Aly Martinez

It could be said that Bree wasn’t my biggest fan. It could also be said that I’d puked on her shoes the night we’d met. But hey, stomach acid under the bridge, right?

We weren’t mortal enemies or anything. Bree and I got along just fine—on the surface. Deep down, she was a touch…uh, difficult.

And judgmental.

And snobby.

And…well, high maintenance.

With my signature mix of laid-back pop and soul, Solstice in the ’92 was supposed to be my ticket to the top of the charts. Thirteen songs I’d poured my heart and soul into, each one representing a different stage in my life from growing up without a dad to my party days as a bachelor, all the way to the birth of my daughter. They were bold. They were raw. They were Eason Maxwell. Selling them off was going to feel like being ripped limb from limb.

But they would pay the bills.

Maybe even permanently bring back the light in my wife’s eyes, the spark in our marriage, and allow me to keep my family together. There was nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice—hopes and dreams included—to be the man Jessica and Luna deserved.

For that reason alone, I managed a smile as I stared down at her. “It’s the right thing to do, babe. For you. For Luna. Hell, maybe even for me. A fresh start can’t hurt, right?”

She circled her arms around my neck—the first physical contact she’d initiated in weeks.

“Hard to say, but I’ll make some calls first thing on Monday.”

She let out a giggle that momentarily quelled the burning in my throat. “‘Turning Pages’ is incredible. I bet someone huge snatches it up.”

Great, just what I’d always wanted: an egocentric prima donna singing about my tumultuous relationship with my narcissistic mother.

I shot her another tight smile. “That would be amazing.”

Her voice had a renewed levity I hadn’t heard in months. “We should celebrate. Grab a bottle of champagne while you’re out.” She paused. “Actually, never mind. I’ll ask Bree. She’ll bring the good stuff.”

Oh, of course. I’d ripped my heart out and set it at my wife’s feet, but it would be Bree who’d save the day.

It was salt in the wound, but like so much of my marriage, I just kept right on smiling. “Sounds great.”

“Jess told me to grab the good champagne from you.”

The shame in his tone was clear to every ear in the room.

And damn if that seed of guilt in my stomach didn’t grow. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Let me just grab—”

“Take the Dom,” Rob interrupted.

Eason scoffed. “I’m not taking that for game night. Save that for—”

Rob slanted his head in challenge. “I said take the P3 Rosé. Oh, and grab the Bollinger too.”

My eyes flared. Holy shit. That had to have been at least three thousand dollars in champagne.

“Jesus,” Eason breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As if taking champagne from you guys wasn’t bad enough, now I have to add half a million dollars of bubbly to my infinite debt.”

I offered him a tight smile. “It’s not that expensive, but should you find yourself the biggest artist in modern history like he expects you’ll be, we’ll be happy to accept half a million dollars as repayment.”

He huffed. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on it.”

I wasn’t, but if Rob had that kind of faith in him, the least I could do was walk down to the wine cellar and get the champagne.

“Jesus,” Eason breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As if taking champagne from you guys wasn’t bad enough, now I have to add half a million dollars of bubbly to my infinite debt.”

I offered him a tight smile. “It’s not that expensive, but should you find yourself the biggest artist in modern history like he expects you’ll be, we’ll be happy to accept half a million dollars as repayment.”

He huffed. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on it.”

I wasn’t, but if Rob had that kind of faith in him, the least I could do was walk down to the wine cellar and get the champagne.

Everything changed in the next second.

My life.

Jessica’s life.

Bree’s life.

Rob’s life.

Luna’s life.

Asher’s and Madison’s lives.

One decision in the middle of the unimaginable and the world as we knew it was irrevocably changed.

It all came down to one single decision.

“I’ll be right back,” I choked out.

“Eason,” she croaked.

But once again, she wasn’t my wife.

“Oh, God,” I breathed, watching as she rose on unsteady legs. Tears carved twin riverbeds through the ash on her cheeks.

“What happened?” Bree asked, her green eyes focused on the blazing inferno behind me.

Acrid guilt devoured me. “I…”

I saved the wrong woman.

I left the mother of my child in a burning building.

My final broken promise to the woman I’d vowed forever to was, “I’ll be right back.”

Bile crawled up my throat. “I don’t know.”

In the middle of tragedy, it’s strange the things that become engrained into your memories. Years later, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how long it took the firetrucks to get there. I couldn’t tell you what time it was or what I had been wearing. But I would never be able to forget the absolute devastation on Bree’s face when she realized we were the only two standing outside the burning house

“No!” Bree screamed as I dove on top of her, pinning her to the Earth. Fiery fragments of my life rained down over us, each one feeling like a rusty blade slicing the heart from my chest.

She fought beneath me, biting and clawing at me.

She cried his name and cussed mine.

As sirens screamed in the distance, she had air in her lungs and a beat in her chest.

And through it all, no matter how hard I prayed, she never magically became Jessica.