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“What you have, it’s what we all want,” Cole told him, and it was true. Despite what most of his romantic life suggested, Cole didn’t actually want to keep settling for brief moments of happiness perched between long stretches of heartache and loneliness. “And nobody deserves it more than you.”
After another bone-cracking hug, Mad looked him dead in the eye, and said, “Wealldeserve it.”
Cole nodded, wanting to believe him.
“Get some rest,” Mad said. Then, on his way to the door, he added, “And since I know from experience that waking you up is like trying to reanimate the dead, do you want me to set an alarm for yourappointmenttoo?”
Slowly, giving Mad the most innocent smile he could muster, Cole extended the middle finger of his right hand, earning a laugh before Madigan closed the door behind him with asnick.
CHAPTERFOUR
MIRA
Mira usually satin her car and updated Glazed and Confused’s QuickBooks during Ian’s piano lessons. Today, however, completely shirking her financial responsibilities, she’d spent the entire hour stalking Cole Sanderson’s Instagram. Cole charismatic-punk-drummer-for-90s-grunge-band-the-Makers Sanderson. Cole Seattle’s-most-eligible-bisexual-bachelor-over-fifty Sanderson. Cole plays-drums-on-his-YouTube-with-kids-all-over-the-country-to-fundraise-for-music-programs-in-public-schools Sanderson. ColeI-can-still-feel-your-hand-wrapped-around-my-ponytailSanderson—
“Wasn’t that our exit?”
“Shit!” Mira slammed on the brakes, the tires on her Honda Element squealing as she made the exit to Red Falls by the skin of her teeth.
“Language, Mother,” Ian reprimanded in a bored monotone.
Setting her jaw, she cut her eyes to her son.Mother.It was new, the designation. And she hated it. “How’d your lesson go?”
“Fine.”
“That’s good.”
“It is good,” he agreed, raising his phone to take a weird closeup of his face to snap to his friends.
“Really good,” she said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
“What’s with you?” He scowled at her. “You’re all…fidgety.”
Turning right onto Main Street, she said, “I have a call with someone in”—she checked the dashboard clock, her nerves accelerating faster than the car—“fifteen minutes.”
“A call?”
“An important call,” she clarified, stopping at one of the two traffic lights in town.
“With whom is this important call?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s with, uh, a man.”
“A man?”
“Yes.”
“A human man?”
“As far as I know.”
Ian’s brows slid together. “Do I know this man?”
Pausing at the stop sign, rolling through it because the streets were empty, she said, “You might, actually. He’s a musician. Cole Sanderson. Have you heard of him?”
“He was the drummer for Madigan’s band, right? The Breakers, or something?”
“Makers.” She turned into the narrow gravel alley behind Glazed and Confused.
