The venue is a big brick building in Belltown. Bands are playing on all three floors, and the crowd spilling out definitely sports some classic emo fashion. People recognize me and point me out, but I walk quick and keep my head down, managing to avoid getting stopped for any autographs before I’m led inside and to a booth on the second floor.
Reggie and Everett are there with Owen, who is Fox’s husband and Reggie’s brother. Owen is a sweet guy with lots of charm, and unlike most of the celebrities in Fox’s world, he works at the natural history museum, not in the music business. The stage is quiet between bands, and they all greet me at once.
Reggie points both of his index fingers at me. “Are you ready for some emo?”
I grin. “I’m ready for some emo.”
“Pace yourself,” Fox says dryly. “He’s an emo superfan.”
“It’s true,” Everett agrees. “Our own personal revival started this afternoon.”
“We had a Dashboard Confessional day at the gym,” Reggie says, nodding to his husband. “Really felt the workout. You know what I mean?”
The crowd moves around us, and from the corner of my eye, I see it’s well-attended. There’s a famous drummer in the rear and a good handful of rock journalists.
“Working out can be emotional. I get it.”
Reggie nods, appreciating that. “Exactly.”
“You’re only in town for a couple of days, is that right?” Everett asks.
“Yeah, putting in some time at the recording studio,” I tell him. “I’ll head back there soon, and then on to my writing retreat in Boston.”
Reggie laughs loudly. “Writing retreat. Sure.”
I chuckle, but now I feel self-conscious that I’m not good enough, and maybe they aren’t taking me seriously because of it.
“You’re a very sweet couple,” Owen adds. “I’m glad to see you together.”
“Thanks,” I say. “He’s doing good, by the way. Especially since you won the tournament, Everett. I don’t know if it’s a jock thing or a Spencer thing, but apparently if the guy you lose your match to goes on to win the tournament, that’s good.”
“Totally,” Reggie says, and Everett nods. “Yeah. Of course.”
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I’m smiling when I turn. My brain doesn’t quite register who I’m looking at, but I stand and turn away from the booth, and suddenly, I’m face to face with Zel. His straight, blonde hair is longer, growing past his ears, and his old Evanescence T-shirt hugs him tightly beneath a thin jean jacket.
Zel. The man who kept me waiting for months only to reject me at the Grammys, practically on stage. Touring schedules mean we’ve managed to avoid each other for a few years, but I knew it was inevitable that I’d run into him again.
He holds my eye and then lets out a soft laugh. “I thought that was you.”
I’m in such shock I’m not sure what to say. “You’re in Seattle?”
“Just for a week.” He leans in even closer to me as people pass behind us. “You know how work is in this industry. I’ll be on my way to London soon.”
I don’t want to be talking about work with Zel right now, or about anything, really. He never apologized for the way he rejected me, never tried to keep in touch.
Sex was all we’d promised each other, but I fell for him over two years, and my stomach pains when I remember what the end did to me.
I meant nothing to Zel.
He smiles slightly. “Used to be that I’d run into you at something like this and we’d sneak out the back thirty seconds later.”
I frown. “A couple of things have changed since then.”
“Like what?” he asks, right on the edge of flirting.
I’m hit with a wave of defensiveness, not just for myself, but for Spencer, too. Zel must have seen our relationship in the news.
I lean closer, wanting him to hear me clearly. “Like I’m married,” I say bluntly. After I stand back to full height, I straighten his jean jacket, just because I know it will irritate the hell out of him. “Even if I weren’t married, you treated me wrong, Zel, and I’m no sucker. You lost your chance with me a long time ago. I’m much happier with my man than I ever could have been with you.” I smile. “So kindly never bother me with this bullshit again, okay?”
