Brenna greets me with a cocktail. She’s been serving me way too many of these Pity Party of One drinks. I reach out to take it from her, my fingertips brushing the icy glass, when a wave of nausea hits me so hard I double over.

“I can’t do this,” I wail, hunching on the ground.

In an instant, Brenna is kneeling by my side. Her hand rubs gentle circles over my back as I try to catch my breath. “What is it, Libs?”

“God, don’t call me that.” I can’t hear Killian’s nickname for me right now.

“Okay. Okay.” She continues to pet me as if I’m not totally off my nut.

Taking a deep breath, I push my hair out of my face and sit on the floor. The carpet has a scummy film over it, the way most hotel carpets do. I wrap my arms around my knees. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out.”

Brenna copies my position, her sky-high heels snagging on the carpet. “Freaking out doesn’t bother me. It’s why you are that’s my concern.”

“I don’t know.” I wipe my watery eyes. “I just saw myself taking drink after drink. The same way my father did—so casual, like it’s no big deal…”

“You are not your father,” Brenna insists. “And far from an alcoholic. Trust me, I’ve seen my share of them.”

I try to smile but can’t.

“What’s wrong, Libby? Talk to me.”

Absently, I rub my thumb over my knee. “I had a guitar in my hands before I learned to write. I never tell anyone that. But it’s true. Music was our family’s way of communicating. My parents died, and I just let it go. Until Killian.”

I glance up at Brenna. “My mom didn’t want this life for me. She thought it was too hard, soulless. My dad didn’t either. But because he thought it was too addictive. And I told myself I resisted being here because I was afraid or shy. But it was them and their constant warnings that if I tried to live this way, I’d lose myself.”

“Libby,” Brenna says quietly. “Your parents’ experiences don’t have to be yours. What do you want? If you want to quit and go back to your farmhouse, you can.”

Closing my eyes, I can see the golden coastal light slanting through the old glass of my grandmother’s house, the worn floorboards, the battered farm table where I served Killian biscuits. The echo of his laughter haunts my memories.

“I was on vacation there,” I tell Brenna. “That wasn’t real life.”

“What is for you?”

“I love singing, making music, performing. Killian saw that in me when I couldn’t see it myself. But this life right now? It’s empty. It doesn’t…it doesn’t have him.”

I miss Killian with a force that’s nearly crippling. We haven’t spoken in a while, and that’s on me and my pride. It still hurts that he sent me away. Find myself, my ass. I’d found myself with him. But I let him go too. The fact that we both just seemed to give up depresses me. Maybe we weren’t meant to be.

Silence ticks.

“You have to know Killian is crazy about you,” Brenna finally says.

“I thought so,” I say thickly. “But if he really was, he wouldn’t have told me to go live my life without him. Would he?”

“What?” she sounds shocked.

My chest clenches, and I have to force myself to tell her the rest. “He could have said we’d met up at the end of his tour. But he didn’t. Instead he tells me that we should take this time to reevaluate what we want.”

It isn’t until I say the words that I really feel how badly he’d cut me. “He pushed me away.”

Brenna looks at me for a long minute. “I know my cousin. He has never been this way about a woman. Ever. If he said that, he was probably trying to do something noble and set you free.”

I laugh without humor. “Oh, he certainly did that.”

“No,” she says gently. “I mean, he told you what he thought you needed to hear to go because he thought it was best for you. Not because he didn’t want you anymore. That’s typical of my big-hearted but ham-handed cousin.” She gives my arm a nudge. “Come on, Libby, he’d be here in a heartbeat if you asked him to, and you know it.

“Brenna, my dad drank to escape the reality of life with me and my mom. I cannot be any man’s burden. I can’t. I want Killian to know I’m okay on my own too. That I can manage without him holding my hand.”

“But you aren’t okay.” Brenna’s pretty face pinches. “You’re miserable.”

I stand and dust myself off. “You know what? I am. I miss Killian so much it’s eating me alive. But worse than that, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. Moping like a sadsack.”

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