A/N: Welcome back. Let's get some answers! Just a note, I don't usually include music in my stories, but Nevr inspired me after Hello? and since there is live music going on in this chapter, I needed to include some. My Mom loves Tori Amos and I grew up listening to all that and there was one song I thought fit very well so it's in here, some select lyrics because the song is long. Enjoy!

Carina convinced me to go out that night, when I was originally dead set against leaving my apartment. I was just exhausted from a long work week, thinking about climbing under my covers and shutting out the world.

Sadly, that was always my favorite thing to do.

I worked with Carina and over the course of ten years, we slowly became friends. Tall and willowy to my tall and curvy, red hair to my blonde, a vivacious zest for life to my numb existence—we were quite opposite on lots of things. But she could make me laugh even at my most serious. She brought fun and a little light into my otherwise dull and dark world.

There were no deep, emotional conversations with her, and yet she seemed to understand that I was carrying around a tremendous burden. She joked about both of our social lives, while seeming to innately understand that my aloof stoicism was the direct result of an unhealed broken heart. The nature of it was never explained. Gracefully, she never brought it up, just always actively sought to help me forget about it, at least for a little while.

I always wondered if she understood how much that meant to me, how much I loved her for that. Speaking from my heart was never my strong suit, but she understood that too. Her smile, her joy that she always tried to transfer to me osmotically, told me in some way that she did.

We worked for the same security driving company. What that entailed—being an excellent driver and an excellent marksman with a firearm. We were typically subcontracted when a livery service needed more than standardly secure transport. Government officials, CEOs, some celebrities and VIPs alike. In the ten years we had been working together, we had seen pretty much everything.

Without a college degree, and just a GED, my employment opportunities were limited. But fortunately I had no criminal record after I testified against my father when I was 22, and begrudgingly thanks to him I knew how to drive and how to use a gun.

Carina loved live music and she frequently dragged me to shows. We lived in New York City, so there was always something interesting to listen to. I wasn't that into music, but I admit it was nice sometimes to just zone out and lose myself in all the different genres of music.

The band we were seeing tonight, Bimini Road, was one of Carina's favorites. They toured, more than most of the other local bands, and Carina had never seen them live in New York before. She had begged and pleaded, telling me tonight was the only night that wasn't sold out, and they were only in town for three days.

So I told her I would go. I wasn't used to going out, so it took me a long time to get ready. Being tired didn't help my speed. Eventually I chose a sleeveless blue dress, the same blue as my eyes, with matching high heels. My jewelry was understated, tiny diamond studs and a tiny single diamond around my neck. My long blonde hair hung loose about my shoulders and I did very light makeup, thinking of how dark it could be inside the club.

We were lucky enough to get a table right in front of the stage. Carina ordered a glass of white wine and a seltzer with lime for me.

Thankfully, Carina knew I was a recovering alcoholic and she was always supportive of me.

I heard applause, looking at the side of the stage where the band was slowly getting into position. They were a foursome—a drummer, a bassist, and two guitarists. The lead singer was a woman, the other three men.

Before they played any music, the lead singer addressed the crowd. She was tall, taller than me and even taller than Carina, and on sky-high heels she was an imposing sight. She had long, dark curly hair, wide-set almond-shaped eyes, and plump, full lips. Her voice was deep and husky when she spoke. That speaking voice translated to one of the most beautiful alto singing voices I'd ever heard.

Live music was always a shot in the dark in my experience. It was rare that any professional grade mixing was going on at the types of venues we frequented. What that meant was sometimes overpowering drums, or the music in general drowning out the singer.

Listening to Bimini Road, even seated close to the stage, sounded like I was listening to a recorded song through my headphones. It was amazing. The drums were subtle and the guitars perfectly balanced with the vocals. Beautiful, soulful vocals. I got completely lost in the music, a rare occasion for me.

I smiled at Carina. She was right about the band, and I was glad she convinced me to come after all.

They had a good repertoire of original music interspersed with covers that seemed chosen specifically to complement the lead singer's voice.

The first time the singer spoke after her initial speech, she introduced herself. "My name is Jocelyn. That's Liam on drums, Garrett on bass, and Sam on lead guitar. We are Bimini Road." She paused for applause. "You can thank the nerdy crew lead for that name. If you're stuck in a room with him, he'll bore you to tears about what it means." A gentle, collective chuckle fluttered through the crowd. "All I know is it's better than our previous one—Hard Candy." She wrinkled her nose and smiled as music started to play again behind her.

I saw a shadow moving behind the stage, the glare of the lights obscuring the background. Just a shadow...but something about the movement struck me as familiar. It was strange, but the music soon distracted me.

"See if you recognize this," she murmured, as the tune got louder. It was familiar, although I couldn't place it until she started singing. It was an old Tori Amos song.

On my way up north

Up on the Ventura

I pulled back the hood

And I was talking to you

And I knew then it would be a lifelong thing

But I didn't know that we

We could break a silver lining

I was mesmerized, listening to her. I could feel the music inside me, thumping along gently with my heart. When she reached the chorus for the first time, I felt the lyrics more than just hearing them.

And I'm so sad

Like a good book

I can't put this day back

This sorta fairytale with you

I had to clench my jaw to keep it from trembling, feeling an uncomfortable burning in my eyes as I fought tears.

My father's influence on me had slowly waned as the years had passed without him, imprisoned for ten years now. But I was still reluctant to cry, certainly in public. Carina was swaying in her seat, oblivious to my reaction. I continuously sipped my seltzer, trying to distract myself from my emotions. Each word of the long, rolling song cut into me deeper.

Feel out the summer breeze

Didn't know when we'd be back

And I, I don't, didn't think we'd end up like

Like this

The applause roared as she finished. She adjusted her earpiece as she graciously basked in the praise, folding her arms almost self-consciously across the top of her acoustic guitar.

At the back of the stage, I saw movement. Someone from the crew, coming to switch out tuned guitars. Bands usually traveled with multiple instruments tuned to different keys. It was easier than making the crowd wait while instruments were re-tuned based on a specific song. At a small-venued performance it was less common, but this band was good, really good. The details like that were usually why.

The lead singer was talking again, but what she was saying I had no idea. I went completely deaf once I saw the man who was swapping out their guitars.

It was Chuck.

I thought I was going to faint. My peripheral vision darkened as spots of reality winked out. My mind could barely process it.

What was Chuck doing in New York…working as a…roadie?

I was suddenly outside my body, watching him like I was alone in the club.

His hair was different, no more boyish curls, but long, thin sideburns and a closer, shorter cut, the tamed curls combed back off his forehead. He was much more muscular than the last time I'd seen him, probably 25 pounds heavier but with a healthy physique. He wore a white t-shirt with an unbuttoned blue flannel shirt over it with his jeans. The muscles in his chest were perfectly defined under the tight shirt.

He walked forward, another guitar in his hand to swap with the lead singer's. Hypnotized, I watched them.

She leaned close to him, whispering something in his ear that made him smile—a crooked little smile that made my heart ache and burn. Illogical jealousy flared at that.

What right did I have to be jealous of someone else being the recipient of his smile?

The way she touched him, casually but possessively, subtly cued me to the fact that they were more than friends. It made me feel sick, even as I told myself I was acting crazy.

Crazy. All of this was crazy!

It had been years since he belonged to me. Even that was questionable. Had he ever truly belonged to me? I had run before I could explore it, hurting him in the process.

But even after all those years, I was sure, for at least an hour in the back seat of his car, sheltered from the thunderstorm, that he had belonged to me. The moment had been fleeting, but the feelings it had stirred were eternal.

For 15 years I had wandered, searching for something I had already had in my hands but had helplessly lost.

I had been with other men, though with no serious attachments. Most were one night stands, courtesy of a typical night of prowling with Carina. Each time was only dully satisfying, an orgasm only possible when my partner was willing to accommodate a certain position for an extended period of time.

Walking, talking sex dolls, Carina had called them. She wasn't wrong.

No one had ever come close to Chuck, at 17, accepting my virginity as I'd offered it to him…because he loved me.

I couldn't even close my eyes and pretend. One rough touch, one dry, burning thrust…and I was acutely aware that I had passed through the promised land and was destined to wander forever lost in the desert.

Crazy…because the second I saw him, I knew that I still loved him. I didn't know him anymore—he was a stranger to me. But I loved him, no poisonous memories there to erode what I had felt for him so long ago.

The lights on the stage directed towards them must have obscured a clear view into the dark audience, even the very front. He didn't see me staring at him. But I saw his eyes, furtively glancing into the crowd, as if he was aware someone was observing.

"Are you alright?" I heard Carina ask.

What did I look like? What had she noticed?

I nodded unconvincingly. I could feel her eyes on me as I stared ahead, watching Chuck disappear back into the shadows.

I don't remember a single thing about the rest of the set, not a song or a word. I couldn't focus. All I could think about was going backstage, how I could get back there and talk to him. I argued with myself, wondering if he would reject me, or sadly if he might not even remember who I was.

That thought nearly killed me.

What right did I have to disrupt his life?

All the unknowns got the better of me, though. I would never get this chance again. I had rehearsed what I would say if I ever saw him again thousands of times, imagining a different response from him every time.

At the very least, I owed him the truth, the truth I had put off telling him. He deserved to know why I disappeared without a trace. He deserved to know why I broke his heart.

Once free of my father, that had been my intention when I searched for him, only to find both he and his sister had disappeared with no forwarding address. Ten years had passed, but I still wanted to tell him.

I didn't want forgiveness. I didn't think I deserved it. It wasn't about me—it was about him.

Everything I had ever done since that day in October had been about him, even though he had no idea.

Anxiety had me compressed tightly like a coil, waiting to be sprung. The set couldn't finish fast enough. The moment the lights brightened I blurted to Carina, "I'll be right back."

She was confused, but must have thought I was going to the ladies room, so she didn't question it.

I pushed my way through the crowd moving against the flow of traffic towards backstage. It was dark, wide open as I moved further into the back. I could see doors to what must have been dressing rooms, meager for a tiny club but still there. There were pieces of white printer paper taped to each door with sharpie-scribbled names. Jocelyn had her own room, the one labeled 'the guys' and another labeled 'the crew.'

That was where Chuck would be.

My heart hammering in my mouth, every word I had thought to say now lost, I knocked softly on the door with my knuckle.

I heard shuffling behind the door, but as I held my breath waiting for it to open, I felt two rough hands grab me from behind and drag me around the corner into an adjoining corridor. My face was pressed against the wall and it felt like I was being frisked. "Who the hell are you?" I heard a rough voice ask. I heard the click of a gun.

I was frightened, confused, already nervous and now shaking so badly I could hardly stand.

Before I could make a sound, I saw a rush of motion come from the crew's dressing room door.

"Casey! Casey! Whoa…Casey…"

Chuck's voice. He had rushed in between me and…whoever this was. Security? Body guard?

I turned half my body, bumping into Chuck's back. Oh, he smelled the same. A wave of nostalgia and longing made my knees weak. My mouth was dry like wool and my knees were knocking together as my legs shook.

In a split second, he turned, and I was in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest, though I was ramrod stiff from shock. "Sarah," I heard him whisper. "I thought I would never see you again." His voice trembled with emotion.

I felt outside my body, like I was living in a dream.

What woke me up was the man with the gun. "Sarah?" he asked Chuck, befuddled. "Is she the…"

"Yes," Chuck told him, his voice strong and certain.

Chuck caught me as it all became too much, and I fainted.