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cosmos.
    You’re less than nothing.
    I sat up and pondered this, pulling my legs up into a tight tuck, my stocking feet chilling in the night air. Charlotte’s heels were on the ground next to me, waiting. Just waiting.
    So if I’m less than nothing, why do I feel like there’s no present, no future, and like the past is so confusing I don’t even want to think about it?
    The music’s done. That means the band is breaking everything down, which means Sam will be done soon. The man I live with. The man who just decided not to sing me a song he wro te for me, not give me a ring he bought for me, not ask me the most important question in the world.
    I flopped back down on my back. Staring at stars and feeling infinitesimal was so much easier than facing real life.
    The bracing sound of metal crunching against metal made me sit up. And then:
    Sam.
    Carrying a tiny guitar case.
    He didn’t say a word, which didn’t surprise me, because Sam’s attitude about life was that words just made everything harder. Quietly, he sat down on the chaise lounge across from me and stared up at the stars for longer than he had any right to.
    After what felt like a decade in Hell, he turned to me with those soulful eyes and said, “I’m sorry.”
    I winced. “For what? I’m not the one you punched.”
    He let out a long, slow breath and rested his elbows on his knees, giving me a long look. “Then why do you look like I did?”
    One breath. Two breaths. Three. Four. Each one made me feel closer to him and to the stars, the impossibility of being both a new reality I had to adjust to. “Why did you punch him?”
    “Because he had his hands all over you. Like he owned you.”
    “He made a mistake! He thought I was Charlotte. It’s understandable.”
    “I know,” Sam said softly, but his voice was taut. “But I can’t erase the image of his hands all over you. Like he owned you.”
    “No one owns me.”
    A few heartbeats passed, the silence building between us, making my pulse race.
    “ Especially not him,” Sam finally said.  
    “Why are you so fixated on Liam?” I exploded, jumping to my feet, shocked by the cold concrete. “Because I slept with him all those years ago?”
    Sam flinched but said nothing.
    “That’s it? Any other guy could have grabbed me like that—Joe or Trevor—and you wouldn’t be so angry, would you?”
    Sam just grunted.
    “I’m right, aren’t I?”
    Finally: “Yes.”
    “Sam,” I groaned, marching to him and bending down, on my knees and looking into that face. My fingers traces the lines of his strong bones, the planes of his cheek, the stubble that sounded like sandpaper as I brushed against it. “He may have been my first, but you will be my last .”

Sam
    My last.
    Words. Too many words in my head, on my tongue, jumbled and frantic. Amy leaned over, her hand on my face, her cleavage on full display, breasts dangling in her bra cups like sweet berries begging to be picked.  
    With my mouth.
    Damn it. Hard again. Why couldn’t I spend one second around her without being so incredibly aroused? When would I stop wanting her every second we were together, stop breathing her in like she was oxygen, stop being captivated by her smile, lured in by those eyes.
    Never , a voice in my head said. How does never work for you, Sam?  
    “I—” The ukelele was in my hand, gripped unconsciously like a life raft. I peeled my aching fingers off it and stared dumbly. All those lyrics, the chords they guys taught me, my gnarled fingers struggling to move fast enough, timing my singing with my fingers. Playing drums was a fucking breeze compared to the damn ukelele, but you couldn’t get a good melody out of a high hat.  
    “What’s that?” Amy asked, one side of her mouth crooked up in a smile. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red, and my heart sank. She’d been crying. Of course she had.
    Because of me.
    “ Ukelele.”  
    “I know what it is, Sam Hinton.” Her voice was filled