“That would be the one,” he says cheerfully. “So get your ass over here so we can celebrate.”

My mouth turns downward. “I can’t. I’m in Wyoming, getting ready to get married. I told you this last night.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” He sighs. “Well, hurry and get that taken care of so you can get back here and celebrate. You leave in just a few weeks anyway and we have to finish recording.”

Shit. “Yeah… I’m not sure I can go.”

“What the hell do you mean, you’re not sure you can go!” he exclaims. “We’ve been trying to get you on this tour for months.”

“I know that,” I tell him. “But I didn’t really think it was going to happen, and now I’ve got stuff going on.”

“Well, it did and you’re going,” Mike says sternly.

“Look, I’m not saying I won’t. I’m just saying that I need to talk to Ella first. She needs to be okay with my being gone for that long.”

“And what if she says she’s not?” he asks, astounded. “Then what?”

“Then I won’t go.” It hurts to say it, but it’s the truth. She’s more important to me than anything, and if she doesn’t want me to be gone during our first few months of marriage then I won’t. It’s that simple.

Music starts playing from inside the house and I quickly slip the metal ring on my ring finger, which will hopefully alleviate some of Ella’s worry. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you in a week when I get back in town.”

“You better not say no,” he grumbles and I hang up the phone before he starts ranting, something he does a lot.

Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I go back inside the house, wondering how Ella is going to react to the news. I can see her pretending like she’s okay with it but deep down not really wanting me to go. She hides her feelings well so if I’m going to do this I need to make sure she’s completely and utterly okay with it. Any doubt and I’ll stay. Besides, as much fun as the tour would be, our little life in San Diego is good and why ruin a good thing?

Because being part of this tour is my dream.

Frowning at the thought, I shut the back door behind me as I step inside the kitchen. Ethan is sitting on the table, drinking from a red plastic cup and Lila is laughing at something he says while she pours herself a drink over at the counter. There’s another couple chatting in front of the kitchen sink. I used to go to school with them, but I can’t remember their names. I wave to them when they say “what’s up” and then I head for the living room.

“Bottoms up.” Ethan lifts his cup as I pass by him, toasting to something, and then he throws his head back and guzzles the drink.

“Are you wasted already?” I ask. “Because you’re supposed to play the drums in, like, ten minutes or so.”

“Nah,” he says, but his bloodshot eyes suggest otherwise. “I’ve got this. Besides, I can play the drums when I’m drunk perfectly fine.”

“Micha, do you want me to make you a drink or pour you a shot?” Lila calls out with a bottle of orange juice in her hand.

“No, thanks,” I tell her, scooping up a beer from the cooler near the doorway. “I have to stick to beer.”

She nods knowingly as she sets the juice down on the counter beside the row of vodka, tequila, and Bacardi bottles and a stack of plastic cups. Ever since Ella called me out on my asshole drunken behavior about a year ago, I take it easier on getting trashed, usually sticking to only a few beers. It was hard at first, but now it’s comfortable.

I pop the top off as I stroll into the cigarette-smoke-filled living room, letting the wonderfully potent smoke settle in my lungs. Even a couple of years after kicking the habit, minus a few slipups, it still gets my mouth watering.

Earlier, Ethan and I shoved the couches aside to make room for his drums, which we picked up from his house during our drive back from the grocery store. My old guitar is leaning against a taped together microphone stand. There’s also an amp and a bass guitar in the corner beside a small plastic Christmas tree decorated with red and sliver ornaments and tinsel. I haven’t figured out who’s going to play the bass yet, but I put it up there just in case. I know a lot of people who play the bass and it’d be nice to have a good sound even if it’s just a party. I sort of feel like I’m saying good-bye in a way because in a few days I’ll be married, my life with Ella will finally start, and this life can hopefully become a memory of everything we shared that got us to that point.

I start to go over to my guitar when I spot Ella sitting on the back of the sofa with a red plastic cup in her hand. A tall, scraggily looking guy whose name I think is Brody is standing in front of the sofa, staring at her legs and cleavage while yammering about something. I walk over to her and hop up on the back of the sofa beside her. Then I drape my arm around her shoulder. I know I’m being territorial and I know she’d never do anything with anyone but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to let some guy look at her like he could eat her up. He’s lucky I don’t punch him. Ella’s mine and he needs to walk the fuck away.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Ella asks me as Brody gives me an uneasy look and then walks away without saying a word.

“To get this,” I reply, holding up my fingers.

She takes my hand and runs her finger over the metal ring. “Did you seriously put an O-ring on your ring finger?”

I dazzle her with my most charming smile, the one I know makes her stomach somersault. “Now everyone knows I’m taken.”

She takes a sip of her drink and then licks her lips. “Such a shame. I was looking forward to kicking all the girls’ asses who hit on you tonight.”

“I bet you were,” I mumble as I lean forward and lick a drop of alcohol off her lip. “Bacardi, huh?”

She shrugs and angles her head back to take a large swallow. “I thought I’d have fun tonight. Get a little drunk.”

I eye her over warily. “I’m not sure I like that. Drunk Ella can sometimes be mean. And horny.”

“Hey.” She restrains a smile as her hand clamps down on my thigh, squeezing hard. “I’m not a mean drunk.”

I waver as I sip my beer. “I can remember a certain tantrum over a lost poker game. One where you drunkenly threw a chip at me.”

She narrows her eyes. “Only because you were being smug.”

“Smug because I won and got to see you naked.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get drunk enough tonight that you can see me naked. Just as long as you quit saying I’m a mean drunk.” She hops off the couch and my arm falls from her shoulder. “And by the way, you can be the same way when you get drunk.”

“What way?”

“Horny and mean.”

I raise my beer up and point a finger at it. “That’s why I’m sticking to these.” I slide my feet off the couch and stand up. “So what song do you want me to play tonight?”

She taps her finger against her lip and there’s a playful look in her green eyes. She’s already buzzed, which means I’m going to have my hands full tonight. “How about the one tattooed on your ribs? The one you said you wrote for me but I’ve never heard you play before?”

I automatically touch the side of my rib where the tattoo of the lyrics is hidden underneath the fabric of my shirt. “I’ve never sung that one out loud for anyone. And I’m not ready to.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” I pick at the damp beer label. “Because I wrote it for you.”

“Okay…” She frowns, confused. “Then play it for me now.”

I glance at the room packed with rowdy and drunk people. “I don’t think I can right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s personal.” Because it means so much to me and the last thing I want to do is sing it to a room full people when I haven’t even sung it to her. Besides, I’m a little nervous to sing it for her because it’s intense.

She gives me the most lost look and I sigh, because I know I’m acting strange. “It’s just that when I wrote it, the lyrics kind of threw me off because it was the first time… that I realized I thought of you… like that.”