He flexed his fingers, almost dropping his water bottle when he got to the club. There was no address on the old corrugated metal structure. The big door was closed, but he knew there was someone to be found inside at almost any time of day or night.

He paused outside, sweat dripping into his eyes, and he tasted salt. He shook his head, shook the sweat out of his hair, took a swig from his water bottle and pushed the door aside. And walked into the darkness.

CHAPTER Eleven

SHE WOKE TO a dull throb in her head.

Bang, bang, bang.

Blearily, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand and found she’d only slept an hour.

Bang, bang, bang.

She should get up and take some ibuprofen for her aching head. Too bad they didn’t make a medicine for an aching heart.

She rolled over and realized she was still lying on top of the covers, fully dressed. She’d come home and fallen onto her bed, turned on Travel TV and mostly just stared at it, unfocused, pretending not to think, crying a little. But not too much. She just wouldn’t stand for much of the damn crying.

“Allie?”

The voice was muffled, and it was then she realized the banging was the front door.

Not Mick. Thank God.

And fuck, why not Mick?

She ran a hand through her hair as she padded on bare feet to the door.

“Allie, it’s Jamie. You in there?”

“Hang on.”

She checked her reflection in the hall mirror. She looked like hell. She shrugged helplessly before turning to open the door. The morning sunlight made her squint.

“Hi, Jamie.”

“Jesus. You sick or something?”

She shook her head and stepped aside to let him in. “I don’t know. Maybe the ‘or something,’” she mumbled as he moved past her into the house.

“I brought you some coffee and beignets from Café Du Monde. Maybe that’ll help?”

She followed him into the kitchen, where he set the cardboard tray of paper coffee cups on the table, as well as a white paper bag.

“They smell good.”

He pulled her in for a hug, and she burrowed into his arms and immediately felt like crying. But she would not do it. She would not.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded into his chest.

He squeezed her shoulders. “Allie?”

“I will be.”

“That sounds cryptic. You want to talk to me about it?”

She nodded against his chest again. “Okay,” she said, her voice muffled.

“Okay. Let’s sit down and we’ll both get some coffee in us.”

He helped her into a chair, then pulled out another and folded himself into it, trying unsuccessfully to tuck his long legs under the table, finally settling on sprawling them out to the side and leaning his back against the table.

Allie sipped at her chicory-laced coffee, grimaced.

“Is it a sugar day?” Jamie asked, already getting up to poke through the cupboards.

It touched her that he remembered she only took sugar in her coffee when she was stressed.

“Top cupboard on the right, bottom shelf,” she directed him.

He came back with the Tupperware she kept the sugar in—it was too humid in the old house to keep it in a bowl—and a spoon and offered it to her. She added a good rounded spoonful to her cup and stirred.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“So?”

She shrugged. “This thing with Mick . . . it’s not going so well.”

“We both knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Yes, but I don’t think I realized it might actually be impossible.”

“Is that how you’re feeling right now?” Jamie asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know. We started getting closer—too close, maybe—and he totally shut down on me. One minute we were perfectly fine, then suddenly there was this glaring disconnect. And he can’t seem to come back from it. I was with him last night and it was . . .” She paused, her throat closing up. She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it tight, needing the sensation—the little bit of pain—to help her loosen up enough to say the words. After several moments she let it go. “It was bad, Jamie. I was up all night thinking about it. And this morning I just . . . left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got up and sort of . . . snuck out while he was still sleeping.”

Jamie chuckled quietly. “Oh, he’s going to love that—Mr. Control Freak.”

“He hasn’t tried to call.”

“Either his ego is too sore or he’s too pissed off.”

“That’s his problem,” she said, anger suffusing her. “I’m tired of being the one to babysit things along. We’re supposed to be reconnecting but I can’t be the one who does all the work.”

Jamie put a hand on her arm. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m with you on this one.”

“I know. So tell me—what do I do?”

“Honestly, leaving may have been the best bet. We guys are cavemen—we need to retreat when we’re overwhelmed, and it sounds like that’s what he’s doing.”

“Well, he’s retreating his way out of any chance at a relationship with me. I don’t know how much more I’m willing to deal with. I’m not about to just lie down and take it—not even for him. Anyway, I’ve done enough of that with Mick already. I did it for years, whether we were together or not. I let the distance he imposed between us keep me from New Orleans, even from seeing my family, because I couldn’t stand it. But I’m not that girl anymore.”

Jamie smiled at her, drew his hand back and took a sip from his coffee. “No, you’re not. And I’m glad to see you remember that. Mick will be, too, once he gets his head out of his ass.”

“When do you think that’ll happen?”

“Not sure. If it wasn’t about you, I’d probably say when pigs fly. But it is you. And maybe I can help him along. Want me to try to talk to him?”

“I don’t want to put you in the middle.”

Jamie grinned at her crookedly. “Sweetheart, you put me in the middle from day one.”

That made her smile. “So I did.”

“Anyway, I don’t mind having a reason to tell Mick he’s an idiot.”

She shook her head. “You boys.”

“Don’t let him catch you calling him that.”

“As if. So, tell me what’s been going on with you. I don’t mean to make this all about me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Nothing much has been happening, anyway. Except . . .”

“Except what?”

“You know . . . Summer Grace stopped by the shop yesterday.”

“Did she?”

He nodded. “I was out, so I didn’t see her. She didn’t tell any of the guys what she wanted.”

“Maybe her car needs work? Or maybe you should give her a chance, Jamie.”

“And maybe you should have your head examined. You know damn well why that’s not going to happen.”

“Another case of stupid man, maybe,” she muttered into her coffee. “Must be an epidemic.”

He picked up his cup before responding to her barb. “You seem to be feeling better.”

“You’re just doing a good job of distracting me.” But she reached for the bag and extracted a beignet, bit into it and chewed as she leaned back in her chair. “These are still pretty damn good even after they’re cold.”

“Have as many as you want. I ate mine on the way over.”

“I didn’t think that white powder meant you’d developed a cocaine problem.”

Jamie wiped at his chin and she laughed.

“You are feeling better.”

“I’ll really feel better when Mick calls me and apologizes for being an ass. And follows it up by being appropriately attentive and actually working toward something with me.”

And by “appropriately attentive” she meant more than just great sex.

“He will. He’s never forgotten about you. I don’t think he can, no matter how checked out he’s been lately. It’s part of him transitioning into this. It’s a lot to accept all at once after the years he’s put into being stubborn when it comes to you.”