I felt like hell.

Sitting up, I got my bearings. And realized Ash wasn’t in bed with me. Was he mad? He might be.

Had I over-reacted last night? Maybe. Damn it.

I padded into the bathroom and splashed a little water on my face. It was still dark out the windows, so it wasn’t really time to wake up yet, but then again I’d gone to bed early. Really early. Maybe they were all still up?

I looked at myself in the mirror. Plain, no makeup, wearing an old T-shirt. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. So here I was, the woman who’d been gallivanting around with the world-famous Ash Black. I didn’t look like anything special.

And last night, when his closest friends and some fans of the band had arrived at the cabin, I’d basically thrown a tantrum. The way I threw tantrums, at least, getting all withdrawn. The angrier I got, the quieter I tended to become.

I’d gotten real quiet last night, and then I’d sulked myself off to bed. When one of the girls had told me I needed to loosen up, I’d practically hissed at her. But maybe she was right?