Page 7 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

And his mom was wrong. I didn’t steal a piece of his heart. He stole mine the moment I saw him.

CHAPTER2

Send Me an Angel

JOEL

Some fucking bird is about to die. I open one eye against the sunlight and spot the noisy fucker on the branch outside the window. Maybe the better solution would be to cut that tree down. Then no more birds will show up to happily chirp away when I’m trying to sleep. Wait . . . since when has there been a tree outside of my bedroom?

There’s a soft moan in my ear, and a warm arm wraps around me, long pink nails delicately scratching my chest. Right, I’m not in my room.

I scrub at both eyes and turn to find a shaggy mop of—blond hair? Why was I expecting red . . . ?

Something tumbles around in my stomach—a memory. Oh, that’s why. I dreamt of her again. The girl who’s been living in my head and not letting me know peace for two fucking years.

“Mmm,” the blond murmurs.

Next to her, my best friend sits upright, the movement sending his chin-length brown curls swaying. His hair sticks out at odd angles, and as the sheets fall to pool around his naked waist, the sun tattoo etched into his back ripples with his muscles.

“Key,” I groan. “I’m going to fucking kill that bird.”

He yawns. “No, you won’t. That’s Gary.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Gary? You named that menaceGary?”

“Yeah, Gary. I’ve grown accustomed to him now. He has a family.”

As I cover my face with my hands, the woman between us stirs again. We glance at each other, and I point at myself before pointing to the door, letting him know I’m getting the fuck out of here. Key brought her home—he can deal with the aftermath.

I gently lift her hand off my chest, then slide out of bed and stand. Fuck, where are my clothes?

“Heh-hem.”

I follow the sound to find Key pointing toward the window where my nemesis is happily hopping back and forth between branches. It’s a cardinal. His bright red plumage reminds me of my dream, and I nearly stumble over a discarded high heel.

“Shit,” I mutter, stooping down to grab my boxers, jeans, and the shirt I was wearing when Key invited me in on the culmination of his date last night.

I step into my boxers and flip him off on my way out the door, slamming it intentionally too hard behind me, then pause.

“What the fuck was that?” the woman’s voice asks.

“Asshole,” Key says, loud enough that I can hear him through the door. I laugh, then head back toward my own bedroom at the opposite end of the house, the rest of my clothes thrown over my shoulder.

It feels empty now that James and Dave have moved into their own places with their ladies. I kind of miss those early days of the band in San Francisco, when it was all of us together playing whatever gigs our manager, Al, could get us. Wondering when we were going to afford studio time. That first album release party. It all feels like such a blur now.

In the shower, I rinse away any fluids that might remain on my body after last night’s adventure. It’s not like I’m ashamed of it, and I definitely didn’t run out of there because I regret it. But I’ve found when Key and I go to bed with one woman, she’s the one who wakes up feeling embarrassed. So, better that one of us disappears before they get the chance to question all of their life choices.

When I step into the kitchen twenty minutes later, Key is standing behind the counter in a pair of sweatpants and flip-flops, drinking a beer.

“Hey,” I say. “Bit early for drinking, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head. “Not early enough.”

I raise my eyebrows as he chugs the beer down, then turns to the fridge and pulls out another. “Dude, you all right?”

“Just a hard day, that’s all.”

I flip through the calendar in my head. No dates jump out at me. As far as I know, it’s no one’s anniversary or birthday. No one’s died, so . . . is this about the girl who just left?

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