I swirl the ice cubes in my drink. Not all love songs are about love. Sometimes they’re about not having love at all. “Sounds like it could be love.”

“Can a chick that young even know what love is? She’ll probably break my heart and hand it to me on a platter while she’s walking off with a younger guy someday.”

I don’t know what this dude’s story is, but his gray eyes, the tiny wrinkles around them, and the scar across his forehead tell me he’s had a rough life.

“Lemme tell you a little story, Jude,” I say. “About my best friend and my only daughter and how age doesn’t always matter.”

We go through another round of drinks and a bowl of pretzels as I tell him about Tor and Kenzi. I even tell him about Ember. Suddenly I’m a faucet, pouring everything out. He’s a good listener, never interrupting. He just nods and absorbs every word. Not judging, not taking sides.

“I’d kill for that,” he says, smearing his finger through the condensation on his glass. “A love like you have, like your friend and your kid have. A best friend to go through life with. That’s what it’s all about. You don’t just walk away from that, right?”

“No,” I reply, missing my wife something fierce and wishing with every cell of my being I’d stayed in that apartment with her. “You don’t. You hang on to it, fight for it. No matter what.”

He stares at the silver ring on his finger. “I’m gonna tell her how I feel,” he says with finality. “I’m gonna stop pushing her away.”

“What about your wife?” I ask. “You better end that before you do or say anything. You seem like a good guy. Don’t be a cheater. You’ll get yourself in a bigger mess.”

Blowing out a sigh, he finishes off his drink and plunks the glass back on the table. “It can’t get any messier than it is. The girl? She is my wife.”

So much for my notorious intuition.

I didn’t see that one coming.

I raise my hand to get Uncle Al’s attention. “Can we get two coffees?”

We’re gonna be here for a while.

Chapter Fifty-One

I’m always happy to come home, but I’ve never been happier to walk up to my front door than I am this morning.

After sitting in a bar for hours talking to my new BFF, who saved me from a bat-wielding idiot, we slept in his car until he was coherent enough to drive us home. I invited him inside to crash in the downstairs guest room, but he declined, wanting to get home to his own bed. We exchanged numbers, and I gave him an open invitation to our Friday night barbecues.

I tried offering him money and concert tickets—anything—to show my appreciation for him taking out the mugger, but he didn’t want anything except to hang out and talk. Hopefully, he won’t turn into a babbling psychopath like Redwood.

I’m starting to have quite the odd collection of friends.

My house keys, along with my cell phone charger, are in my suitcase, which I hope Ember brought home with her from the Airbnb.

If she’s home.

If she’s not, I’m going to slip into major worry melt-down mode, which I’ve been trying to prevent myself from doing.

I press the doorbell, feeling incredibly dysfunctional.

Saying shitty things.

Storming away from my wife.

Smoking with rats in an alley.

Getting hit with a bat during a botched mugging.

Drinking in a seedy bar with a guy ironically named Lucky, who’s anything but.

Sleeping in a car.

And now getting dropped off at eight a.m., hoping my wife is home and willing to let me into our house.

My head throbs just thinking about it all. It’s like I spent the last eight hours in some strange alternate reality.

On the other side of the door, Teddy barks, and finally the door swings open.

By Sarah.

My smile and my hope falter.

“Asher! I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I was down the hall.”

I step inside and close the door behind me before there’s a chance of Tor and Kenzi seeing me. “Don’t apologize. I don’t have my keys.” I pet Teddy’s head. “Is Ember here? Did she get home okay?”

“She’s been home a little over an hour. She showered and fell asleep on the couch in the sunroom. She’s fine but exhausted, and if you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look well yourself.” She scrutinizes my face. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast? Aspirin?”

The only thing I want is my wife.

I gaze down the hallway, wondering why it suddenly appears wider, and then realize it’s the new, lighter wall color and throw rugs.

That’s right. Ember spent most of the last two months redecorating.

“No… Thank you, Sarah. I just want to check on her and go shower.”

“Asher.” She grabs my arm as I walk away. “I know this isn’t my business, and you’re welcome to say so.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Ember had a plan, with nothing but good intentions for herself, and for you. Unfortunately, she didn’t execute it well. She’s devastated that she hurt you. I’m worried this could create a setback for her… If she feels like there’s no way for her to express herself, be herself…”