Free Artificial Love (The Goodbye Trilogy #2) by Alisa Mullen

also prayed that she wouldn’t go back to her husband. It felt really good to know that she was there, maybe even waiting for me to come back. Nah, that wasn’t true. She was getting a divorce, looking for a new job, and oh shit - Danielle had her number. Hell yes. I just remembered she called her the other night before the show.
    I plugged in my earphones to listen to The Shins newest album. Their song, “New Slang,” was bad ass and I thought I would cover it one day when I went to open mic night at the local pub. No one knew I went solo a lot and it hadn’t gotten out yet that I made regular guest appearances there around one in the morning. This song, though, would need a tambourine. Jules would have done it for me. I winced at the thought of her being on stage with me.
    I texted Danielle for Emily’s number. Danielle was driving to the next venue in her car and probably didn’t text and drive. Chicks were so against that shit. I waited - and then painfully waited for anything to come through. Nothing. Listening to The Shins was all I had to occupy my mind but to no avail. I couldn’t shake that something was amiss.
    No one but Dex - who still looked shell shocked - appeared to care about me. Appeared being the operative word. Dex also appeared to have taken a big liking to spending time with Ethan. Whatever – I didn’t own his time.
    Where the fuck was Emily and why did I feel the need to call her all the god damn time? A voice inside me said I was ten shades of crazy about her, like a wild donkey on a rocket; I wanted to shoot myself straight back to Manhattan and into her head.
    I wanted to wake up in bed with her – just one more day- and have one more breakfast with her. If she was back with that…that fucking idiot, I might have to split my wall into a shrine for two.
    My cell phone buzzed on the table next to my bunk and I clicked the on button without looking.
    “Hello.” The snip in my voice couldn’t have gone unnoticed to the caller. I needed the call to be either Danielle or Emily.
    “Um – Mr. Lennox?” An older guy’s voice trembled a bit as I rolled my eyes. Fucking leaching agents wanting my signature. Get a fucking clue, folks.
    “You got him,” I stagnantly responded. Normally, I would have hung up but I was bored. I had nothing to think about and maybe this phone call would keep me entertained for a minute or two.
    “Mr. Lennox.” His voice was firmer now. “I’m Richard Foster. I’m your Probation Officer for the Cape out of Dennis, Massachusetts. 
    Fuck. Me. Stupid .
    “All-right,” I conceded with a laugh hidden by the end of the word.
    “Well, then,” Foster cleared his throat. Three God damn times.
    “Out with it, P.O.” I snapped.
    “Right. Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Lennox. You must serve a total of fifteen volunteer hours to a nonprofit of your choice by the end of this month. It has to be within our county lines and…”
    I cut him off.
    “By the end of this month? Did your fucking mother lock you in a closet with no dinner?”
    Silence. Shit – she probably did. Filter, Johnny. What would Emily say?
    “Look, Foster. It’s apparent from your verbal fumbling that you know exactly who I am. You probably also know I will be gone. I am on tour at least the rest of the month, making that next to impossible to do. Please help me figure something out.”
    Silence. Was he still stuck on the closet remark?
    “I’m home on Friday afternoon. Send me a list of the places I need to show up at and I’ll do my best but no fucking promises. I have a record company, a manager who’s the devil herself on a good day, and a band crew that would have me out on my ass in a flash. You have my details.”
    I clicked off. Volunteer hours? I groaned into my hands and my brain conjured up the beautiful smile of Emily laughing at my sad predicament. I picked up the phone and tried the apartment again. Nothing. She had either gone out or she had left me. Either way, the feeling of