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“Uh, yeah. I do. I was there the other week. Remember?”

My parents and Tate’s mom still live in Canyon Pass, though whenever we’ve visited, we bypass my folks’ place. Birthday cards and the odd phone call are as far as my relationship goes with them—or it was until they found out about Tate’s success story. Tate deposited a ridiculous amount of money in my account the week he left, which I refuse to spend on myself, and while I’m not proud of sending them money whenever my mom asked, it kept them firmly in Texas and away from me. The last thing I need is to see my mom’s smug face when she finds out my marriage is failing.

She definitely wouldn’t be happy to know I was in Canyon Pass a few weeks ago. Annie had knee surgery, and I knew Tate was busy on tour, so I flew out to help her post-surgery. She was shocked, but the woman is more of a mother to me than my biological one. When Tate left, I was certain I’d lose Annie, but she called me six days later. To my surprise, she didn’t bring up my marriage to her son once, and we speak every few weeks.

Only Eric knows about my visit home, having told the girls it was a work trip.

I wonder if Annie told Tate.

“Sorry.” Eric taps his fingers on his desk. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”

Eric and Tate have always gotten along well together. Similar to my friends, people in the office don’t pry into my marriage, even if I’m married to everyone’s favorite country music star.

“It’s fine.” I wave him off, ignoring the knot in my stomach as it tightens. “I’ll be back soon.”

I pass through the office, past reception, and float out into the street, brain a little scrambled from the day’s workload.

The door above the sandwich shop jingles as I enter. I grab my and Eric’s sandwiches, plus a box of pastries for the office. People rush past me to the counter, eager to place their orders before their lunch break ends.

“Oh my god! Tate Brooks has canceled the next show on his tour. My cousin has tickets.”

I falter, almost dropping the food.

Just the sound of his name sends my pulse skyrocketing.

I turn toward the young woman behind me, voice mechanical. “Can you repeat that?”

She and her friends stare at me in confusion. “Um, do we know you?”

“No.” I gesture at the phone in her hand. “Did you say Tate Brooks canceled his show?”

She pouts before nodding. “They didn’t say why. People say he’s gone to rehab. Others say he can’t hack the attention.”

Tate doesn’t drink because of his epilepsy. There’s no way he’s in rehab. This is the tabloids twisting and spewing lies as usual.

“Tate isn’t like that.” I shake my head.

The girls giggle. “You say that like you know him or something.”

I want to yell at them. To shove photos of us together in their faces. Prove I do know him. Better than I know myself. But my mouth stops working.

Is Tate okay?

What happened?

Where is he?

Does his mom know?

Palms clammy, hands trembling, I fumble for my phone and rush out a text to the girls.

Talia: SOS.

Margot: Willow just told me. Are you okay?

Harriet: What do you need from us?

Parker: I can be at your house, the office, wherever you need me in ten minutes flat.