He sold songs to chart-topping artists. His dad was a Grammy winner several times over. Dylan’s own voice, let alone his surname, was worthy of a stage at an exclusive club in a better section of town, one that charged hundreds at the door, not tens. He hadn’t given her much of an answer when she asked earlier. It would seem they had more in common than a love of music. They both harbored secrets.

A man at the table in front of Joy’s nudged his buddy and nodded in her direction. The buddy turned and looked at her. He smiled, showing off a crooked row of yellow-stained teeth. Great. Joy swallowed the sour knot in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest. The hair on her nape rose. Did he have to leer at her?

“Hey, pretty lady, you all alone tonight?”

“There a problem with that?” she snapped, well aware that if she showed any meekness they’d be on her like flies on sticky tape.

What was with guys? Couldn’t a gal sit in a bar and not be harassed? It wasn’t as if she was the only woman here. Though she did stick out like a yellow dandelion in a field of grass. She wasn’t wearing leather. And aside from the other night, she hadn’t gone to a bar alone since . . . ever. Taryn always went barhopping with her. So did Mark. Joy eyed the barren stool beside her and felt a thickness in her throat. For the first time since she’d left home, she longed for Mark. He should be here, she thought, then almost laughed out loud. He’d hate this place with its dirty floor and dusty light fixtures. But he’d love Dylan’s music.

And that ate at her more than the lies. Mark and Dylan were opposites, but she could easily imagine them meeting up for a beer. At the very least, Mark would go out of his way to watch Dylan play. She was a horrible fiancée.

No surprise there, she thought, snatching up her beer in disgust. She’d been a terrible sister and despicable daughter. All the lies. So many years of lies.

She tipped back the glass at a steeper angle than she intended and swallowed a too large gulp. She coughed. Beer leaked from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes burned. She swiped off the beer, her ring catching the biker’s attention. She’d almost forgotten about him.

“No problem at all,” he said, still grinning as he answered her question. “Just wanted to ask you to join us in a game of liar’s dice.” He shook the cup of dice. For real, or was that a backtrack for hitting on her? Who knew? He gestured at her left hand. “Your husband here?”

“My friend. He’s playing tonight.” She nodded toward the stage. At least that wasn’t a lie.