“Well, you could be the next major tour to hit the road, but I heard you and Damon are actually thinking of starting a family,” Jane responds.

Hearing those words cripples me.

I turn to Amy. “I’ll be right back.”

“Everything okay?” she asks.

My feet are already moving. I have to get away. I don’t want to hear Ivy’s response. I dart outside, needing some air. I wonder if she’s already expecting a baby. Fuck. His baby. My head spins. I haven’t seen her in so long and now everything I’ve pushed away, locked away, is back. So many emotions I never wanted to feel again. When I thought we’d be together, there was a life I envisioned I’d have with her. I’ve never thought about that life with anyone else since then. I haven’t let myself—I let her go and my dreams went with her.

Wrenching my mind from the past, I reenter the room and look around at everyone shooting the shit, dancing, and flirting. I look for Ivy, but Amy finds me first.

“How about a drink?” she asks, unfazed as to where I’ve been.

“Sure,” I answer and lead her to the bar—I need another drink.

Soon I’m leaning against the bar facing the crowd and Amy is sitting on the stool next to me. Ellie is on the other side of her, talking to Garrett.

We’re talking about Lou Reed and Metallica cutting a new studio album and the buzz that the artists’ collaboration is perfection, but when I glance up and see my brother and his wife walking in, I smile for the first time all day. I can’t believe I’ve missed that pain in my ass and the muse, too. I haven’t seen Dahlia in a few months and I have to say River was right—she looks amazing. Seeing his happiness means everything to me. Years ago I promised my grandfather I’d look out for him and not let the same things that happened to our dad happen to him. I did the best I could and then I had to let him make his own decisions, and I’m glad to say I think he’s much happier because of it. I know my grandpa would understand, and I think he’d be proud.

Amy must see me staring because she turns around on her stool. Twisting back, she’s smiling too. “You didn’t tell me Dahlia was pregnant.”

“Sorry. With everything that happened last night, I never even thought about it.”

“How far along is she?”

“Three or four months, I think.”

“She’s got the cutest baby bump. She really makes pregnancy look good.”

I have no clue about pregnant women, so I just nod my head in agreement. River sees me and heads toward the bar with what I swear is a protective shield around Dahlia. Honestly, I feel sorry for Dahlia, because his overprotectiveness will probably reach a level of insanity. Ivy crosses his path before he reaches me and I can tell she recognizes him right away. He seems to play it cool. Giving her that same look he always gave her—the half smirk that seems to put girls in a frenzy, the one I used to think meant he was hot for my girl and the millions of other girls who were on the receiving end of the look. It actually wasn’t until River brought Dahlia around that I figured out the look didn’t mean anything. The look my brother gives his wife, the one with a full smile that brings out his dimples, is the one that matters. I realize now it’s the same look I used to give Ivy. He introduces her to Dahlia, who appears to be gushing. I watch as the two ladies seem to hit it off. Ivy points to Dahlia’s stomach and then Ivy is the one gushing.

“So are they both going?” Amy asks, and suddenly I feel like I must have missed half of the conversation. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen and put a finger up before I answer it. “Hey, Zeak, everything okay with Zane?” The music is so loud I can’t hear him, so I step outside. After a ten-minute phone conversation with Zeak trying to persuade me that I should postpone the tour, I finally head back inside.

The lights dim and the music gets louder as the DJ invites people to the dance floor. Making my way through the crowd, I come face-to-face with pale arched eyebrows delicately framing the most perfect feline eyes. However, their stormy blue color offers up a hint of her unease at seeing me. Only inches from me, she takes my breath away with just one look. Her normally colorless cheeks are flushed and her breathing is shallow, telling me she’s affected by my presence as well. “Ivy,” I breathe softly, almost not believing that she’s right here in front of me.

She quickly diverts her gaze, looking anywhere but at me, and it doesn’t take long for her pouty red lips to form a frown. “Excuse me,” she says a little too politely as she tries to step around me. The tone of her voice is so soft, so feminine, that my body hums just from the sound alone.

I clutch her elbow, my fingers tingling from the touch of her warm skin against mine. I pull her closer to me. The feel of her body is so familiar. I whisper in her ear, “Don’t act like you don’t know me. Talk to me.”

She stiffens the moment physical contact is made. Her breath quickens and when her eyes shoot to mine they seem to sparkle. For a moment I think their hardness is fading. But just as she opens her mouth to speak, the room brightens, the music quiets, and a voice comes over the microphone.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming tonight. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Damon Wolf, head of Sheep Industries,” he says from the front of the room, flashing a fake smile. He’s wearing an expensive suit with a tie and has swapped his sunglasses for matching glasses with clear lenses. The crowd claps as he pauses, and Ivy holds her arms up high, clapping with a pride that guts me. I scan the room and see River and Dahlia talking to Garrett. Ivy’s eyes flick between the stage and the parquet floor beneath us. Her eyes go dull—there’s not an ounce of admiration in them as she looks at him. But when she also doesn’t look back toward me, I walk away.

The announcement was just as I thought—his father’s company had bought Jane’s label. At least, by the looks of it, her label is one company he doesn’t plan to dismantle. Most of the bands it holds are solid and their dynamics seem to work the charts well together. River, Dahlia, Amy, and I leave shortly after the announcement and head to my brother’s suite to discuss the tour, but there’s more than just the tour on my mind. I can’t wrap my head around Ivy being with Damon. Watching them function as a couple killed me. I knew they were engaged, but seeing them together is like one of my worst nightmares and just makes it all the more real. Every time I saw him touch her today it set my insides on fire—it was unbearable, intolerable, and I knew that if I stayed, I was going to have to drop him.

* * *

It’s five eleven a.m. and before I brush my teeth or take a leak, I roll over and snag my laptop from the nightstand to read what everyone on Facebook and Twitter has to say about the band and its lead singer. Surprisingly, not much, and I’m thankful. I want to wait to announce anything until after tonight. Before I close out, I search Ivy’s name. Why, I don’t know. She has a Twitter account but hasn’t tweeted since her engagement announcement. Hmmm . . . I wonder why.

Amy wakes up and sleepily looks over at me. The computer screen’s glow is the only light in the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hey, go back to sleep. I just need to send a few e-mails to Ena so she can get River and Dahlia set up for the tour.” I lie because I don’t want to tell her I’m stalking my ex-girlfriend and because I shouldn’t be thinking of Ivy when Amy is lying in bed next to me.

She rolls over and I set my laptop down and get out of bed. Once I’ve done a quick workout in the hotel gym, I head back to my room and hit the shower. I turn on only the hot water and let the steam fill the bathroom. Rubbing my eyes, I lean against the cool marble and think about Ivy—about how I didn’t realize how much a part of my life she was and how much I have really missed her. When I’m done, I head out to the living area and turn the TV on to find something mindless to watch. I’m slurping down my coffee when Amy joins me.

“Did they win?” she asks, pointing at the replay of the Brooklyn Nets game on the screen.

I nod. “Ninety-eight to eighty-five over the Lakers. It sucks, but I have to say the Nets have the best music sound bites in their game, so I watch them over and over.”

She laughs. “Only you would notice something like that.”

“I might even consider trading teams just to get one of our songs boomed over the PA as Johnson races toward the basket.”

“Are you serious? That music isn’t just prerecorded crap on replay?”

“No. Not at a Nets game, anyway. A guy named Period sits on the platform and punctuates games with amped remixes. It’s like he’s deejaying every game. It’s genius.”

“Well, you sold me,” she says, flopping down in a chair and pouring a cup of coffee.

“What’s your plan for the day?” I ask her. Today is pretty much a down day. I want to avoid the calls about Zane until after tonight’s show, and the guys are doing their own thing during the day. We’ll meet up for a short rehearsal before the show later tonight, so I’m up for whatever until then.

“I have to shower first. I tried to join you earlier, but the door was locked.”

I blow off her comment with a partial truth. “Sorry, a bus habit. I didn’t even realize I locked it. So, thoughts for after your shower?”

“I need to cut out by noon, but I wouldn’t mind lounging by the pool for a few hours first.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll eat some breakfast and head out there when you’re ready.”

“Pancakes?” she asks with a grin.

I shake my head no. That’s the one food I never eat—Ivy always made me pancakes. “Waffles sound great,” I respond.

I’m relieved that she’s leaving soon but feeling guilty that my mind has been consumed with Ivy. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to stop overthinking this. Amy and I have always been casual. Everything is cool between us.

After breakfast we’re sitting by the pool when Ivy and Damon set up a few cabanas over. I glance at Ivy, then study her. I know I shouldn’t, especially with Amy lying next to me in her skimpy green polka-dot bathing suit, but I can’t help it. Ivy looks amazing in a red bikini—seeing her makes my body ache. Her hair’s down and falls freely around her chin, making the angles of her heart-shaped face less pronounced—softer, not harder, even more beautiful. As she sits down, her head snaps in my direction. She squints and must see that I’m staring. I don’t care.

Damon follows Ivy’s glare and my eyes cut from hers to his. His expression goes dark, as he seems to recognize me. Does he know me? Or does he sense what Ivy and I have—had? He sneers at her, and I swear if I could bury him with just a look I would. He sits down on her chaise longue and pulls her to him, kissing her. Tension flows through my veins until she pulls away. He moves closer, speaking with animated gestures. Her facial expression signals that she’s not happy. My body goes rigid as I’m forced to watch this arrogant son of a bitch’s attempt to tame a girl who should never be tamed.

He practically fucks her with his eyes, and I squeeze my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to smash his face in. Ivy pulls her robe out of her bag and wraps it around herself. For some reason this helps ease my rage. Then suddenly he stands up and snatches hold of her elbow, pulling her out of the chair. I stand up as well. She snaps at him and steps back, but he grasps her shoulders. A smirk spreads across his face as he presses himself against her. The vulgarity of his actions hits me like a punch. She whispers something in his ear, and he drops his hold but doesn’t surrender. He touches his fingers to her cheek and tilts her head toward him. As if to make a point, he slides his hands down and unties her robe, his gaze lazily scanning her body before shifting over to me. I know what the asshole is doing—he’s demonstrating to me that she’s his. He obviously feels the need to antagonize me further by running his hands down her hips and slipping his fingers inside her bathing suit bottom. My stomach twists. She flinches, then gathers her things and walks away. But he quickly catches up to her.

At the sight of his seemingly aggressive behavior, I have to fight the urge to go over there and sock him, but my chance is lost when they both exit the pool area. My frustration and aggravation are surpassed only by my concern. I try to hold back my rage—how dare he touch her like that, look at her like that? With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I slip on my T-shirt.