Page 32 of What Happened Last Night

When we had strolled the length of the second table, she asked me, “Did you do anything like this in New York?”

“Never,” I answered. “In New York, I worked. All the time.”

She gave me a thoughtful look.

“What?” I asked.

She shrugged and headed for the racks of clothes. “I figured out a few things when we went on the tour. I think I understand you better now.”

I felt hot and cold on the back of my neck. What the hell did that mean? I didn’t have any secrets from Luna, except for one. Had she figured out that I now spent all of my time with her imagining running my hands over her back, or kissing the side of her neck? Did she know that I thought about her when I was in bed at night and when I did my daily jerkoff in the shower? Had I said or done something inappropriate?

She couldn’t quit. I needed her too badly, and not just for the work she did. My days would be flat if they didn’t include her. I’d lose so much that I looked forward to every day.

I fought to keep my voice calm. “I don’t know what that means.”

She slid hangers on a rack, not looking at me, unaware of my panic. “I shouldn’t say anything.” She paused, obviously deciding to speak anyway. “It seems like a puzzle, that you’d leave your life in New York to manage a rock band. Because rock bands don’t make money.” She glanced at me. “People look at you, Will, and they see money. Sometimes, that’s all they see.”

I had gone very still, listening to her. My mouth was dry.

She turned back to the rack of clothes. “Stone is your brother,” she continued, “and he doesn’t care about money. Neither do the rest of the band. I think they see you like no one else in your life ever has. The band wants to make a living—everyone does—but they want meaning beyond how much they can make. That’s what you see in them. That’s what they see in you.” She glanced at me and winced. “I’m not saying it very well, and I’m probably wrong. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

“You’re not wrong,” I said. I ran my hand down a suit jacket, worn by some long-ago businessman. “My parents are both corporate lawyers. They adopted me because they couldn’t conceive. They gave me safety, stability, a good home. I went to good schools. We had vacations together. They work long hours, but they’re good parents. Good people.” I dropped my gaze to the jacket. “They worried about how quiet I was. They worried about depression, anxiety. They sent me to therapy. They were concerned that I was alone too much, that I didn’t fit in anywhere, that kids at school tried to beat me up. I’ve always been that kid.”

“Oh, Will,” Luna said.

I shrugged. “When I made my first million, they were overjoyed. That was success in their eyes. They’d done it—they’d adopted a child who would never have made it, and they’d raised a success. I liked that they felt that way about me. I wanted to earn it. I didn’t think I deserved it otherwise.”

I paused. Luna had gone still, listening.

“So I made more money,” I continued, “and more. It was the way I got their approval—everyone’s approval. I was a big success, so no one worried about depression and anxiety. I thought that was what I wanted, and I didn’t question it. Then Lizbeth came along.”

Did Luna lean in with even more attention? Maybe. I hadn’t explained Lizbeth to her very well. I hadn’t thought she cared.

“I met Lizbeth at a party,” I said. “She comes from a wealthy family, and she was expected to marry rich. I fit her bill. She chose me. She zeroed in, and the next thing I knew, we were dating. I barely remember agreeing to it, to be honest. But once it happened, it was convenient for me, too. Lizbeth didn’t want my money—she just wanted the appearance of dating someone acceptable. Her presence fended off other women, most of whom were after my money as well. That was exhausting, and having a girlfriend was a relief.” I raised my gaze to hers. “Remember what you said about your boyfriend checking the boxes? I knew how you felt. It was like that.”

Luna crossed her arms. “So what happened?” she asked, because apparently we were going to get into it, right here in this crowded room.

I looked at the ceiling. “Well, let’s see. First, I wouldn’t move in with Lizbeth. Then, everyone—my parents, her parents, everyone we knew—expected me to propose, and I didn’t. We weren’t in love, but getting married is the thing you’re supposed to do after a few years, right? Then you’re supposed to have children, which I couldn’t even think about. She got impatient, and I couldn’t do it. The ring, the engagement—I just couldn’t. I found out about my birth family, and I felt like a different person deep inside, one who couldn’t be Lizbeth’s husband. It wasn’t fair to string her along anymore. So I broke up with her.”

I looked at Luna’s face. It was incredible to me now that I’d dated Lizbeth for so long. We’d gotten along well enough, but what the hell was the point of that? I’d never just get along if I was with someone like Luna. She didn’t check boxes for me. She was completely unique, a part of my life I hadn’t known I needed and never wanted to go without again.

“Why does she still call you?” Luna asked.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Lizbeth has mental health issues,” I explained. “She always has. She gets care for it—therapists, medications. Her family makes sure she has help. But occasionally she’s unregulated, and she calls me. I don’t know why, because she’s not in love with me. But when she calls, I can’t say no, because I let her down. I should have broken it off a long time ago. That’s my fault.”

Luna tilted her chin thoughtfully as she regarded me. “That’s true. But it’s also true that she could have broken up with you and moved on if she wasn’t getting what she wanted.”

I shrugged. “She didn’t. And here we are.”

“Why hasn’t she called in a while?”

“Because I promised to call her regularly and check in, which I’ve been doing.”

She looked serious. “Will. You’ve been calling her? You can’t keep doing that. She’s getting married.”

I thought about that. “You’re right. She has a lot of people who care about her. She’ll be fine without me. I think I’m just an old habit for her at this point.” I lifted the suit from the rack and tilted it toward her. “This guy,” I said, “wore a suit to work every day for thirty years. He spent money on a quality suit and took care of it so that it would last and he wouldn’t have to spend money on a new one. He supported his family in this suit.”

Luna accepted the change of subject. She looked at the suit speculatively, then lifted her chin. “When the kids were old enough, his wife got a job, too,” she said. “She didn’t just stay home.”

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