“Unlock the pen,” Blue says, his eyes riveted to the dog. “Now, please.”

The girl obliges, and Blue immediately enters the pen and slowly approaches the dog, who’s watching him with wide, terrified eyes. Blue kneels down, whispering softly to him, and gently strokes his head. The dog stills under Blue’s petting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“He’s so scared,” Lyric whispers beside me, and I wonder if maybe this is a bad idea. Bringing a dog home is supposed to be a happy experience, not a total downer.

While still petting the dog, Blue reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few small pieces of food and offers them to the dog one by one, first coaxing the dog to stand, and then slowly leading the dog right into his lap.

Sliced roast beef.

He must have taken it from the refrigerator before we left the house.

I laugh a little and shake my head as Blue picks the dog up and cradles him against his chest, then carries him out of the cage for us to gently pet. He’s adorable, but does indeed have the saddest eyes of any animal I’ve ever seen. His tail is wagging ever so slightly, though, as Lyric kisses its forehead.

“We’re gonna take this one,” Blue tells the worker.

A half hour, and four pages of paperwork later, we’re driving home with a sad-eyed little dog who has a rather shocked look on his furry face now.

“You’re never going to get hurt again,” Blue is whispering in the back seat next to Lyric, who’s holding the dog in her lap. “And you’re never going to be scared or lonely or hungry again. I promise.”

“We have to pick a name for him,” Lyric says.

“No, you have to wait. He’ll tell you his name.”

“How?”

“You just have to sit with him for a while, and talk to him, and look into his eyes. And suddenly, his name will pop into your head. It’s like special dog telepathy.”

I glance at them in the rearview mirror, and Lyric is smiling, totally buying Blue’s theory.

“Did Acorn tell you his name?” she asks.

“Yup. Exactly like that.”

“Is that how you got your name, Blue? Did it just pop into your head?”

He turns his head to look out the car window. “Yeah. One day I woke up with wings and I could sing, and suddenly my name was Blue.”

His words sound poetic—like the words from his songs. And I can see that Lyric believes them as such.

But something deep in my gut is telling me they’re not just words at all.

Chapter Forty-Three

2012

“When are you coming home?” I press the phone against my shoulder and finish rubbing the lavender moisturizer over my arms. This particular blend is supposed to enhance sleep, and if I had known he was going to call I wouldn’t have climbed into bed and started putting it on.

“Um… next week? The week after, maybe? I don’t really know, babe, it’s like crazy o’clock here and I don’t have a calendar in front of me. I don’t even know what day today is.”

Disappointment sets off a burn in my stomach and a heavy weight in my chest that’s been growing heavier and heavier over the past few weeks. I’m afraid it will suffocate me soon.

I let out a breath that was intended to release the pressure in my body but instead takes on the sound of an irritated sigh.

“Piper…I know you’re pissed, and I am too, but this shit is outta my control. Vic lined up some live radio interviews, and that late-night TV thing. I don’t even fucking know anymore, I just go where I’m told.”

“I know,” I say. “I know it’s not your fault. I’m not pissed.” What I am is lonely and aching to have my fiancé home. I’m desperate to see his smile and feel his hands caressing me. I want to breathe him in and fill my lungs with his masculine, comforting scent. Nothing else has the power to get this weight off my chest.

“I miss you and Lyric. I fucking hate this. You have no idea.”

Oh, I do have an idea, because I hate not seeing him just as much.

“I miss you, too. We both do.”

“Do you? Or are you just finally getting sick of me and all this crap?”

“Of course I miss you. Lyric and I both miss you. And so do Archie and Mickey. It’s just…” I choose my words carefully. “…hard to be without you for so long. We haven’t seen you in what, a month?”

He groans. “Christ, has it been that long?”

“Yeah, it has. “

“Fuck, Ladybug. I’m sorry. I’ve got no sense of time anymore. All these different time zones fuck me up.”

“I know. It’s okay, hon. Really.”

He coughs and I hear him taking a sip of something. “It’s not okay.”

I twirl the engagement ring on my finger, turning it so it’s straight. The stone is so heavy it always tilts to one side of my small finger, but I refuse to have it resized and made tighter. I never take it off. It’s this symbol of promises that keeps me going—our wedding. Our forever.