How I'd write the next Nashville chapter for Layla after Jeff's death.

"You can do this," she mumbled to herself. Breathe in, breathe out. Put one foot in front of the other. Layla Grant straightened her leather jacket and walked down the corridor at Highway 65. Today marked 42 days since Jeff left her with nothing but a gaping hole deep inside of her. Endless and aching, nothing would or could ever fill that hole. When he died, part of her had died, too, and there was no coming back from that. Ever.

Even so, the world continued on, despite her never ending desire to crawl into bed and never get out. She just wanted to sleep so she wouldn't feel the pain, the heaviness, maybe even hoping to slip away to wherever he was now. But despite her unending path in the lost forests of grief, the fact that Jeff wouldn't want to see her like this pushed her forward when she couldn't gather the strength to think, much less move. It pulled her from the tangle of sheets, dragged her to shower, forced food that felt like lumps of lead down her throat.

She'd known him better than anyone had ever known Jeff Fordham. She knew how wonderful he could be, and how downright awful, too. She didn't doubt his love for her, even if others had. She also didn't doubt his love for himself. No one that loved themselves would take their own life. And maybe no one wanted to believe her, but she hoped she could figure out a way to prove to the rest of the world that he didn't kill himself. To clear all thoughts from everyone's minds that he would do something like that.

Calls to his sister and parents went unanswered. She still smoldered inside that they wouldn't even tell her when the funeral was, or where he was buried. It made the whole thing feel so unsettled, and it gave her no closure, nothing to help her heal. To make matter worse, the Atlanta police wouldn't tell her anything about his death since she wasn't family. She wanted to shout at them, "I was more of a family to him than that group of people with ice in their veins that share his name!" But she just swallowed the words and hung up the phone, and back to the bed she would go. To cry. To wallow. To think. To grieve.

She thought going back to Connecticut for a couple of weeks, to get out of Nashville and away from the memories that haunted every nook of her house, would help. But no. It only made it worse to be away from the familiar with a family still pissed at her about so many of her life choices.

And now, here she was today, the day she'd finally come in to talk to Rayna about her album. Jeff would have probably smacked her by now if he could. So much buzz had hit the internet about the song she'd wrote for him and performed at Luke's concert, and she hadn't returned calls, talked to Rayna, found a new manager, nothing. He'd be so pissed that she hadn't capitalized on the publicity.

"Layla," Rayna's soothing voice washed over her. She stood from her desk and came over to wrap Layla in a comforting hug.

"I'm sorry that I've been MIA for so long," Layla whispered, her throat still gravelly from screaming in the shower that morning when the memory of the last time they'd made love had assaulted her without warning. She hadn't known in Atlanta, when Jeff finally got back from handling the press for Juliette, barely enough time to get ready for Luke's party that evening, that when she surprised him in the shower, hopping in and kissing him wildly before he had a chance to protest the time they did not have, that it would be the last time she'd feel his skin against hers. His hands all over her like he could never get enough.

"Honey, we understand. We don't have to get back to work on your album until you're ready. If you need more time-"

"No, I'm ready to finish the album. I need to get back to work, and try to find something of a normal life again," she told Rayna.

"We can book the studio to finish up those last few tracks as soon as possible. Layla, have you...thought about hiring a new manager yet?" Rayna tried to broach the subject carefully.

"I don't want to replace him," Layla said softly, tears rimming her eyes, "but he wasn't going to be my manager anymore anyway, and I was going to contact Glenn. I just haven't yet," she admitted.

"I think that's a great choice. How bout we call him right now together?" Rayna said, sitting Layla down in a chair and gesturing for an assistant to get her a bottle of water.

Layla nodded.

Twenty minutes later with a new manager and a studio session time booked for the next day, Layla left the Highway 65 office. The sky was overcast and a biting December wind blasted her cheeks as she headed to her car. She should feel at least a little better, right? Instead, all she wanted to do was throw up. Before she could make it to her car, she found the nearest shrub and emptied the minimal contents of her stomach behind it, praying no one witnessed her embarrassing display.

"Layla? You alright?"

Still shuddering, cheeks wet with tears, and huddled over, she recognized the concerned male voice a few feet behind her. The voice and the man played a huge part in the murky memories of those first and most darkest days. She straightened and turned to face him, trying to gather whatever dignity she could.

"I'm fine, Luke. Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess," she said.

Luke stepped over to her and put a firm arm around her shoulders. She remembered the scent of his cologne from the hour she spent crying in his arms on that dreaded flight back to Nashville, leaving Jeff's side forever. The memories were too much after all the energy she'd spent this morning, and she hung her head in defeat.

"Let me take you home, Layla. I don't think you need to be driving," Luke said, more of a command than an offer.

She managed a nod of agreement, thankful for someone to take charge, take care of her. For the first few seconds in 42 days, she didn't feel quite so lost.

"Give me your keys and I'll get my assistant to take your car home later. I was headed in to see Rayna about something, but it can wait," Luke explained as he guided her to his glossy black SUV. He opened the door for Layla and helped her onto the seat. His hands were gentle, his movements quiet.

They rode in silence for several minutes before Luke spoke up again. Layla didn't understand his need to keep talking. She was perfectly fine with the quiet.

"You know, you're not alone in your grief. Jeff was my friend, and I had a lot of respect for him. I saw the good in him, just like you did," he said.

"That means more than you know, Luke. Because I do feel so...alone," she sighed. "Everyone keeps talking about helping me through this, being here to support me, but none of them cared about Jeff. I'm sure they didn't want him to die, but his death didn't affect them, so they don't know how I feel. It's nice to know someone understands a little bit."

Luke reached over and placed his hand reassuringly over hers. "If you ever need to talk, Layla, please call me. You shouldn't go through this by yourself."

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of her house and Luke got out and walked her to her door, despite her telling him he didn't have to do that.

"Well, thanks again for the ride home," she said, stepping inside. He hesitated outside the door, reminding her of another man that stood outside her front door with his heart in his hands on more than one occasion. Her heart constricted. This was too much.

As she went to shut the door, Luke stopped it and reached down to pull her into an embrace. Layla stood there like a stone statue in his arms, so lost, unable to follow what was going on. "Layla, I'm so so sorry, you just don't know," he said, words tense and guilty. He clung to her, and she could feel the torture rolling off of him. Her arms responded, wrapping around him. She may not understand the root, but she understood the pain. The savage gnawing that seemed to radiate from deep within his soul that had something to do with Jeff and with her.

She closed her eyes and gave instead of received comfort. It felt nice to be needed and not pitied for being the stupid, naive girl in love with her dead manager. For her pain to be validated. So when Luke kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then found her lips, her clouded brain didn't stand a chance. Vulnerability and a desperate need to fill that empty ache tugged him inside, headed for the bedroom. But one glance at her bed, the bed she'd shared with her love, and she shook her head, trying to clear away the fuzziness.

"No, stop, no," she whimpered, pressing her hands against his chest. He stepped away from her, looking as shocked and confused as she felt.

"I'm so sorry, Layla. I don't know what got into me. That shouldn't have happened," Luke said as he caught his breath. She heard sincerity, she hoped she did anyway.

"Just leave. Please leave," she said, catching her own breath. She was the one that was sorry. How could she do this to Jeff? To his memory and all that he'd meant to her?

Luke stood there, hesitating before hurrying out the door with a decisive nod.

Layla ran to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. "Jeff, I'm so sorry," she whispered to the empty room, her head swimming, sick to her stomach with betrayal.

"Thanks guys. I think it went pretty great today, and thanks for being available again on such short notice, Glenn," Layla said as she gathered her jacket and bag at the studio two days later. She even managed something sort of like a smile, the facial movement feeling foreign.

"Hey, no problem, Layla. I'm here for you anytime you need it," Glenn replied, patting her shoulder. Glenn was such a nice guy, how could anyone not enjoy having him as a manager? For a fleeting second, she remembered asking Jeff to be her manager, and the sex that followed immediately after he'd agreed. It was their favorite way to celebrate, after all. That was one thing she wouldn't be worried about with Glenn. Definitely no line blurring there.

Leaving the lounge, she practically ran into none other than Luke Wheeler in the studio corridor and there was no avoiding him.

"Um, hi, Luke," she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes as he steadied her.

"Are you recording here today?" Luke asked her, not letting her run away like she really wanted.

"I was, but we've just wrapped until tomorrow. I've got to get my album finished."

"I hope you're including that song from the tribute. I've never heard anything more beautiful," he told her.

"I am." She didn't add how hard it was for her to do that. To share her pain, have the wound ripped open every time she sang those words.

"Layla, I really think we need to talk," Luke said, cutting to the chase.

"I'm sure you do think that, but I assure you, we don't. Just forget what happened. Please," she begged, hurrying around him and to the elevator.

"I can't do that. And I don't think you can either," he said once he'd caught up to her.

The elevator opened and they both stepped inside its private quarters.

"Luke, Jeff was your friend. I know it hurt you that he died, and you get my pain more than anyone else does, but you don't fully understand what I'm going through. We weren't just casually dating- we were moving in together. He was the love of my life, and he's dead. Everything's over for me. I don't want anyone but him, and he's gone. Cruelly ripped from the world. I'm sorry I kissed you the other day- I was weak and tired and sick. I wasn't in my right mind."

"Layla," Luke stepped close to her. At least she didn't feel threatened. "You're right, there's no way I can comprehend how you must feel. And I'm sorry that in my own...sadness, I took advantage of your vulnerability. That was awful of me. That's all I wanted to say. I'm truly sorry," he said, hanging his head.

"We're both in a weird place. Don't beat yourself up, I'm doing enough of that for both of us," she said.

"You know, all weirdness and sadness aside, Jeff would want you to be happy. Just like you'd want him to be happy if the roles were reversed."

"I wouldn't have done this to him!" Layla shouted.

"Do you really believe he did this to himself?" Luke asked.

"No...I don't. But I can't figure out what happened, and no one will talk to me about it."

"I'm...I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you can get some answers," he said as the elevator doors opened to the main floor.

Back at home, Layla changed into a pair of sleep pants and a tank top, and made herself a cup of tea, settling in to listen to a couple of artists she'd been wanting to hear from her label. It was the first night she'd decided to do something other than lie in her bed, touching Jeff's pillow she hadn't washed since he'd last slept on it, crying until no more tears would come and sleep tugged at her eyes.

The bluesy rock sound of Marcus Keen filled her ears. She loved his voice, the music, everything was perfect, but the lyrics about lost love were too much to take. She shut the laptop and flung her headphones off.

Jeff had never said he loved her. The three words that every person wanted, needed, to hear. Did she doubt that he'd loved her? No, she didn't. But he'd never said it, and she hadn't either, not to him anyway. She'd wanted him to say it first. Maybe he'd been waiting for her to say it? God, she wished she'd said it now. Even if he'd never say it back.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. Maybe Will was stopping by to check on her. He usually did once or twice a week, and even though she knew she was useless company, she appreciated it.

She padded in her fuzzy socks to the front door and swung it open. It wasn't Will.

"What are you doing here?" she cried in exasperation.

"I'm too worried about you to leave you alone, Layla," Luke explained as he stood on her doorstep.

"I'm not your problem. You don't have to worry about me. You don't owe me anything so stop acting like you do." She crossed her arms.

"Can I come in so we can talk?"

She rolled her eyes, but moved out of the way and gestured for him to step inside.

"I don't know or care what you have to say."

"Layla, I want to be here for you. I don't think you believe me when I say I really do care."

"What reason do you have to care? I know you appreciated Jeff, we established that. But we kissed, and there was every intention for something beyond that to happen if I hadn't stopped. That doesn't seem right to me."

"I can't stop thinking about you, and about what you're going through. You've been on my mind since everything happened, but seeing you so sick at Rayna's office the other day just tore me in two. Besides the fact that I do truly care about you, I feel like I owe it to Jeff to make sure you're alright. He loved you, Layla. If no one else saw that, at least I did. Jeff Fordham before Layla Grant was in his life was a cold-hearted bastard that cared for no one but himself, but when I saw you two together that night at the party, there was a light in his eyes and a smile on his face I'd never seen before."

"Thank you, Luke. That means so much for you to say that- I really needed to hear it" she said, softening. "Can I get you something to drink? Jeff loved whiskey, and I think there's some left in the cabinet."

"Sure, I'll take a glass. I'll even pour it myself. You sit down and relax. Do you want me to get you something?"

She shook her head and watched as Luke Wheeler, country superstar, made himself at home in her tiny old house. He must feel really bad to leave his huge, comfortable mansion and trek across town to her "dingy ass apartment." Jeff had complained so much about this place, but he was always here. Up until those last couple of months when they'd started to spend more time at his house. That would have also been her house. If he hadn't died.

"I would have married him," she said out loud.

Luke paused in the doorway of the kitchen. "Marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Don't I know it, Luke? I was married to someone that turned out to be gay. I don't think it's possible to feel more fooled than I did."

"You think being jilted on your wedding day and the entire thing being spread across the tabloids is a walk in the park?"

"I guess not. I was just thinking about what would've happened if he hadn't died. I do that a lot."

"Layla, I suppose you two would've gotten hitched. He was a different person with you. The Jeff I knew would've never asked just anyone to move in with him. That's serious. More so for him than anyone else."

"That's what I have to believe. Since he never told me he loved me," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Luke lightly touched her cheek before tilting her chin up. "Layla, he loved you. Don't ever doubt it. How could he not love you?"

This time, when he kissed her, she let him kiss away the pain, the ache. She didn't stop him. She let him kiss her until she couldn't think anymore. Until the tangle of their bodies on the couch and the race of her heart left no space, no feelings, nothing but the purely physical need he fulfilled. She wasn't thinking with her mind or with her heart, just her body. For the first time in her limited love life, she understood how one night stands could mean so little.

But an hour later, when she woke on the couch, the warmth of Luke's body beside her, she barely made it to the toilet before violently throwing up. What had she done? Why did she do it? It hadn't even been two months and she was sleeping with someone else?

Her stomach empty, she laid her head on the cold bathtub ledge as tears soaked her cheeks and dripped onto the tile.

"Layla? Are you okay?" Luke's whisper sounded loud and jarring in the silent, echoing bathroom. He flicked on the light and Layla glanced his way, seeing that he'd tossed his boxers back on. She must look quite the sight- naked and leaning against the bathtub, crying her eyes out after sleeping with him.

"No, I'm not," her voice quivered. Luke came over and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to her bed and tucked her into the covers. He wiped her face with a cool cloth and kissed her forehead.

"You don't have to be alright. You don't have to have everything figured out, but I'm here for you and I'm not leaving. Sleep well, I'll be on the couch," he said quietly, lightly touching her cheek before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and closing the doors behind him.

Despite the tumble of thoughts that she was sure would keep her up and racked with guilt all night, a heavy mantle of sleep fell on her nearly immediately. When she woke the next morning, the clock beside her bed showed that it was nearing eleven. She'd slept half the day away and still felt like she could sleep more!

She saw the note sitting on her bedside table and for a split second, she'd forgotten all the terrible turmoil, and she was back to a couple of months ago when Jeff left a note when he'd had to leave earlier than he'd expected to head on the road again with Juliette. But that wasn't the case and it all came flooding back to her. In a ridiculous attempt to mask over her pain, she'd slept with Luke last night.

She picked up the note.

Layla,

I didn't want to wake you, but I had to head to an appearance this morning, and I'm heading back out on the road tomorrow morning. I'd really like to see you tonight. We need to talk about what's happening.

Luke

"Nothing is happening, Luke!" she shouted to no one. Did he not understand that she no longer had a heart to give away? It was buried somewhere in New York in a cemetery she vowed to find one day soon. What was Luke's angle? Why was he seemingly so obsessed with her all of a sudden? And why, oh why, had she gone and slept with him?

Layla got up and hopped into the shower, deciding the best course of action was to avoid him altogether. He was going out on tour and maybe he'd just forget about what happened last night if she put some distance between them. God knows, she wanted to forget.