In fact, it’s all I can think about as Jaxon’s parents let us inside. There’s this awkward sort of exchange between Lea and Jaxon’s mom as she walks us to the garage, and Lea ends up talking to her while Tristan and I load up the trunk of the car and the backseat with my drums, my thoughts refusing to be quiet. I keep picturing scenarios of what happened and they mix with all the good memories I had of Delilah. Like the first time we actually hung out. I was sad and she made me laugh by making a joke about our English teacher having a mustache. It was the first time I’d laughed since Landon died. Then we went to college together, and while we weren’t always on the same page, things were still good. She still made me laugh. Forced me to go out into civilization once in a while. Forced me to try to live when all I wanted to do was let myself die inside.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tristan comments as he puts my drumsticks into the backseat.

“I’m fine.” I shut the trunk and climb into the car as Lea walks out the front door, carrying a plate of cookies.

Tristan gets into the backseat and buckles his seat belt, watching me in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, and then remain silent as Lea gets into the car. I should probably tell him about Delilah, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it at the moment. I also worry about how he’s going to react when I do. I’m not sure how close they were, but they did live together and that has to mean he cared about her in one way or another.

“What’s with the cookies?” I ask as Lea balances the plate on her lap.

“Jaxon’s mom gave them to me… she also said how much her family misses me.” She sighs and then starts rambling about how uncomfortable that was as I drive to Red & Black Ink. I’m relieved by the distraction of her chatting, nodding and agreeing in all the right places. But as soon as we pull up to the back parking lot, I feel nauseous. Why didn’t I do something to help Delilah? Why is death always happening? Why? Why? Why?

I need to calm down somehow, because I don’t even know if the body is Delilah’s yet. But I can’t and things only get worse the longer the night goes on. I’m stronger than this. Tough. I’ve been through this before. Nothing works. Breathing. Counting. God, I’m counting everything, my mind racing a million miles a minute. But I can still feel myself about ready to fall apart the moment we step into the club and the madness surrounds me. My mind seeks structure but there’s nothing around me and I can feel myself falling.

“Nova, get your head in the game,” Lea shouts over the chatter of voices around us. We’re seated in a booth, waiting to go on. The whole place is decorated with red Christmas lights and the cheeriness of them clashes with the black walls and makes the place seem eerie. Tristan wandered off to the bathroom, but he’s been gone for over ten minutes and I’m wondering if he took a detour. I hope it’s to find a girl and not get a drink or something even worse. This place is making me uneasy because it’s crawling with temptation. I know because I’ve seen a few drug exchanges happen. Jesus, why did I let him come? Especially with all the sketchiness with that Jazz guy. I was so distracted by his overly friendly attitude that I forgot how this place was.

Lea waves her hand in front of my face and I flinch. “Earth to Nova.”

“Sorry.” I blink my attention from my glass of water and look at her. “I’m dazing pretty badly, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.” As soon as she says it, I glance at the crowd again, thinking I see Tristan, but it’s just another blond-haired, boy-band-member-looking guy.

Lea crosses her arms and assesses me from across the table. “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

“Nothing,” I say, not ready to talk about it—say it aloud—deal with it. I wonder if Delilah’s mom will find out exactly how she passed away. I wonder if it matters, because in the end it doesn’t change anything. She’ll still be gone.

“I know when you’re lying,” Lea says sternly, and then she puts her hand on the table. “So just fess up.”

“It’s nothing,” I tell her, slumping back in the booth. “My mom and I just had a fight. That’s all.”

“Over what?”

“Over me coming home for Christmas.”

She takes a drink of her water. “I thought she was okay with you staying here for the holidays just as long as you came home for a few days around New Year’s?”

I scratch my tattoo, hating that I’m lying, but talking about Delilah isn’t an option yet. “Yeah, I thought so, too, but she changed her mind.”

She gives me a sympathetic look. “You could always go home.”

I shake my head. “No, I have too much stuff to do with work and stuff.”

“Well, then cheer up, missy.” Lea points a finger at me. “Your mom will get over it, just like she does with everything you do. Besides, tonight’s going to be so awesome, you won’t even have time to think about being bummed out.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be a complete downer tonight.”

“Good.” She smiles and then turns in the booth to look at the dance floor. “I wonder where Brody and Braxton are?”

“Maybe they got cold feet,” I say. “And it’ll just be you and me.”

She turns around and scowls at me. “Stella would never allow that. You know she hates when people try to do solo acts.”

“It wouldn’t be a solo act.” I stir my ice with my straw. “But I’m sure everything is going to be okay… I’m sure they’ll show up.”

She considers what I said and then takes her phone from her jacket pocket. “I’m going to call them and see what’s up.”

I zone out as she yammers on the phone with Brody. I can tell by the way she keeps laughing and twirling her hair that she’s really happy right now. I need to make myself cheer up and be a better friend, like I wasn’t with Delilah. So I sit up straighter and put on my best happy face as she hangs up the phone.

“They’re running late,” she announces as she picks up a few fries from a basket between us. “But they’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

I grab a handful of fries. “You seem happy, when you’re talking to Brody, I mean.”

She pops some fries in her mouth. “I am happy.” She grins from ear to ear. “He makes me really happy, Nova.”

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“It’s about damn time you asked,” she says, wiping her fingers on a napkin.

“Hey.” I frown. “You’re the one who kept the secret from me. How was I supposed to ask questions about him when I didn’t even know about him?”

“Yeah, you’re right… still, you barely seemed interested in him, even after I told you.” She scoops up another fry and dips it in the cup of ranch. “But that’s okay. You’ve been sad lately.” She pauses, the fry in her hand, dripping ranch on the table as she waits for me to say something, probably for me to give an explanation as to why I’ve been so sad.

“I’ve just been bummed out over silly things,” I lie, afraid that if I start talking about everything, I won’t be able to stop. The floodgates will open and I’ll lose it, right here in the bar. “Work and school stuff.” I sit up straighter in the booth. “But I’ll try to cheer up, and I want to hear about Brody.”

She seems unconvinced, but says, “Well, I’ve been seeing him since the middle of September.”

“That long?” I ask, and she nods. “Jesus, how did I not know this?”

She rotates in her seat and points at Tristan, who’s standing at the bar, chatting with the bartender. “Because that one’s had you distracted, along with the sad, brown-eyed one you spend all your time on the phone with.”

“Dammit,” I curse, getting out of the booth and shoving through the crowd toward Tristan. Why does he have to choose to drink tonight of all nights, when I’m already cracking apart?

When I arrive at the bar, Tristan’s laughing at something the bartender is saying.

“Hey, I was just talking about you,” he says, smiling at me.

I smell the Jack Daniel’s on his breath as soon as he speaks, and then notice the glass on the counter. “You drank.” I sound horrified.

He rolls his eyes, like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “I had one drink.” He holds up his finger. “And I’m a recovering drug addict. Not an alcoholic.”

Jesus, can this night get any worse? “Yeah, but you told me once that one can easily lead to the other. Remember?”

“I say shit all the time.” He dismisses my worry, turning to face me. Then he leans against the bar and puts his elbow on it, all casual and relaxed, but definitely not sober. “Besides, I only did it because of you.”

“Because of me?” I ask, confused. “Why? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did,” he says, his gaze flicking to my lips. “But what you didn’t do.”

God, please don’t let this conversation go where I think it’s going. “I’m sorry if I forgot to do something,” I say, noting that he’s sort of acting like an ass, which is his telltale sign that he’s been doing drugs.

He lets out a soft laugh, his forehead furrowing. “You’re so naïve sometimes.”

“Hey, I am not,” I say, turning my back on him, offended because I’m not naïve. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I just don’t want to deal with it tonight.

He catches my arm and stops me from leaving. “Nova, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He draws me back to him and just like that my crappy night gets even worse. Because without warning, he kisses me, tasting like Jack Daniel’s and vulnerability and reminding me of our first kiss, only I was trashed then and there was a lot more tongue involved. This time it’s just on the lips, no tongue, thankfully.