Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)

Say never. Please say never.

He swallows and nods a few times, as if he’s processing what I just asked him. When he answers, the words come out flat. “When do you want this to end?”

That’s my answer.

His isn’t a never.

His is whatever works for me.

I want so much more, and he wants only a moment.

Someone has to put her foot down. “We wanted to get this out of our system, right?”

“Right,” he says, his voice sounding emptier than I’ve ever heard it.

I swallow roughly, soldiering on. “Maybe we should go back to how we were, before it gets too hard.”

That’s what a strong girl would say. That’s what a fighter would do.

Give up what she wants for the greater good.

He scrubs a hand over his jaw, stares out the scratched window, and parts his lips to speak.

But he says nothing.

One minute passes. Then another. Finally, he nods. “Yeah, totally. That makes perfect sense. Let’s go back before it gets too hard.”

When we reach my destination, my heart is a bruised peach at the market, and everything is already too hard.





Chapter 28





Miller



I’ve got this. I’ve handled moments like this before.

Well, not exactly like this. I’ve never had my heart smashed by a wrecking ball.

Also, thanks a lot, Miley Cyrus, for stealing that idea for a song.

But since I can’t write “Wrecking Ball,” I’ll do what I’ve always done when things don’t go my way: dive into a new activity.

What would that be? I drum my fingers on my thighs, hunting for inspiration on the goddamn subway train.

That’s it.

I smile faintly, because the answer was so easy. I turn to my phone, calling up Google. Twenty minutes later, I’m walking along a quiet block of New York City in the East Eighties to a model train shop.

When the Heartbreakers split, I took up, well, everything. Soccer. Kickball. Lacrosse. Jigsaw puzzles. Monopoly. Yes, there are Monopoly leagues.

I also worked on mastering fantasy basketball, baseball, football, and many other sports. I don’t need to work. I have enough money for a few lifetimes, thanks to our royalties. But I like to have fun, and that’s how I’ve kept busy.

That’s what I’ve done when the other bands I’ve played with broke up too. I’ve found the next thing to do.

Today, I’m confident it’s going to be trains.

Everyone loves to play with trains.

The bell rings above the door to the shop as I stroll inside.

“Happy holidays.” A man sporting a thick gray beard and a conductor hat looks up at me from his perch at the desk, where he’s attaching wheels to a caboose. “What can I do for you?”

I clasp my hands together like I’m embracing the sheer genius of my plan. “It’s time for me to invest in a train set.”

“Join our club.” He rubs his hands together, wanders around the counter, and gestures to the small, cramped shop. “Let me show you some options.”

He regales me with details of model trains, how to take care of them, how to assemble them. When he’s done, my head hurts. Too many details. Too much work.

I don’t have any interest in building a train set.

But this guy has made a helluva effort. He deserves more than, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Spinning around, I point to a starter set for a five-year-old. “That one, please.”

It’ll be Ben’s Christmas present. With the model train set tucked under my arm, I head over a few blocks to a sporting goods store. I buy a foosball table I’d checked out a month ago. I ask for express delivery in an hour. After it arrives at my pad, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and dive into the solution to the Ally heartache.

This table will cure me.

It’ll numb the pain.

Hell, it’ll do more than that—it’ll make me happy again. I don’t like being unhappy. Not one bit.

I play, beating myself several times. I start another round, turning up the volume on my speaker system, blasting Muse’s “Madness.”

When the song ends, I don’t feel any better.

My chest is hollow, like someone has tunneled through it with a shovel and scooped out my insides.

“Fuck,” I say, as I spin one foosball rod aimlessly. Dragging a hand through my hair, I stalk around the table, wishing I could invite Ally to join me.

I want her here.

I want her back where she’s been.

But I’ve no clue how to return to Friendship Land.

I fiddle with my phone, flicking through my contacts. Campbell probably has a lesson, Miles has a meeting with his financial manager before he takes off tonight, and Jackson is helping his mom today.

It’s just me and my shadow.

I sink down onto the piano bench. The piano is always good company. The piano has always been a friend. I tap out a few notes, and soon I’m playing “Piano Man,” and hell, if there’s a number that’s better designed to amp up sadness, I don’t know what it is.

When I play the final note, I drop my head on the keys.

I might as well work through all of Depeche Mode and The Smiths.

I want Ally, and I can’t have her.

After all these years, I understand what it means to be a heartbreaker. Or, really, I understand what it is to be heartbroken.





Chapter 29





Ally



Robots keep me company. Zombies fill my hours.

And so does a plucky, determined girl named Stella who must navigate her way through a dystopian future populated by those warring factions.

I do my best to put myself in Stella’s shoes, and at the end of the day, I pat myself on the back. That was one of my best acting jobs ever. I acted as if I wasn’t completely shredded inside.

I never realized how far the arrow of Miller had bored into my heart. Once you let someone in like that, let them touch you, let them kiss you, let them see inside your soul, they have the power to hurt you.

My muscles hurt. My cells ache. I don’t get headaches, but I have one today since I’ve been caging in tears for eight hours straight.

But the pain is my fault. Miller didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself by messing with one of the best things I’ve ever had. I messed with our friendship simply to scratch an itch.

Maybe I should be a robot. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with stupid things like lust, and what it can sometimes lead to.

Love.

A love that I don’t know what to do with.

As I head to the elevator, I say hi to Meg at the reception desk as she packs up for the break.

“Happy holidays, Meg.”

“And to you too, Ally.” She wraps a scarf around her neck. “By the way, who sent you that gift the other day?”

“Just a friend.”

Who I love madly.

Meg arches a brow from behind her big glasses. “The guy you’ve been singing with?”

“Yep.”

She laughs to herself. “Girl, he doesn’t look at you like a friend.”

I try to laugh it off, like this is a performance and I must be convincing. “Oh, the videos are just us performing. We’re really only friends.”

My stomach twists saying that out loud because I wish I were lying. I wish we were so much more than friends.

She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about the videos. I’m talking about the way he looks at you when he’s here.”

I step closer to her, intrigued. “How does he look at me?”

“Like he wants to find you under his Christmas tree.”

That image tugs at my heart and, inconveniently, at my loins too.

“And like he wants to keep you,” she adds.

My heart crawls up my throat. That’s such a crazy thought that I have to dismiss it.

I give a small shake of my head. “See you in the New Year, Meg.” As I press the button for the elevator, I check my email to distract myself.

A new message from Angie at Butler Press sits at the top of my inbox.



Thank you so much for coming in yesterday. The file sounds fantastic, and it’s a wrap! Keep your fingers crossed, but I think we might have something new and exciting for you in the New Year.



I tuck my phone into my purse and cross my fingers for a moment.