by Vi Keeland
A plane ticket.
One way, back to New York.
Swallowing, I look back up and our eyes meet. His voice is stony, words spoken through gritted teeth. “I’m not fucking blind. The way you look at her.”
I say nothing. Whether I like the guy or not, the least I can do is not play games and pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. Plus, I have no idea how much he actually knows, and there’s no reason to make it any more difficult for Lucky than it needs to be. She works at the record label he’s been with for the last decade.
“Did you think I would put up with you sniffing around, trying to get into her fucking pants? Keeping her company while I’m taking care of business?”
I stand to meet him eye to eye. “Taking care of business? Is that what you call Jamie these days? You paying for her services, so it’s considered a business transaction?”
“What I do is none of your damn business.” An evil smile twists his lips. “But if want the best blow job you’ll ever get in your life, stop by 3225 Honeycomb on your way to the airport to catch your flight tonight.”
“You don’t deserve a woman like Lucky.”
“And you do?”
We glare at each other.
“Go back to New York. Now that Easy Ryder has made your pretty-boy face famous, there will be a line of women to suck your cock.” He turns to walk away. “If you try to contact Lucky, your little band won’t be opening for Easy Ryder, and the only gig you’ll be able to book will be in a garage. And if she’s stupid enough to be interested in you, you won’t be the only one on the unemployment line.”
“Fuck you.”
He takes a few steps and turns back, a sadistic smile on his face. “Flight leaves at midnight after the show tonight. Be on it.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lucky
“Where’s Flynn?” Reaching over where Dylan’s soundly sleeping, I tug the bottom of the blackout shade so it rolls up with a loud snap, revealing the large rectangular back window of the bus.
“Good morning to you too.” He squints from the flood of light.
“Did you kick Flynn off the tour?”
He pulls the cover over his head and tries to ignore me.
“Answer me.”
Nothing.
I tug at the cover. “Answer me.”
“What the fuck, Lucky?” he shouts, springing upright.
“Did you or did you not kick Flynn off the tour?”
The muscles in his face tighten. “Linc is coming back.”
“So sending him home had nothing to do with me?”
He glares through angry eyes. “You tell me, Lucky. Does it?”
My irritation flickers while I hold his indignant stare. A silent standoff ensues until Dylan finally rips the covers back in a huff and rises, ramming his bare feet into his jeans before storming out of the bedroom.
An hour later, I’m still sitting in the bedroom when he comes back in. He rakes his fingers through his hair and I wait through another lengthy silence. My mind is a whirl of questions, most of which I probably shouldn’t ask.
Finally, he sits. His voice is low. “We’re going to be at the next stop in an hour.”
I nod.
He blows out a loud stream of air. “I asked Linc to come back early.”
“Why?”
“Because.” I’m still not looking at him, so he moves from beside me to kneeling in front of me, leaving me no choice but to face him. When I look up, he continues. “I want to be with you, Lucky. I want to settle down, have a couple of kids and plant roots somewhere.”
“I’m…I’m not ready for that.”
“You’re just nervous. That’s all.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s more than that.”
He searches my eyes. “Then what is it?”
“I’m not sure about us, Dylan.”
“You were sure last month.”
“Things change.”
“What changed?”
Dawning realization hits and his eyes narrow to accusing slits. “You have feelings for Beckham?”
I lower my head and nod.
“He’s a snake. Slithering in and giving you attention when I’m too busy running a fucking tour.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I saw the way he followed you around. He wanted in your pants. That’s why I sent him packing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Let’s just move past this. He’s gone. We both have baggage. It’s time for a fresh start. To build our future on a clean slate.”
I don’t respond. With two fingers under my chin, Dylan gently lifts until our eyes meet again. “I love you, Lucky.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You’re sorry? What the fuck does that mean?”
I remain silent, but words aren’t necessary.
“You have got to be fucking shitting me.” He stands. “Think long and hard about what you’re doing, Lucky. You can walk away from me if you want. But just try to walk to Flynn fucking Beckham, and not only will his band not be opening for Easy Ryder, but I’ll be damn sure he doesn’t play anywhere for a long, long time.”
Seething, he slams the door behind him so hard, the walls of the bus shake from the force.
I stay in the back after the bus pulls into California. It’s so quiet without the hum of the engine and radio blaring, it makes me wonder if I’m the only one left on board.
Wheeling my bag out into the lounge, I discover I’m not the last one on the bus. Dylan lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Give me tonight?” There’s a vulnerable tone to his voice that I’ve never heard before. “I have to do an interview this afternoon, but let’s have dinner afterward. Let’s talk.”
As much as I’d rather get on a plane this afternoon, run away from my guilt, the right thing to do is to end things like adults. I nod.
The car ride is uncomfortably quiet on the way to the restaurant. Dylan stares out the window, tugging at the collar of his shirt, seemingly as lost in thought as I am. It surprised me when he told me to dress for dinner, surprised me even more when he slipped on a jacket and tie.
The driver pulls up outside Chateau La Roque and Dylan tells him not to get out. Instead, he opens the door at the curb and offers me his hand.
“Thank you.”
“You look beautiful.” Lacing our fingers together, he walks us into the trendy French restaurant. I’m shocked he picked such a public place for us to talk, knowing the topic we will be ultimately discussing.
“Mr. Ryder,” a man with a thick French accent says. “Right this way.”
After we’re seated, the first ten minutes are filled with awkward small talk. It reminds me of a bad blind date.
“Dylan,” I say at the same moment he says, “Lucky.”
“You go first,” he offers with an appeasing smile.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened along the way, but I’m sorry. You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” I truly mean it. I hate myself for what I’ve done.
He takes my hand into his. “Me too. I’m sorry for a lot of things. First and foremost, for not giving you the attention you deserve. But that’s going to change. This afternoon, the thought of losing you made me realize how stupid I’ve been—”
“You didn’t—”
“Let me finish, I need to get this out. I waited too long already.” He stands. And I must be the most clueless person on the planet…because I’m watching the entire thing unfold right before me, and yet I still don’t see it coming.
He takes something from his pocket.
The next thing I know…he’s bending down on one knee.
Oh my god. No. This cannot be happening.
I hear gasps around the crowded restaurant, and then his words through a fog. “Lucky.” He clears his throat. “I’ve written hundreds of songs, yet I don’t know the right words to tell you how much you mean to me. I was planning on do
ing this once we got down to LA, but today I realized I’ve already waited too long. I know you aren’t ready for marriage and kids tomorrow, but I’m willing to wait. Until then, I want you to have my ring on your finger to remind you every day how much I love you.”
I don’t even notice tears are falling from my cheek until his thumb wipes them away. “Don’t cry.” He smiles at me, mistaking my angst for tears of joy. “I know what I want. Be my wife, Lucky. Not today or tomorrow. But promise me, someday?”
“Dylan.” My wary voice cracks as I pull him up from his knee to stand. I can’t do this to him publicly. Two minutes later, the entire restaurant is clapping and snapping pictures.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Flynn
“Arghh,” I groan. Cracking one eye open, I scan the room, grateful when I realize I’m at Becca’s and not in an alley somewhere. How the hell did I get here? I try to recall the last twelve hours: Nolan’s apartment for a few beers, Molly’s Irish Pub for a few more, then over to the Royal in Union Square when people started to recognize me. That’s where things start to get fuzzy. I remember the long bar, a cute bartender named Alexa…and wall-to-wall TVs.
Shit. The TVs. There must have been forty of the damn things. Every single one of them flashing the same news story. A picture of douchebag Dylan Ryder down on one knee, then of Lucky hugging him.
I moved to hard liquor after that. Tequila. Plenty of it, too.
It takes a few minutes before I piece together the bits and pieces that followed. Nolan. And the redhead. She had a deep voice. I vaguely remember teasing Nolan to check for an Adam’s apple before taking her home with him. What came next?
The redhead’s friend.
Shit.
Bella? Belinda? Beth? Something with a B. I think.
I remember the four of us stumbling out the door at closing time. What the hell did we do after that? Betsy? Bianca? Bailee?
Dragging my ass out of bed, I answer Mother Nature’s call and splash some cold water on my face. My head feels like I ran into a Mack truck last night. It’s a distinct possibility, for all I know. Headed back to my sister’s guest room, I abruptly halt when I hear her voice.
Barbara? Brooke? Bridget?
Skittishly, I head to the kitchen in search of the women’s voices.
“Good morning, sunshine.” My sister arches a brow. “How you feeling?”
“Like I look.”
The woman from the bar last night smiles like it’s normal for her to be sitting at my sister’s kitchen table.
“Hey,” I tentatively offer.
“I’m glad you woke up, sleepyhead.” She gets up from the table, pushes up on her toes and kisses me on the cheek. “I have to get to work, but I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”
“Umm…I’ll walk you out.” In the hallway, I try to fill in some more blanks. “Where did we go after the Royal?”
“You don’t remember?” She looks surprised. I must have faked sobriety pretty damn good.
I shake my head.
“Some karaoke bar, across town.”
Shit. “Lucky’s?”
“Yeah. That was the name of it.”
“I’m sorry.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “I don’t remember a thing after leaving the Royal.”
She smiles. “You were pretty lit. But nothing much happened. Except you sang.”
“I sang at Lucky’s?”
She nods.
“Do you remember what I sang?”
A few things. “An old Tom Petty song, a Springsteen song and a Dave Matthews one I never heard of.”
I don’t have to ask the songs. “You Got Lucky,” “My Lucky Day” and “So Damn Lucky.”
“Did we…?” I motion between us.
“Nope. Not for my lack of trying either.” Her cheeks pink up. “You weren’t interested.”
“I’m sorry…it’s not you…I…”
She holds up a hand, motioning for me to stop. “It’s okay. You told me all about her.”
“I did?”
She nods.
“She’s a lucky woman. You were a perfect gentleman, even in your state. I slept on your sister’s couch because I was worried about you getting home, but then you didn’t want me traveling by myself at night.”
“Well, thank you.”
She takes the phone I’m holding in my hand, punches a bunch of buttons and offers it back to me with a sweet smile before turning to leave. “In case you ever want help getting over her.”
Walking back into my sister’s apartment, I look down at the name she’s typed into contacts. “Zoe.” I was close.
A long shower, even longer nap and a half gallon of water later, I feel halfway normal. Becca’s getting dinner ready. “Sorry about bringing Zoe here last night.” My sister’s never laid down any house rules, I just don’t want Laney to get the wrong impression.
“I’m pretty sure she brought you home, not the other way around.”
“Yeah. Guess I got carried away with myself.”
“I thought you were going to be gone a few weeks more.”
I rub a hand over the three days of stubble on my chin. “So did I.”
“I saw Lucky on the news last night. That have anything to do with it?” she asks cautiously.
“I did something I’m not proud of.”
“You fell in love. I saw that when I was there.”
“Yeah. That still doesn’t make it right.”
“Neither of you were married. Don’t compare yourself to him. I know what you’re doing.”
“Thanks. But looks like that’s about to change.”
“I saw the picture in this morning’s paper. I don’t care what the news prints, that woman’s as in love with you as you are with her. Did you speak to her yet?”
“Douchebag Dylan threatened to get her fired from her new job if I spoke to her.”
“Douchebag Dylan? Is he related to Professor Douchebag?” Becca bumps her shoulder into mine.
“They’re like long-lost brothers.”
“You need to talk to her. Something isn’t right.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lucky
Music has always been the medicine to cure all of my ills. But these days, it’s also the source of much of my anxiety. The cab line stretches almost a full city block in length outside of JFK; Pandora blasts through my headphones as I attempt to occupy my spinning mind with a soothing melody. But of course, the song that comes on would have to be an Easy Ryder song.
Things didn’t go exactly as planned. After Dylan’s proposal in the restaurant, and my not-exactly-yes-or-no hug, half the restaurant, it seemed, came over to congratulate us. I didn’t want to embarrass Dylan in public and say no while phone cameras were clicking and rolling, but it made clarifying that I hadn’t said yes that much more difficult. Especially when he pulled me in for a deep kiss and ordered a bottle of Cristal for every table in the restaurant, to celebrate.
It wasn’t until we went back to the hotel and were in the privacy of our room that I had the chance to set things straight. Needless to say, Dylan did not take it very well. Barely two hours after his loving proposal, the man who was prepared to spend the rest of his life with me was threatening my job. And worst of all, Flynn’s music career.
I hopped the first available flight the next day and spent six hours deliberating what to do about Flynn. If there is one thing I’m certain about as I walk away from Dylan Ryder, it’s that his threat to destroy Flynn was not idle. For some reason, he’s had it out for the man before he even learned that I had feelings for Flynn Beckham. I’m thankful he doesn’t know the half of it.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Avery wipes down the top of the bar. It’s early; only a few college students from down the street are in Lucky’s.
I glance around the bar with intentional exaggeration. “What did you do with all my patrons?”
She throws the wet towel she’s using to clean the counter at my face.
“Nice response to my texts.”
“Sorry, it’s been a crazy few days. Just got in last night.”
“And you were too busy to send a one-line text?”
“I didn’t know what to say. Where to start.”
She leans over the bar. “How about starting with Hey, I’m marrying one rockstar and fucking another.”
Well, that certainly caught the attention of the few people sitting within earshot. I shake my head and walk behind the bar, wrapping my arms around my best friend for a much-needed hug. “God, I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” I sigh.
“Two men and a hot babe like me? You’re a nymph. You might need therapy,” she teases.
“I definitely do. The Avery Logan kind. Can Jase cover the bar for a while?”
“I always knew Ryder was a sleazeball.” Avery and I are in the alley behind Lucky’s, camped out on milk crates as she smokes her daily I don’t smoke anymore cigarette.
“Umm. I think in this case, you have it reversed. I’m the sleazeball.”
“Well, yeah. That too.” She grins. “But he’s going to try to ruin your career and Flynn’s to get even. Besides, I’d bet your half of the bar he cheated on you.”
“How is that a bet…you’re betting my half of the bar?”
“If I learned something since you were gone, it’s that I do not want to own this thing without you.”
“You missed my sleazeball self, didn’t you?”
“It does kinda suck without you here to boss me around.”
We laugh. God, I missed her. Missed this place. Even the back alley that smells like month-old stale beer mixed with cigarette butts. It may not have a white picket fence around it, but this place is my home.
“You need to tell Flynn what’s going on.”
“How can I? Dylan will definitely kick In Like Flynn off the tour if we’re together now.”
“Shots of Dylan down on one knee and you hugging him have been all over the news. Flynn thinks you’re engaged, Lucky. You need to tell him the truth.”
