Am I happy? How would I know? What is the measure of happiness? Deep thoughts to indulge on my birthday, while at a funeral. As I stare down into my grandfather-in-law’s grave, it’s all I can think about. When was the last time I felt truly happy with my life? Those questions linger long after the funeral, eating away at my tranquility like a necrotic wound, until one night I finally ask my husband if we can open our marriage to "live a little." Surprisingly, he says yes. I throw myself headlong into an adventure through the bars and bedrooms of Austin, Texas.

As frontman of Austin's most popular metal band, I have it all. But when a car accident nearly kills my best friend, I'm rocketed back to memories of that horrible night, all those years ago when I lost my family at the hands of a drunk driver. That's trauma I'd rather leave buried, so when Nicole, aka Arson Nic, the roller derby dynamo, skates into my bed, I'm more than happy to bury myself in her sweet solace. What I don't expect is to wake up with feelings.

When I agreed to my wife’s request for an open marriage, I didn’t anticipate she’d fall in love with another man and leave me. Alone now and drowning in self-destruction, I cling to memories of a trip to New Orleans nine months ago—the night I wandered into a movie theater called Paradise and spent an evening talking with the beautiful owner, Violet Devollier. Our connection was brief but intense. It was a connection so intense that when Hurricane Katrina devastates New Orleans, I’ll stop at nothing to return to Paradise and find Violet. But what good is a broken man in a broken city?

It's been five years since I found my family. Not my bio-family—my found family of friends. I love them to pieces, but lately they aren’t enough. I want a baby. All my friends have family units with cuddly babies, and I want that too. But I turn thirty-five in less than a month. Clock’s ticking, so I’ve got to hustle. I need some baby batter to bake a bun in my oven as soon as possible. One problem: baby batter comes from men, and I’m really tired of men and their heartbreaker BS. Manic, though, is different from the other men.