“He fell in the Scottish Highlands while there to photograph otters. He sent a picture of an adorable little fuzz ball, then he went to sleep with a brain bleed and didn’t wake up.” She adjusts again and gives me more, her arm wrapping around her knees. “I still have his last SD card in this red velvet bag. I used to carry it around like a security blanket without even knowing what’s on it. Sometimes I still do, as embarrassing as that is to admit.”

I snort. “We’ll be embarrassing together.” I swing the camera to the acoustic guitar again. “Meet my security blanket. I rented it our first day here, and I kid you not, I giggled after the first strum.”

She hums. “And there goes the sexy persona.”

“Pshh, I look hot as fuck playing. Plus, I sing. I couldn’t lose the sexy persona if I tried.” I show her the empty street, trees rustling in a breeze. “Be nice to me or I won’t write a song for you.”

A real laugh, even if it’s short. “You gonna write me a song, Foster West?”

“Stick with me, baby, and I’ll play your song on stage at Madison Square Garden.”

“Bare a little soul to a guy, and he thinks he can call you baby,” she says dryly.

The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. “What do I have to do to call you baby, then?”

I cringe. Fuck, I need an intervention for her.

But then she says, “Bare a little back, baby.”

My mouth tips up, and I nod even though she can’t see. I lay my arm out on my thigh and let her see the faded scar running down the inside of my wrist. “This is why I learned to play.” My gaze traces the thin line. I can almost feel the boot tread if I let myself. “When I was seven, my old man gifted me a compound fracture to my wrist. Surgery fixed the break, but mobility was fucked all the way up into my hand. The physical therapist suggested guitar to help refine finger movement and working the tendons. A sweet old lady down the street named Alberta sold me a shitty acoustic for thirteen dollars.” I fist my hand before releasing it and stretching my fingers. “Music pieced me back together—the fact I’m good is a plus. And while I want to live it and breathe it, it’ll also be my ultimate fuck you. He tried to destroy me, so I’ll make a life out of what saved me.”

Then I’ll be the one to destroy him, but I leave that part off.

“Poetic,” Remi says.

“Wait until you hear your song.”

“Hey, Foster?”

Goddamn, I love my name out of her mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

“Yeah…” I give her Prague Castle again. “We both really did, baby.”