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“We were at Billy’s parents’ house the other night and his mom was going on and on about how much he loves danish and how she used to make it for him when he was little and how we have to keep a man fed and give them babies to make them happy and I seriously just wanted to smack her but instead I went home and found a recipe for danish because this chick right here is never having a baby. I’ll give that man all the danishes he wants, though.”

“That seems fair to me.” I pour boiling water into two cups with tea bags waiting in them and carry them over to the table where she’s sitting.

“I thought so. I made two so I could give one to you and Lyric because that’s the neighborly thing to do.”

“I never bring you food.”

“Because you’re not a good neighbor, Piper,” she says with a playful smirk. “But you are a great best friend. Didn’t you take me on a shopping spree last week and clean my entire house when I had the flu?”

Archie enters the room and flops on a sliver of sunbeam shining on the floor.

“I can’t believe that cat is still alive. How old is he?”

“I think around sixteen.”

“Damn. How long do cats live for?”

I cut two pieces from her danish ring and put them on plates for us.

“At least sixteen years, apparently.”

“He’s almost old enough to drive. Think about that.”

“His age doesn’t matter since he wouldn’t be able to see over the dashboard or reach the pedals.” I take a bite of the danish and I’m pleasantly surprised. “Dee, this is delicious. Did Billy like it? Was it as good as his mom’s?”

She nods. “He loved it. He even called his mom and told her it was better than hers. She probably hates me.”

I cut another piece. “I definitely hate you right now. I’ll eat this entire thing and gain ten pounds.”

“You could eat twenty of these and not gain a pound.”

I wish. Since I lost the baby I’ve had bouts of anxiousness and depression and I’ve been soothing myself by eating chocolate and ice cream.

My cell phone rings and I get up to grab it from the counter, licking raspberry puree off my fingers on the way.

“Hello?” I say, hoping it’s Blue since I didn’t get to talk to him yesterday. All I can hear is heavy breathing and gasping on the other end of the call.

“Hello?” I repeat.

“Piper.”

“Reece?” His voice is barely recognizable. I can’t tell if he’s laughing, crying, or choking. “Are you okay?” My chest is already rising and falling fast with anxiety. It’s five a.m. where the band is. Nothing could possibly be okay with a phone call this early in the morning.

Especially when it’s Blue’s best friend calling me.

Ditra flashes me a look of concern.

“Blue’s fucked up…you need to get out here.”

My stomach twists up into an immediate knot of fear. “Wh-what?”

“He’s hurt really bad.” He coughs and gasps again. “I don’t know what the fuck he was doing…I don’t fucking know….”

“What do you mean he’s hurt?” A few seconds ago I was afraid he might be drunk or high again, but that one little word now has my body trembling with bone-chilling terror.

“He fell off the roof….”

“What?” My voice comes out in a shriek and Ditra jumps up to stand next to me. “What the hell are you talking about? What roof? How?” My head is spinning with a thousand questions and worries and insane gory visions and my gut is wrenching with nausea.

“I don’t know, Piper. Everything is chaos here right now. Police and news and everyone’s freaking the fuck out.” He takes a deep breath. “I just know it’s really bad and you should be here.”

The dam of shock breaks and uncontrollable sobs rip through me. “Is he all right?” I ask with desperation. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“It’s bad.” His voice pitches. “I’m sorry… but it’s really fuckin’ bad.”

Crumbling to the floor, I drop the phone, and bury my face in my hands. This can’t be happening. There must be some kind of mistake and Reece will take back everything he just said. Blue can’t be hurt—it’s just not possible. Blue’s never been hurt before. And why would he be on a roof? It doesn’t make any sense. Blue walks and sleeps—he doesn’t climb up on things. I can’t lose him. Lyric can’t lose him. Not when we’re so close to the happiness we all want and have been waiting so long to have.

Ditra’s got my phone and she’s nodding and writing on an envelope she pulled off my counter. I want to rip the pen and paper out of her hands.

No. Don’t write things down. Don’t make any of this real. I just want to go back to the table and eat danish and talk about the cat. Please…