Now that she’d committed to making the move on TelTech, Phoebe was aware that her life as Phoebe Mentel could be counted in hours. Twenty-four, to be exact.
With sharpened clarity, she picked up her guitar and looked out at the foot-stomping, hand-clapping patrons waiting for the first twanging note. She couldn’t call them friends—she couldn’t have friends—but they were familiar strangers who had been a part of her life for several years. She would miss them, and she would miss her guys. She would miss singing with them, climbing with them, laughing with them, even fending off their occasional advances. They’d made her feel real when grief had left her hollow and wanting. They’d filled her with their buoyant life force and let her hide in their shadows. They’d been her family, and it grie
