Nate has a bag of frozen peas over his eye, which is a mystery in and of itself. He doesn't remember ever buying them, he's not the kind of guy who buys peas, but there they were, sitting in his freezer. It's a good thing, because he's sure his face would be twice the size, otherwise.

Lila has set the breaks, that's the main thing. The bruising and the swelling will go down with ice and time, and in the meantime he just gets to look like he went ten rounds with a baseball bat. He'd let her do what she could when she found him, and then he'd retreated into the relative safety of his apartment to drink an entire bottle of whiskey.

Someone knocks at the door and Nate seriously considers not answering it. But then he hears Beth, and if there's one person in this city he'd never willingly avoid, it's her. He drags his sorry ass off the couch, holding the frozen peas to the worst of the bruising with his bandaged right hand and opening the door with his left.

"Hey," he says, looking from Beth to the deli bag on her arm, to the guitar. He hopes to hell it's for her to play and not him.