She probably had a whole life and was ridiculously happy. A boyfriend, maybe. A career. People who knew her real name and her real story. He’d never met someone so full of life, with a light flowing through her veins.
And Marco was still here, at another rooftop party, surrounded by people whose names he couldn’t remember, wondering when his life had become so empty.
“I need to get out of here,” he said.
Colton straightened. “The party?”
“All of it.” The words surprised him as much as they seemed to surprise Colton. “This. The parties. The photo ops. The—” He gestured at the crowd, at the champagne, at the glittering skyline. “I’m tired of feeling nothing.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Marco didn’t have an answer. He’d been raised to be the face of the Castellano brand, to charm and smile and show up at all the right places. He didn’t know how to be anything else.
His phone buzzed with a text from his sister, Sophia.
Father’s asking where you are. Apparently, the Brioni people wanted photos.
Tell him I’ll send apologies tomorrow. I’m leaving.
Three dots appeared.
Are you okay?
He pocketed the phone without responding.
“I’m heading out,” he told Colton. “You staying?”
Colton looked around the rooftop one more time, at the party that had once seemed so important. “You know what? I’m right behind you.”
They wound their way through the crowd, dodging outstretched phones and half-hearted attempts at conversation. The elevator took forever, but finally they were in the lobby, then out on the street, the summer night air thick and humid but somehow easier to breathe than the filtered coolness of the rooftop.
“Where to?” Colton asked.
Marco started walking, with no destination in mind, just moving. “There’s a dive bar on Ninth I’ve been meaning to try. No VIP section, no photographers, no one who knows who we are.”
“Sounds perfect.” Colton fell into step beside him. “You know, I’ve been thinking about going back to Blueberry Hill. Not to win her back or anything, just... to see if I remember who I was when I was there.”
“And who was that?”
“Someone who built things instead of just showing up for them.” Colton was quiet for a moment. “Someone who actually liked himself.”
Marco didn’t respond, but the words stayed with him as they walked, past the bodegas and the late-night pizza joints, into the anonymous darkness of a city full of people.
Somewhere back in Miami, a woman with honey-blonde hair was living a life he’d never know about. And somewhere in these mountains Colton kept talking about, there was apparently a version of his friend who didn’t look quite so lost.
Maybe there was a version of Marco somewhere too. He just had to figure out where to look.
“This the place?” Colton nodded toward a neon sign flickering above a narrow doorway. O’Malley’s.
“This is it.” Marco pushed open the door. The smell of cheap beer and peanut shells hit him immediately—nothing like the champagne and expensive perfume of the rooftop. “First round’s on me.”
They stepped inside, leaving the glittering skyline behind.
CHAPTER 13
RYAN
The pizza arrived fifteen minutes early.
