Page 135 of Fauxmance

He gave her a slow smile. "Honey, I'm not even trying."

Izzy stared at him for a moment then looked to me. "Take him away before Joan sees him and throws him out."

"Cheers," Santino said and walked with me to a booth where we took a seat. "Also, your friend is cute, but you and I both know Joan would never make me leave. We had a rough start, but she grew to love me."

I nodded. "What's up, Santino?"

"Well, since you asked, I'm here to talk about Hayden."

I'd known it was coming—I mean, why else would the bassist of Hayden's band be here?—but even so, I couldn't help but flinch.

"He's in a bad way, Maggie," Santino continued. "It's…been rough."

"Oh," I murmured. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Hayden's not Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. He's always been kind of a cynic, but it's reached new heights. I'm concerned, M. He still shows up for practice. But when we're not playing, he just sits around the house, listening to The Smiths every night, looking miserable. There is literally a permanent Hayden-shaped indention on our sofa."

"He's been listening to The Smiths?" I said voice little more than a whisper.

"Non-stop," Santino confirmed. "The guy plays their music on high, using a tower speaker that blasts the sounds through the apartment. I mean, I like Morrissey as much as the next guy, but anything gets old if you play it on repeat like that. You know?"

I didn't because I'd been doing the exact same thing—The Smiths were on my playlist, too, interspersed with a whole bunch of other morose tunes.

"Last night, Ryker got fed up and tried to turn it off, but Hayden wrestled him to the floor.They rolled around, vying for the remote. In the end, the living room was a disaster."

My eyes went wide, imagining the scene he'd just painted. "Hayden and Ryker wrestled each other."

He nodded. "I got a video. Want to see?"

As he pulled it up and pressed play, I watched Hayden and Ryker get into it, knocking into a table, upsetting the drum kit in the corner, all to the soundtrack of 80s music and Santino's laughter.

"I thought you said you were concerned," I put in.

"Oh, I am." Santino lifted his hands. "That doesn't mean I've lost my sense of humor."

The video ended with Hayden standing up, triumphantly holding the remote, hair and clothes all askew. He grabbed the tower and took it with him down the hall into what was presumably his room.

"Did you see how awful he looks, M? He doesn't shower unless we force him. Sometimes he forgets to eat, but when he does, he uses this spoon that he took fromThe Little Spoon."

My jaw dropped. "He what?"

Santino ran a hand across the back of his neck. "As his friend, I probably shouldn't tell you this—but man. It's so sad, Maggie. Hayden carries the spoon around. He didn't steal it or anything. I was there when he insisted on paying Joan. Sometimes, the guy just sits there, clutching the spoon to his chest, saying your name. I don't even think he realizes he's doing it."

"Now, I know you're joking," I said.

He lifted a brow. "I've got video of that, too. Do you want—"

"No, no"—I held up a hand—"that's okay."

Santino pocketed his phone.

"I don't know how much any of that has to do with me," I said which made Santino's brows furrow, "but I'm sure Hayden will be okay. It's not like he was serious about me." I swallowed. "Not like with Rachel."

"Maggie, he never acted like this after Rachel," he said.

"He didn't?"

"No. He got mad and jaded and started hooking up with all these girls we met at gigs. It was like he was running away from himself, trying not to be the decent guy we all knew he was. But he wasn't a total wreck."

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