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“Right. I was pretty much a workaholic anyway, so I don’t have any other connections.”

Sympathy crosses Harlow’s face. “Come to Maui. Today.”

“What? I can’t barge⁠—”

“You’re not barging. I’m inviting you. Say yes. You can join the small but distinguished club of Reed offspring Barclay has royally screwed. We’ll swap stories and sing songs. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re serious?”

“She is, Bethany. I only met this clan six months ago, but they’ve been awesome and welcoming. Trust me, they get what you’re going through.”

“Come,” Harlow says again. “Seriously. Don’t spend the holidays alone.”

“Um…how will I get there? Christmas is tomorrow, and I don’t have a plane ticket. I don’t have a job to pay for one, either. And the feds have frozen my accounts until my part in this mess Barclay created is sorted out.”

“I’ll handle it,” I tell her. “Start packing your bags, and I’ll send you the details in a few hours.”

She falls very quiet, and I only know she’s still on the line because I hear her breathing and what sounds like a sniffle she’s trying to suppress. “Thank you. Really, I appreciate everything.”

“You’re welcome,” I say gently. “See you soon.”

We hang up, and Harlow smiles. “This will be a good thing. I’m going to go tell Noah to expect one more for dinner. You go figure out how to get your wife back soon, huh?”

As she leaves me with a kiss on the cheek, Diana texts me from Tokyo to wish me a Merry Christmas. I don’t have the heart—or the balls—to tell her that the marriage she attended mere days ago is already in shambles. Instead, I text back my holiday well wishes, promise we’ll get together when she returns to the States again, and stare into my bottle of water.

I shake off my maudlin thoughts and make calls until I find a charter flight for Bethany. It’s going to cost me a pretty penny to get her to Maui by tonight, but she needs to meet people who will truly be family to her—if she lets them.

But now that task is off my to-do list, and I have to figure out how to fix my own damn life.

With a sigh, I slide on my noise-canceling headphones and pop in the thumb drive Keeley made for me.

I’m not surprised the intro to the first song isn’t familiar. I search around and discover Maxon’s wife included a list of songs on the portable storage device, so I launch it.

“Goodbye” by Natalie Imbruglia is up first. Never heard of her. Nice voice. The tune itself is slow and sad, and the female vocalist manages to convey melancholy desolation perfectly. It resonates on every level because I’m feeling it, too. When she sings that every day is the same and she feels them all merge, I completely get it. It’s only been a week without Nia, and I’m in this never-ending malaise I can’t shake. Oh, and the singer’s lilting high note when she croons that people are telling her she’ll be fine and it will all get better? Heartbreaking bullshit. She knows it—just like I do.

This song makes me certain I’ll be feeling this way for the rest of my life if I can’t figure out a way to tell Nia how sorry I am.

Next up, another ballad, accompanied by a simple piano-drum duo. It’s stripped down, and when the opening line is about the car being parked and the bags being packed, I know this is going to hurt. By the time Sara Bareilles starts singing that her lover is all she has and all she needs, the one she’s pining for is the very air she would kill to breathe, I’m choking up. That’s exactly how I feel about Nia.

Fuck, this song is an ax to the heart.

Suddenly, something wet drips on the desk. I look down. I see another drop. Then I realize the wetness is coming from me.

I’m crying.

I haven’t done that since I was five, when my mother died. Odd that I just realized I never mourned for Becca like this. I was lost, yes. But I didn’t feel this aching, empty hole in my existence because she was gone. I totally feel it for Nia. Every morning, every night. Every moment. Yes, it hurts to be here. And I hope I’ll breathe again.

But I can only do that with my wife.

The next song cues up immediately after the last one. Another female starts singing after a short musical interlude, almost whining the observation that they fell out of love, but they can fall back in. What can I do or change to make that happen? Good question. I’d like to know.

Here comes another onslaught of tears. They aren’t manly. They aren’t logical. And yet I can’t stop them.

Crap, I want to blame Keeley. She likes chick ballads, which are admittedly effective in dissecting a shitty situation. But I’m also feeling a bit like I’m having my heart ripped out through my ass. It’s not remotely comfortable.

“Fall Back In” by Plumb rolls on. Yes, everything used to come so easily for Nia and me. I could have found her in the dark. I could have found her blindfolded, wearing earmuffs, with my hands tied behind my back. When I was with her, I had this feeling of ease and peace and rightness. That’s all gone.

Really, what the fuck was I thinking when I opened my mouth and accused her of trying to hurt me? That I’d hurt her back? I don’t even know anymore.