I just have to get through this last song, then I’ll fix everything—from my set list to my personal life—and start grieving in private.

Then I sing that I’d waited so long for him to come into my life…and now he’s gone. I wasn’t prepared. I’m in agony. Maybe it sounds melodramatic, but I feel it.

I’m devastated.

Suddenly, I can’t see anything. My whole world is blurry. I feel wetness on my face. Hell, I’m crying in front of the whole audience, actually shedding real tears down my face. Music has always been therapy for me, and it’s probably good to get this out, but not in front of people who just want to be entertained.

I suck.

I’ll stick to karaoke in the future, only songs that make people smile. Things I can breeze through and not have to feel all this drag-down of pain that’s taken root in my soul.

I’m almost done. The end of the song is close. I just have to get through the part that rips me up the most…

I close my eyes and imagine Maxon in front of me as I sing how desperately I want him here, my voice a sorrowful cry.

There’s a little bookend to the song that mirrors the beginning and wraps the whole thing up. I can’t sing it. I just can’t finish these lyrics. I have to get off this stage right now.

“I’m sorry, folks. I’ll be back in thirty.”

I try to run to the employees’ section of the bar. Griff is waiting for me by the back curtain with a hug. I tumble into his solace and hear deafening applause from the audience.

“They liked it?” I choke.

“Yeah. It was real and raw. It was you,” he assures with a smile as he drags me into a darker corner. “Even I felt it.”

I’m grateful for the semi-privacy. Since the kitchen is right behind my escape drape, there really isn’t any way of being alone. So I stay with Griff. “You? But you never feel anything.”

That makes him laugh a little. “I know. Right?”

Wrong. Just the way he says it tells me he’s feeling something far more than nothing these days.

“Where are you with Britta?” I change the subject.

I’d rather talk about anyone’s problems—as long as they aren’t mine.

His face shutters up quickly. The smile he wore becomes a grim press of lips. “She and I are going to come to an understanding. We’re not there yet, but I intend to make sure we do.”

What Griff means is that he has some outcome in mind, that Britta isn’t cooperating, and that he’s looking for some bargaining chip to ensure that she does. She ought to know that nothing and no one can stop the Reed men once they’ve set their sights.

On the other hand, Britta doesn’t seem like a pushover. Maybe she’ll put Griff in his place. God knows he needs it.

“I hope you guys can work it out for the best,” I say diplomatically.

“Me, too.” He drags me against his chest and hands me a tissue.

“I’m sorry again that I didn’t tell you about Jamie when I first found out.” I really do feel awful about that.

“You made the right decision. If you’d told me the night Maxon dropped the bomb on you, I would have hunted Britta down and made all sorts of demands. Maxon would have rushed to her defense. He and I would never have patched things up. Waiting another few weeks sucked…but it’s better for the long-term big picture.”

Relief melts me. Griff wasn’t quite so understanding when we first talked about this. “Thanks for listening. I’m glad you understand.”

“You’ve always had my back. Dry your eyes. It’s going to be all right. Hey, I think Gus booked another act to liven the place up in between your sets. Want to see?”

“I should go to the ladies’ room and try to repair my makeup. I’m sure I’m a mess and—”

“Three minutes,” Griff says in a tone that’s somewhere between persuasive and implacable.

I open my mouth to argue.

Then I hear the strains of a song I haven’t heard in exactly two weeks, since the crazy night I dragged Maxon out for karaoke.

I tense. Freeze. Look up at Griff.

He’s smiling, the expression between indulgent and superior. He knows what’s up.

“This is for the beautiful woman I stupidly hurt. I could tell her that I love her but those are just words, and she deserves more.”

My heart catches. I’d know that voice anywhere—in my sleep, a million miles from civilization, moments from death.

Maxon Reed.

With a gasp, I turn around and see him standing on the stage, holding the mic as the strains of the song continue to bloom in my ears.

He’s looking right at me, his face full of apology and adoration and something I’ve never seen there before.

Love.

My chest heaves. I put my hands over my heart as if I’m afraid it will fall at his feet again. Fresh tears come. Is he really here for me? And is he going to sing?

He is. He does. And his ability to carry a tune is just as terrible as it was the last time, only now he actually knows the words and he doesn’t seem to care what anyone else thinks. He’s singing his heart out—literally. And he’s looking right at me and as he vows that he needs me more than he wants me…and that he will want me—and only me—for all time.

My knees give out. I lose my composure completely.

Griff supports me with strong hands and guides me gently toward his brother. Maxon comes off the stage to meet me and wraps a supportive arm around me before he brushes his thumb over my cheek and wipes away my tears.

As the song’s instrumental interlude begins, he relinquishes the mic to the stand. Who cares if anyone sings the rest? All I want is the man in front of me.

I stare up at Maxon’s face, his green eyes caressing me with a heartfelt devotion I never thought I’d see from him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “So sorry. What I did was wrong and thoughtless and not at all indicative of the fact that, in my heart, you’ll always come first.”

Words fail me. I know he means that, not because he’s spoken but because he’s now shown that he’ll sacrifice everything—his career-making deal, his need to best his brother, even his substantial pride—for me.

He loves me.

I sob into his chest.

He crooks a finger beneath my chin. “Hey, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Did you see what I’m wearing?”