And I had money to buy coffee and breakfast on the train on the way home.

When did my train leave?

It was ten. Maybe ten fifteen.

The next morning.

That was hopeful.

That Preacher would talk to me and I’d need a train out the next day.

But they had a lot of trains from Chicago to Indy.

Maybe I could get on the next one. Maybe it didn’t matter what time the ticket you had said, as long as you had a ticket.

I felt the fingers close around my arm.

I jerked it when they did, hard.

I also looked back.

Was his name Jesse?

Yes, Jesse.

God, I didn’t even really know their names.

Why was this such a big deal?

One night.

One night with some guy in a band.

A couple of sips of coffee the next morning.

Why was this such a big deal?

“Hang on, Lyla.”

He still had his hand on me.

“Let me go.”

“Come back.”

Was he insane?

Come back?

And what?

Take a number?

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “No way. I’ve gotta catch a train.”

“I’ll get you to the station. Hell, I’ll get you back to Indy. Just come back. Talk. Yeah?”

“No,” I repeated.

His expression changed.

“Why are you here?”

Why was I there?

Good question.

“I don’t know,” I told him.

“You heard the album.”

Yes.

Oh yes.

I’d heard the album.

“Night Lies” was my favorite.

That was why I was there.

“This was a bad idea,” I said to Jesse, pulling at my arm.

“There’s a reason you’re here and there’s a reason why Preach did not walk right by you and get in that bus and go on with his night and leave you in his rearview. Now,” he let me go, “it’s up to you whether you want me to fix it so you both can sort out whatever shit is goin’ down.”

I turned and started walking away.

I stopped when Jesse jumped in front of me.

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d go,” he muttered.

“Get out of my way, please,” I requested.

“Listen, Lyla—”

“You know, he got it wrong, and you know, he could have freaking called to know how wrong he was getting it.”

I then moved to sidestep Jesse because I really did not like the look on his face when I said all that.

“Okay, okay, yeah,” he said, walking beside me. “I think he got it wrong, Lyla. Let me make it so he can make it right.”

“I don’t want him to make it right,” I lied.