Page 9 of For One Night Only

“Atta girl.” He pats my shoulder and leads the way.

Wade is kind enough to grab my suitcase while I gather my backpack and guitars to head up the walk. It’s a cute place—a white beach house with peachy-pink trim—and there’s a neat assortment of plants in lieu of a front yard. Jane, of course, made sure the place was environmentally friendly. The sun is still out, the ocean crashes in the distance, and there’s a salty breeze on the early-evening air.

Still, I wonder if I should have just stayed at my place as I press the doorbell. But Wade had suggested we all crash together for “team bonding,” and by Keeley’s chilly expression when she answers the door, I think I’m going to need all the bonding I can get.

I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. She’s chopped her once-long blond hair short so it barely reaches her chin, and now she has the septum piercing she always wanted to go with her ears, which were nearly covered with jewelry the last time I saw her. Instead of drowning herself in an oversized hoodie or flannel like she would have before, she’s rocking chic linen pants and a tight black tube top that shows off her muscular arms. Even her eyes are an unfamiliar icicle cold.

“You’re late,” she says.

I swallow back my defense. “I know. Meeting went late, and then traffic.”

Keeley rolls her eyes. “I cannot believe Caleb got a personal invitation to this shindig, and you haven’t even called me, asshole,” she says, her almost-six-foot frame towering over me even though I’m the one in heels. I flinch, but she pulls me in for a massive hug.

Thank god.

When Keeley releases me, Jane steps out from behind her to usher us inside.

Jane pulls me into a hug of her own. “It really is good to see you,” she whispers, and that’s that—no guilt trips, no criticisms. As she gives me one last squeeze, I’m comforted by her familiar vanilla scent, from the perfume that Keeley used to complain about on long bus trips. Fortunately, there’s no ire in Jane’s eyes when she pulls back to look at me. She looks the same, her copper-red curls falling in a ponytail over one shoulder, her makeup so minimal her smudge of freckles is visible, and she’s wearing one of her signature flowing minidresses in a sunshine yellow.

She moves to hug Wade, and I take a peek around. The house is soJaneI want to cry. The walls are painted a soft sage green above creamy-white wainscotting; maple hardwood floors shine in the spots they’re not covered in woven, colorful rugs; and there are plants everywhere, from the monstera in the corner to the pothos on the mantel to the philodendron hanging by a reading nook nestled by two paperback-laden shelves.It’s part boho, part cottagecore, and 100 percent comforting. Jane always took care of all of us, and it seems right that this place would feel more like home after less than a minute than my own stark apartment.

Of course Jane notices my curiosity, because she offers Wade and me a tour, but I wave her off as I hear familiar voices in the kitchen. Best not to put this off any longer.

The kitchen is just as inviting as the rest of the house, with potted herbs in the window behind the sink, and Le Creuset in deep blue and sunshine yellow on display above white painted cabinets.

“Hey, Val,” Riker says. His back is turned to me, since he’s using his considerable height to dig around through clinking bottles in the highest cabinets. Even though it’s June, he’s wearing a crewneck, and a beanie covers the unruly brown hair that now falls past his shoulders.

“Hi,” I say.

Caleb nods in my direction, but that’s all the greeting I get as I stand next to him at the counter. His outfit is so familiar it hurts—soft joggers and a faded Blondie tee from his old collection. I lean my elbows against the surface and fold my hands, adopting the most casual pose I can as I smile his way. Maybe if I can just act normal, we canbenormal.

“Where’s Sebastian Bark?” I ask, desperate for him to say something, anything that will indicate normal is possible.

This at least earns me a grin. “I could have brought him down—dude actually loves airplanes—but I didn’t think it’d be fair to make him stay at a hotel for the summer. Cameron and Leah have a border collie he’s in love with, so I dropped him off at their house this morning. My sister-in-law will spoil him rotten and keep up the Instagram while I’m gone.”

I smile. “That’s great.”

“Least you could have done is brought adog, Caleb. This band always needed a mascot. What are you even contributing?” Keeley says from where she’s slipped in behind me. She leans back, one foot against the light blue tiled wall, folding her arms as if she’s bored of us already.

I stiffen, worried how he’ll react to her jabs after all this time, but Caleb just laughs. “I’m sorry!”

“Fine, I’m ordering pizza,” Keeley says, moving on quickly. None of us were ever picky about food, so she orders from her phone without asking anyone what they want, the way she always has. It’s like she fell into old habits without thinking. Some things never change.

Maybe that’s a good sign, but it gives me a flash of irritation. I would have liked to look at the menu before she put in the order.

“Yes, I found booze!” Riker says, beaming with a huge bottle of wine in one hand.

“You found screw-top rosé, dude. That’s not booze, that’s a juice box,” Keeley says. “Jane, please, I’m begging. Tell me this wine is not yours.”

Jane groans from where she’s showing Wade the back porch, calling through the screen. “I think it’s left over from my cousins. We can find something better or make a grocery run.”

Riker holds it high like a trophy. “No way, I love this brand.”

Keeley sighs. “You have the palate of a Christian influencer in their ‘edgy wine phase.’ ”

“Laugh all you want, but when I drink, I want it to taste good. But go on pretending to like whiskey or IPAs or whatever fancy shit you’re all drinking,” Riker says smugly, twisting open the cap and taking a swig right from the bottle. “This is delicious.”

“I kind of love IPAs,” Caleb says.

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