Page 107 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

The girls’ heads whip around to look at me, but I’m not ashamed. “She was.”

“Oh my god,” Izzy says, rising to her feet. “I met her!”

“You what?”

“The morning after the wedding, when we all met up for breakfast. You told us you spent the night with this gorgeous redhead. When I went to the bathroom there was a long-legged redhead in there. She had a Texas accent and gave me a tam—a tampon,” she finishes shyly.

“But, wait,” Becks says. “Does that mean she lives here now?”

I nod. “Yeah, we ran into each other at a laundromat of all places. It’s crazy.”

“So if she’s not a stripper anymore . . .” Becks turns bright pink “What does she do now?”

“She’s a phone sex operator.”

I was completely honest with Dusty when I said it doesn’t bother me what she does for work. But from the look of the slack jaws and wide eyes in front of me, I should’ve eased my friends into this detail. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I want her to meet them someday and they’re not giving me much confidence they won’t make things awkward.

“Oh,” Dave says, glancing sideways at James. “That’s . . . interesting.”

Izzy opens her mouth to speak twice, but both times closes it, then crosses her arms and looks away.

Becks though . . . she tightens her grip on my arm and she rests her head on my shoulder. “I’m glad you found someone. She must be so special. I can’t wait to meet her.”

My head drops on top of hers, and I need to blink quickly to keep myself from getting emotional. I sigh. “There’s one problem though,” I admit. “Key doesn’t know.”

“You haven’t told him?” Izzy asks.

I shake my head. “I was going to, but he’s been in such a shitty mood the past few weeks and he—well, in not as many words, he told me that love sucks. That relationships aren’t real and he wants both of us to stay single for the rest of our lives.”

James gives a low whistle. “Yup, someone hurt that guy. Knew it.”

I frown. “What?”

He shrugs. “Come on. You can’t tell me you’ve been playing those songs of his for how many years now and have never clued in that they’re all aboutonegirl.”

“No . . . no that’s?—”

“Joel . . . ‘Firebird’?‘Neon Crush’?‘Sunshine Mind’?” James counts off his fingers. “Obviously written about a girl he was nuts for. Trust me, I know.” He winks at Becks, and she giggles.

“And considering he wrote them before he even turned eighteen?” James continues. “It must have been one brutal breakup.”

I shake my head and wave my hands. “You’re wrong. Sure, he might have written songs about a girl. A muse, maybe, but—I’ve been his best friend for almost eight years. Never once has he mentioned being in love with a girl.”

Dave sighs. “That’s actually what makes it more believable. He can’t even talk about it.”

The idea percolates in my brain, swirling around like tea leaves in water. Key was in love? Did Key lose the person he loved? But why keep that big of a secret from me? Why not tell me?

“I’m sure he’ll be happy for you,” Becks encourages. “Just because he was heartbroken once doesn’t mean he’d deprive his friend of finding someone. It’s not like he had a problem with either of our relationships.”

I glance up at James and Dave for a brief moment, who seem to understand the silent communication between us. Because we’re a package. Because loving someone else might change what makes Key’s and my friendship so special. Reaching over to touch Becks’s hand, I nod. “You’re probably right, but now’s not the right time. It might never be the right time if he doesn’t come back.”

“He will,” Izzy states, brooking no argument. “He has to.”

* * *

Later,when I’m alone in the house, I sit for hours with my bass guitar across my lap. As I pluck the tune to Key’s songs and the lyrics run through my head, I let myself break down. Because I must be the biggest fucking idiot on planet Earth not to realize these songs are about a girl. Other than terribly in the shower, I don’t sing. Key is the songbird and James and Dave are the backups. I’ve never really had to fit my mouth around each individual word before. But now I can’t unhear it. Can practically see the events of this tragic love story play out in front of me. The pining, the longing, the betrayal, the heartbreak . . .

The sun peaks over the horizon to shine through the patio windows, and I’m exhausted, having only gotten bouts of sleep no longer than fifteen minutes all night. I need Dusty. Ineedher. I need her in my arms. To fall asleep next to me. She’s probably just getting home after a long night of work, but maybe she’ll come.

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