Page 54 of Two Hit Wonder

That got a small laugh, which was something. Iona loosened her grip, smoothing the fabric she'd wrinkled like that would somehow undo the last five minutes. "You're coming to rehearsal tomorrow?"

"I said I would."

"You've said a lot of things over the years."

Fair point. Maeve couldn't argue with it, so she didn't try. She stepped back, putting distance between them that felt both necessary and deeply stupid. "Tomorrow. I'll be there."

She left before she could change her mind. The night air hit her like a slap, cool and clarifying, and she walked back to her hotel with her hands shoved in her pockets and her brain running in circles like a dog chasing its own tail.

She'd kissed Iona Faith. Again. On purpose. While sober.

She was an idiot.

THE HOTEL ROOM looked exactly like it had when she'd left: beige, impersonal, aggressively inoffensive. The kind of room designed to be forgotten the moment you checked out. Maeve had been staying here for weeks now, and she still couldn't have picked it out of a lineup.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.

The kiss had been a mistake. Obviously. She'd spent fifteen years building walls, learning how to be alone, convincing herself that she didn't need anyone. And then Iona had stood there with tears on her face, talking about naming her daughter after a woman she couldn't forget, and Maeve had thrown all of that careful construction out the window like it was last week's newspaper.

Brilliant. Fantastic. Really excellent decision-making from someone who was supposed to be in recovery.

She thought about calling Glinna, but it was late, and Glinna had six children and a farm and didn't need Maeve's romantic disasters dumped on her at eleven o'clock at night. So she took off her boots, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged her under.

She dreamed about sheep. It was not restful.

REHEARSAL THE NEXT morning was a disaster waiting to happen, and Maeve was determined to be the one causing it.

She arrived at nine sharp, which was already a problem because Cam wasn't there yet and Ellie was doing something complicated with her bass that required concentration. Iona was tuning her guitar in the corner, and when she looked up at Maeve, her smile was hesitant and hopeful and entirely too much to deal with before coffee.

So Maeve didn't deal with it. She nodded once, curtly, and went to adjust her microphone stand even though there was nothing wrong with it. And she didn’t know what to do, how to be, so she reverted to her default settings.

"Good morning," Iona said.

"Is it?"

Iona's smile faltered. Maeve watched it happen and felt like the world's biggest arsehole, which she probably was, but that didn't mean she knew how to stop.

Cam arrived twelve minutes late, trailing apologies and the faint smell of an expensive perfume that definitely wasn't hers. She dropped into her seat behind the drums with a clatter and immediately checked her phone, thumbs moving over the screen.

"Are we doing this or not?" Maeve said.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Cam said without looking up. Her phone buzzed and she smiled at whatever she saw, a private little expression that vanished the moment she noticed Maeve watching.

"I'm not here to make small talk. I'm here to work."

Ellie and Iona exchanged a look. Maeve saw it and felt her shoulders tighten. They were doing that thing again, the silent communication that came from years of friendship, the kind of shorthand that Maeve didn’t feel like she had a right to be part of anymore.

"Right," Ellie said slowly. "Let's run through the set list, then."

They played. It was fine. The notes were in the right places, the timing was correct, and there was absolutely no spark to any of it because Maeve was delivering every lyric like she was reading from a legal document.

"Can we try that again?" Iona asked after the third song. "I think if we—"

"It's fine."

"It didn't sound fine, it sounded flat."

"I said it's fine."