The small neighborhood market was bustling with people when Emma pushed through the door. A steady drizzle had persisted since the storm the night before, covering her dark blue trench coat in a sheen of moisture that glistened like starlight under the fluorescents. She shook the coat gently to rid it of rainwater, then tucked a wayward lock of windblown hair behind her ear. Frankly, she wouldn't have made this trip if she hadn't been desperate for groceries.

She lifted one of the baskets that the market provided, making a beeline to the produce section. It was no small task, getting through a crowd of people without colliding with anyone, but she managed well enough. She muttered an apology to one woman she happened to graze with her shoulder just before she reached the shelves of apples, offering a half-hearted smile that was received with a dismissive nod.

At least she had bumped into one of the polite ones.

She lifted a blood red apple on instinct, dropping it immediately: Those were Neal's favorite. With a heavy sigh, she moved down the line to the golden apples that capped off the display. She rolled a few apples in her hand, checking them thoroughly before placing apples devoid of bruises and scars into the plastic bag she had taken.

An hour passed as she picked her way through the different fruits, moving on to the aisles of dry goods. She had to backtrack quite a bit, replacing items she had taken mechanically—the cereal that Neal ate every morning before work, or the particular coffee brand that she couldn't stand but he raved about endlessly. The only accidental item she held onto was the beer, as it was one of the few things they had both enjoyed.

Weaving her way through the crowd that milled around the registers, she found her way to the express line; shopping for only herself was lighter, at the very least. Emma kept her eyes cast downward, her mood sinking steadily into depression, struggling to keep her head above water. She placed the six-pack on the counter and frowned, questioning her decision to purchase it at all.

"Good choice," a familiar voice said sadly.

She whirled on it. "Neal?"

"Hey, Em." One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost embarrassed smile. Her heart clenched. "How've you been?"

"Fine," she bit out, steeling herself against the emotions that were welling up. Her jaw set and her eyes became hard as a dam erected itself against the flood of feelings.

"I—" he cut himself off; seemed to reconsider what he was going to say. "I was actually going to call you tonight." She lifted an eyebrow, silently questioning him. "Is it all right if I come by and get the rest of my stuff?"

Her expression faltered. She was a little hurt, though for no ascertainable reason. "Yeah, I guess."

An insistent cough from the cashier reminded Emma where she was, and she spun away from Neal. Apologizing quickly, she rummaged through her purse for her credit card. She swiped it through the machine, scribbling across the screen when prompted. The cashier handed her the receipt, pushing her bags of groceries down the counter so they were more accessible.

With a quick, strained smile for the cashier, she lifted the bags and turned back to Neal. "You remember where the apartment is?"

"Of course," he answered, his face falling into a confused frown.

She nodded, turning on her heel and hurrying for the exit. When she was sure she was out of sight, groceries clutched far too tightly against her chest, she began to feel the anxiety creeping up on her. It had been over a week since she'd had any contact with Neal, and her conversation with Ruby had been a huge step toward moving forward. Now that she had seen him again, though, she was shifting into reverse.

"Emma! Em, wait up!"

She kept walking, heedless of Neal's pleas. His footsteps gradually grew closer, but, even as he came up beside her, she stubbornly kept her eyes on the concrete in front of her. She was sure he tried to speak a time or two, but block after block was traversed without so much as a syllable actually passing his lips.

Too soon—or maybe not soon enough, she couldn't decide—they were in front of her apartment building. She struggled to balance the bags as she reached for her keys, cursing as one nearly slipped from her grasp.

"Here," Neal said, catching the bag and cradling it in his arms alongside his own.

She looked up at him, giving him a nod of thanks; the weight of apprehension in her gut eased a bit, and she gave him a tentative smile.

They climbed the steps up to her apartment, Neal waiting a step below the landing as she unlocked the door to the apartment. She could hear a soft pattering on the carpet before she opened the door.

"You got Henry back from your parents already?" Neal's voice was neutral, but his furrowed brow and slightly crinkled nose showed how he truly felt about the Scottie.

"Yeah, a couple of days ago." Henry nuzzled her ankle, his nose tickling her skin through her jeans. She rounded the dog carefully to head for the kitchen, Neal following close behind. "Want a drink?" she asked, more out of habit than actually wanting to be polite, as she placed her bag on the counter and began unpacking the contents. She looked up at him when he didn't respond immediately, her eyes meeting the warring emotions in his. "What?"

"Uh . . . nothing." He smiled, though his lips seemed tight. "Yeah, I'll take a beer."

"I think they're in the bag you took," she said after a quick glance in her bag.

He put the bags he was holding on the counter beside Emma's, his arm brushing hers when he started to help her unload. They moved around the kitchen together easily; she could feel the dam she had built slowly crumbling beneath the weight of familiarity.

Turning to the refrigerator with the half-gallon of milk she had bought, she saw Neal standing with an open beer in each hand. He handed one to her silently, that strained smile relaxing slightly when she reached, albeit hesitantly, for the bottle. He took the milk from her and put it away while she sipped her beer.

After a moment of silence so thick with tension Emma could feel it pressing down on her, she said, "I'll get your things," and hurried out of the kitchen.

She took a deep breath as she walked to the bedroom, pulling her jacket off and tossing it on the couch as she went. She was struggling to keep her head above water in the flood of emotion that was drowning her. She took a generous swig from her bottle, then a second and third. She kept going until she lost count, the bottle nearly empty.

Setting the bottle on the dresser as she crossed to the closet, she reached up and pulled down the box of photographs, placing it on the floor of the closet where her shoes lined the wall. Her gaze lingered on the framed photograph of Neal and her, askew atop the multitude of loose prints she had planned to turn into a scrapbook. She had long since gotten rid of the pastel green blouse she wore in the photograph, but Neal's black, plaid button up had become a staple of his.

Tearing herself away from staring with an effort, she reached for a larger box that had been settled behind the box of pictures. She could hardly graze it with her fingertips. She shouldn't have shoved it back as far as it would go. She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at the shelf, frustrated by her lack of height.

"Need a hand?"

Neal was leaning in the doorway. His shoulders were stiff, and, when she nodded, he approached her slowly, cautiously. He didn't have his beer with him, and she could only assume that he had been just as hasty to finish it as she had been.

"It's the big one on the right," she said, masking every emotion that wanted to make itself heard in her voice.

Not much taller than Emma, Neal eased the box from the shelf gradually until he had pulled it down and held it between them. "Didn't expect me to come so soon?"

She shook her head, shifting her eyes toward the clothes in the closet. She could hear his sigh before he began to walk away. A gleam of black among the array of color in her closet caught her eye. Removing the hanger that held the garment from the closet, she caressed the shirt—the same plaid shirt Neal had been wearing in the photograph.

"Wait!" she called, pulling herself from her own reverie. He turned to face her just before he crossed into the living room, the box still held in his hands in a white-knuckled grip. She didn't make a move toward him, simply held out the shirt from where she stood in front of the closet. "I must have missed it when I was . . . going through everything."

"I wore that shirt on one of our first dates," he said, and she nodded. Placing the box on her dresser, he came back to stand in front of her. He took the same sleeve she had been playing with, lifting it as if in consideration. Moving to take the hanger, his hand brushed hers. He met her eyes. "I should go. August . . ."

"You're staying with August?" she asked. Emma noticed that his hand lingered against hers. His fingers tangled with hers, and she glanced downward.

"Yeah." The distance between them seemed to be disappearing, and the air left her lungs in a quiet gasp. "Just until I can get a place of my own."

"That's good," she breathed.

Who initiated the kiss she didn't know. All she knew, all she felt, was his lips on hers, a soft caress that burned like the hottest flame. Her heart screamed for this, ached to be close to him just one last time, but her mind sent up flares and blared sirens that said this couldn't end well. Her free hand went to his chest and pushed gently. He said nothing, and neither did she. The look they shared was enough—the mangled remains of what they had was beyond healing.

His hand leaving hers as he took the shirt, hanger and all, and crossed the room felt like losing a piece of herself. She waited until he had finally retrieved his things from the kitchen and left the apartment. When he was gone, she moved to her bed, collapsing backwards onto it and kicking off her sneakers.

Staring at her bottle, she barely heard the muffled tapping. It grew steadily louder, and she hardly reacted when Henry yipped up at her. She sat up and looked down at the terrier; Emma swore she saw worry in the chocolate eyes that watched her. The memory of Neal's eyes before they kissed flashed as quick as she blinked. Her heart twisted in her rib cage.

Standing from the bed, she crossed to the dresser and grabbed the beer, draining what remained in one swig. Henry followed her as she crossed the apartment to the kitchen, his tiny paws clicking against the linoleum briefly before he sat. She rummaged through the silverware drawer until she found the bottle opener, retrieving a beer from the refrigerator and popping it open.

She took a long drink, her eyes closed tight against thoughts and feelings alike. When she opened her eyes, she met the eyes of her diligent companion, his head tilting to the side. Patting her hip, she made her way to the living room and fell onto the couch, Henry close behind. Staring into the black television screen, considering her options, she sipped steadily at the beer.

It was willfulness alone that kept her from calling Ruby, even though Emma knew her friend would be there in a heartbeat to help her through this. She needed to stop relying on other people to help her deal with Neal and the hell he put her through, whether he meant to or not.

After another moment of staring into the deep void of the television screen, she stood from the couch and crossed to the television stand, opening the cabinet beneath that held her DVDs. Sliding her fingers along the titles, she stopped at Sense and Sensibility. She pulled it from the cabinet, briefly studying Kate Winslet's face. Something about Marianne resonated within Emma, and it left her feeling unsettled.

Was Neal her Willoughby?


A few whoops and cheers mingled with the general applause as the latest band finished up their set. They were one of the newer bands that had popped up over the course of the past year, but they showed promise—Swan Song always showcased the best bands, or the bands that had the potential to become one of the best.

His band mates were scattered around the bar, Phillip the lone teenager among a group of adults. His neon green bracelet signaled that, though underage, he was with a band and therefore permitted to be in the bar for the night. It wasn't strictly legal, but the presence of Phillip's parents in the back corner of the bar was enough to set Killian's mind at ease.

Phillip was sitting at a table with Sean and Ashley, who came to every show as long as she could get a sitter. She and Sean were holding hands, though Ashley was deep in conversation with Phillip. He had really hit it off with the singer and his wife.

Jefferson and Victor were talking heatedly beside Killian, though he only caught a word or two of their conversation for all the attention he was paying. It was probably just general bickering between friends.

He sipped at his glass of water. Watching as the guitarist of the last band pick up his amp, Killian realized that he had forgotten his own in the trunk of his car. He had been so caught up thinking about the set list, the amp had completely slipped his mind.

"I'll be back," he said, setting his water on the bar.

Victor turned to look at him, confused. "We go on in twenty."

"I know," he replied. "I won't be long. Forgot my amp."

"Seriously?" Jefferson laughed, leaning his elbow on the bar. "Mr. Boy Scout forgot something? That's a switch."

"One: I was never a Boy Scout and I take offense to being compared to one. Two: We're all entitled to one oversight. Besides, we make a lot of concessions for you, Jefferson."

"All right, all right, I give. Just hurry up."

Killian nodded. When he turned to head to for the back, however, he found himself facing both Emma and Ruby.

Covering his surprise with a smile, he said, "Hello, ladies. Glad to see you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Ruby said.

She literally leaned into Emma, who smiled; it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, I did owe you for missing it the last time."

"That you did." He stared at her for a moment. She seemed different from the last time he had seen her, though how much he actually knew her from one night's conversation was debatable. When Victor cleared his throat, Killian shook himself from his thoughts and turned to his band mates. "Emma, Ruby, this is Victor, and"—he gestured beyond the blond—"that's Jefferson. They're in the band. The others are sitting over there." He pointed to the table nearby where the rest of his band mates were sitting. "Phillip, Sean, and Sean's wife, Ashley."

Emma looked over and seemed to contemplate the people at the table. Her gaze lingering on the joined hands of the married couple, she sighed and turned back to Killian, fixing a smile on her dark pink lips.

"I know I've seen you at our show's before," Victor said, smiling as he shook Ruby's hand. "It's nice to officially meet you."

"Likewise."

Killian noted that the handshake lingered a bit longer than usual, the two staring at each other with small smiles. He went to say something, but Jefferson beat him to it. "It looks like the other band is done breaking down. I'm gonna start setting up. Coming, Vic?"

Victor looked over at Jefferson. "Right, yeah," he reluctantly let go of Ruby's hand. "You want to come with?"

"Sure," Ruby said, turning to Emma. "You gonna be okay, Em?"

"Of course." She smiled at her friend, a knowing glimmer in her blue-green eyes. "I'll see you in a bit."

The three walked off, Jefferson turning on a dime and calling, "Don't forget about your amp!"

"Damn, that's right." He smiled at Emma. "I have to get my amp out of my car."

"All right," Emma said.

"Care to join me? I'd hate to leave you on your own."

"I'll be—" She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

He smiled and headed for the back entrance. He slipped through the crowd of people until they reached the empty corridor leading to the back entrance, Emma close behind him. He pulled his keys from the pocket of his jeans as he pushed through the door, holding it open for Emma to walk through. She gave him a small smile in thanks. They walked through the parking lot in relative silence, the only sound her heels clicking against the pavement.

"Phillip looked pretty young," she commented as they reached his car.

He gave her a brief look. "He's nineteen."

"Has he always been with the band?"

"Actually, he hasn't. We had another guitarist, Graham, but he transferred to the Springfield PD about a year ago." Killian opened the trunk and pulled out the amp. "About a month after that, making detective and being in a band over an hour and a half away caught up to him, so he left the band."

"That must have been rough," she said, her eyebrows drawn together.

"At the time it was more frustrating than anything else. Not that he left, but because of the reason. He didn't really have a choice." He slammed the trunk shut. "He still comes out for shows every now and again, so it's not as if we don't see him. But he was a great guitarist and an even better friend. It was hard to see him go."

Side by side, they moved toward to the building. "Why did he have to transfer?"

"He didn't have to, per se, but it was the only way he could be a detective. The chief of police in Boston had it out for him; kept pushing back the promotion."

"What? Why?"

Killian looked over at her as they reached the door to the bar. "The story of why Chief Mills deserves to be stripped of her title is a long one, and I have to get ready for our set."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she said nothing. It was to her credit that she knew he didn't want to discuss it further. Holding the door open for her again, they came upon Ruby exiting the storage room. Emma moved to stand beside her friend in front of the door once she and Killian had approached Ruby.

"I'll see you ladies after the set," he said. Receiving brief farewells from the two women before they went back to the main room, he turned and headed into the storage room.


"What happened with Killian?" Ruby asked.

Emma turned away from watching Killian tune his guitar. "What do you mean?"

"Things seemed tense when you guys came inside."

"Oh, we were just talking about the band. Apparently Phillip wasn't always in it."

"Really? What happened to the other guy?"

"Killian says he moved to Springfield. He didn't really seem to want to be more specific than that." She couldn't remember anyone throwing up a wall faster than when she had pressed him for details about Graham's transfer.

Leroy—finally detaching himself from the crowd surrounding his bar—came over to them. "What can I get you girls?"

"Same as last time, Leroy," Emma said loudly, so she could be heard over the music—Killian's band had just started playing.

Ruby gave Emma a look when Leroy brought over their drinks. When Leroy had gone over to another customer, Ruby whirled on Emma. "What happened with Neal?"

Emma's eyes went wide. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't give me that. You only order a double of Johnnie Walker after a fight with Neal."

"Why can't it just be that I like Johnnie?" Ruby narrowed her eyes and Emma closed her eyes. "He came by a few days ago to pick up the box of stuff he left behind."

"And?"

"And . . ." Emma sighed, her eyes going to the ceiling in a silent plea. "And we kissed."

"Emma . . . "

"I know. It was a stupid mistake, and I stopped it." She folded her arms across her chest, playing with the sleeves of her gray off-the-shoulder top. "I got caught in the moment. I had gone shopping and ran into him at the grocery store. He walked me back to the apartment and helped me put everything away and . . . it just felt like everything was normal again. I screwed up, let my guard down." Ruby looked at her, concern in her light green eyes. "I'm okay. Really. I haven't heard from him since."

"This explains why you didn't text me or anything until last night." Ruby pursed her lips. "I knew I shouldn't have left that morning."

"Didn't you have to work?" Emma said.

"Granny could have done without me for one day."

"She couldn't and you know it." Emma took a sip of her drink, her gaze wandering to the stage. The band looked almost hypnotized as they played, particularly Jefferson. When the song came to an end, she put her drink down to applaud. Killian looked over at her briefly, giving her a smile that wasn't quite as genuine the ones he had given her previously.

It looked as if she wasn't the only one that was distracted.


If you hate me after this chapter, I really don't blame you. *hangs head*

Reviews are much appreciated, but not necessary. I have spring break this week, so I'll be doing a lot of reading and writing! If you have the time, let me know what you think so far! Thanks for reading!