“It’ll be fine.” I pick up my small, beaded purse. “Can you take a picture?” I ask, handing over my phone. “I want to send it to Logan.”
“Sure. Go over by the window where the light’s better.”
She snaps a bunch of photos. I’ll post a few to social media after I leave L.A. I don’t want some freak figuring out what hotel room I’m in by the landmarks in the background or something.
“Are you sad Logan’s not here?” she asks after handing me my phone.
“Yeah,” I answer quietly. “I couldn’t make him do it, though. Not after all he’s done for me. I hate people who don’t even know him writing such shitty things. I can’t keep asking him to subject himself to that. It’s not fair.”
“Oh, honey.” She carefully curls her arms around me for a loose hug that won’t crush my dress. “Logan’s a strong man. I don’t see him gettin’ too bothered about that stuff.”
“I know. He didn’t say he was upset.”
“Of course not.”
Someone knocks on the door. Cindy runs to answer and gasps in surprise. “Dawson!”
“Evening. Is our girl ready?”
“I’m ready.” I rush over, holding my dress up so I don’t trip over it.
“I’m heading out,” Cindy says, grabbing her gear.
I air kiss her cheek and promise to give her all the details later.
“You look lovely,” Dawson says, briefly sweeping his gaze over me. “I think this will match, too.”
He hands over a wide black velvet box.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Inside, a glittering choker of what I assume are diamonds sparkle up at me. “Whoa,” I breathe out.
I glance up, meeting his eyes. “I can’t accept this from you, Dawson.”
His lips quirk. “It’s a loaner, darlin’.”
My cheeks warm. Duh, of course he’s not giving me jewelry that probably costs more money than I can count.
“Well, I promised your man I’d keep you safe tonight, and this came free with the necklace.” Dawson jerks his thumb over his shoulder and I finally notice the stiff, muscular guy in a suit standing behind Dawson. “To make sure we don’t steal the diamonds,” Dawson whispers in a voice loud enough to carry into the corridor.
The guard doesn’t move a muscle.
“He’s like one of those guards at Buckingham Palace. Never smiles.” Dawson winks at me. “Or speaks.”
“Be nice.” I swat at him.
“Come on.” Dawson snaps his fingers. “Help her put it on, James.”
“Hi, James,” I say as he approaches.
“Evening, Shelby.”
“So, you do speak!” Dawson says.
James rolls his eyes as he takes the box out of my hands. Seems Dawson’s the problem, not James’ sense of humor. This should be a fun night.
I turn around and he slips the necklace around my throat, snapping the clasp tight. “Tell me, James, if someone tries to kidnap me, are you gonna go after me or the necklace?”
I turn around and face him.
“You,” he answers.
“What a relief.”
“As long as you’re still attached to the necklace, of course.”
I burst into giggles, releasing the tension that’s built up all afternoon. “Great. That’s perfect.”
In the limo, James returns to his silent robot act. I consider asking if he plans to follow me into the bathroom tonight, but, afraid I might not like the answer, I keep my mouth shut.
“You nervous, sweetheart?” Dawson asks, passing me a glass of champagne.
I hold the glass, studying the golden bubbles. “Last time I drank, it didn’t go so well.”
He scoffs. “Tell me about it.”
“Thanks for not…holding that against Logan.”
His eyes widen. “Ain’t Logan’s fault. Meant what I said the mornin’ after.”
“Well, thank you. And thanks for agreeing to this tonight. I know Miranda forced—”
“Shelby, Miranda didn’t force anything on me.”
“I’m sure you had someone else you’d rather have on your arm.”
He stares out the window. “Not really.”
The limo rolls to a stop, mercifully ending our awkward conversation.
“You ready, darlin’?” Dawson asks.
“I don’t think so.” My mouth trembles into a shaky smile.
He steps out first and offers his hand to help me down. “Thank you.”
“Dawson! Dawson!” photographers shout from different directions.
“How do you wanna do this?” Dawson asks.
My nervous eyes meet his calm ones. “Don’t leave me.” I want to kick myself for saying something so ridiculous but I’m suddenly terrified. Of the crowd. Of the photographers. Interviewers. Random fans. All of it overwhelms me at once.
He presses his hand to my back and steps onto the red carpet, pushing me along, yet somehow keeping his distance. We stop and smile for a few photos.
He leans down. “Can’t lie, I’d rather not have any photos taken of us with my hands on you. Your boyfriend’s fully capable of chopping them off and beating me to death with ‘em.”
That finally cracks me up, chasing away my nerves.
“I ain’t kiddin’, darlin’.”
“Dawson! Dawson! Are you and Shelby dating?”
“No, sir. Shelby’s a good friend,” Dawson answers smoothly. “That’s all.”
“Shelby! Are you sleeping with Dawson?” someone else shouts.
Why do I get the rude questions?
“Don’t answer that asshole,” Dawson growls, turning us away from the cameras so we can continue to the next stop.
A short woman in a tight, shiny ice-blue gown stops short in front of me. I bang into her before I can catch myself.
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
Next to me, Dawson mutters, “Motherfucker,” under his breath.
It’s the only warning I have before Glenna Wilson turns around. Her eyes widen and she lets out a startled gasp.
Too stunned to feel anything I just blink and stare at my sworn enemy.
She recovers from her shock quickly, easing into a haughty pose of indifference.
“Dawson,” she greets.
When he doesn’t bother to answer, she settles her gaze on me. Her big blue eyes examine me for so long, sweat drips down my back.
“You plannin’ to etch my portrait?” I finally ask, irritated that I’m stuck here. I wouldn’t be shocked if someone planned this so they’d have a juicy story to write.
Dawson’s body twitches but he doesn’t laugh or say anything.
Glenna’s eyes flit toward him then back to me.
“Let me be honest,” she drawls.
Lord save me. In my experience, people who say that are only seeking permission to be openly cruel.
I raise an eyebrow, trying not to look massively annoyed, lest someone snap a photo and caption it “Shelby and Glenna showdown over Dawson Roads.” Or something equally inane.
“You’re an awfully poor substitute for me,” she says. “Don’t expect to keep him long.”
I curl my arm around Dawson’s and lean into him. Rooster will understand when I explain why. “Oh, honey,” I say in my most syrupy voice. “You mad you threw away a diamond and picked up a rock?”
Dawson peers down at me with an amused expression.
“So much for nothing going on,” she says to Dawson.
“We may not be together, but I know a good man when I see one,” I say. “I have a boyfriend.”
She taps one of her long, red fingernails against her chin. “Yes, I think I read something about him somewhere recently.”
“All lies,” Dawson says. “A concept you should understand since lies are your mother tongue.”
“Dawson! Smile for us!” someone calls out. “Shelby, Glenna! Oh, what a great shot!”
Hell no. I don’t want to be in a picture with this b
itch. I back away, turning around.
Enjoy a photo of my round, rosy butt, jerks.
“Come on, Shelby,” Dawson says, taking my arm.
“Wait,” Glenna says. “I’m sorry about what all happened to you.” She flashes a demure smile that probably hardens cocks all over the country and flutters her lashes at Dawson. “But I want you to know I had nothin’ to do with it.”
What an odd thing for an innocent person to blurt out for no reason.
“Come off it, Glenna,” Dawson snaps. “You all but admitted it to me.”
“I did no such thing.”
“It don’t matter. This ain’t the time or place.” Dawson takes my elbow and steers me toward the door. “Let’s go, Shelby.”
“Shelby, wait.” Glenna’s voice ricochets through the crowd.
“Are you nuts?” I whirl around. Enough is enough. “You know, I grew up admiring you. But you’re not only a nasty piece of work, you’re dumb as hell.”
Her eyes widen. No one’s probably told her off in years.
“Nothing has ever happened with Dawson and me.” Damn, I’m fired up now. “So, you wound up that sicko and unleashed him on me for no reason.”
Her face pales. Maybe she finally gets the depth of what she participated in.
“He stuffed me in a friggin’ box,” I fume. “I could’ve died. Do you get that?”
“I didn’t know.” Her voice strikes the correct contrite note this time.
“What’d you think he wanted to do with me? Bake cookies and doodle in some coloring books?”
“You have to believe me, Shelby.”
“You’re about as trustworthy as a drunk raccoon in a chicken coop. I don’t believe a word you say. You should be sittin’ in a jail cell right next to Martin Suggs, but for some reason you’re here annoying me.”
I whirl around so fast, I almost trip over my stupid heels. Dawson catches my arm and guides me away from Glenna.
“Damn, girl,” he says in a low voice. “That was spectacular. Bet ya someone caught that on camera too.”
“Shoot.” My face burns.
“Nah, it’s probably a good thing. She all but admitted it. Maybe we can use it to finally have her arrested.”
Do I even care anymore?
Somehow we manage to avoid Glenna while we’re mingling in the lobby.
Dawson’s sweet as pie, stopping to introduce me to important people as he ushers me to our assigned seats.
But he’s not Rooster.
Through it all, I keep the same fake smile plastered on my face.
Even when they call my name for Best Female Video, no joy enters my heart. Sure, I smile and act surprised. I walk on stage and accept my little trophy. I strike the right notes of gratitude for the microphone.
But inside I’m in tatters.
My heart and mind are waging a secret battle. I can’t ask Rooster to attend one of these shows with me. But I don’t know if I can do another event like this without him.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Rooster
“You’re an idiot,” Jigsaw grumbles.
Our hotel outside Bent Rock has a large screen television for us to watch Shelby and Dawson walk down the red carpet together. They’re not holding hands for the cameras, so I guess that’s something.
“Thanks for the diagnosis, you little shit goblin.”
“Seriously.” He gestures to the screen. “At least he’s not an asshole. But I still wouldn’t trust him around my woman. The dude has a higher body count than a fuckin’ redwood tree.”
“You’ve never had a woman in your life, so your advice lacks teeth.”
“I wouldn’t let another man borrow my Harley for a photo op. That toothy enough for ya, dick?”
A host of second thoughts crowd my mind as I stare at the screen. I’d bowed out way too easily when Miranda suggested Shelby and Dawson should attend this thing together.
“She looks like a fairytale princess.” I gesture toward the screen. “You think having a big, glowering biker next to her was gonna be helpful? Especially after that mess in Tennessee?”
“What? The tin foil cheater thing?” He waves it off. “Everyone knows Shelby’s got your balls in a mason jar.”
“I’m not talking about my balls, you clown.”
He points his beer bottle at the screen again. “You could’ve shrugged on that velvet sport coat, arranged your big ol’ balls into a thousand-dollar pair of jeans, shoved your stinky feet into some alligator boots that cost more than your first bike, and walked your woman down that red carpet instead of lettin’ Dawson do it.” He shudders. “Not like anyone expected you to wear a tux to this vapid shindig.”
“Somehow I don’t think any of those designers were in a rush to loan me alligator boots.”
“Don’t be dense. You know what I mean.”
“I can’t keep bringing all that negative attention to Shelby. It’s taking the focus off her music.”
“Duh. That’s why it would’ve made more sense for you to show your face there as a united front. Now everyone will be gossiping about her fuckin’ Dawson. Or did that not occur to you?”
“I thought about that.” Like, every second I’ve been away. “I needed to come up here. It made sense to do it now.”
His eyes widen and he reels back. “Whoa. I should’ve brought my hip boots to wade through this bullshit. Are you fucking kidding me? You had zero plans to stop here until I told you to.”
“Yeah, because I was supposed to be in Washington.”
He stops and sighs.
Aw fuck. I know that sigh. Recognize that expression slipping over his face too.
Shit’s about to get real and I’m not in the mood for it tonight. Not when he dragged me to a place I both love and hate. Where I gained and lost everything.
I’m missin’ Shelby so bad it aches down to my bones.
“There’s no way anyone’s gonna recognize you from back then if that’s what you’re worried about,” he finally says.
Okay, that’s in the neighborhood of the conversation I expected but not quite where I thought he’d start.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Not exactly. “But yeah, since you went there, that’s not a story she needs surrounding her right now.” Or ever.
“Logan, she’s not Ashley.”
The sting of my ex’s betrayal isn’t as sharp as it used to be. Still hate hearing that fucking name.
“Fuck, even I can see how much Shelby loves you,” he continues. “It’s written all over that girl’s face every time she looks at your dopey ass.”
“Thanks, I’m touched.”
“I mean, personally, I don’t get it.” He wrinkles his nose and gives me a disdainful once-over. “I suppose she’s entranced by your big, dumb beard or something.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.”
“You look nothing like that kid. No one’s gonna uncover all that shit and attach it to you today.” He pauses and dread fills my gut anticipating whatever he’s going to say next. “And even if someone did, Shelby wouldn’t care. She’s not stupid or shallow.”
“A story that ugly…” I shake my head. I almost think it would be better to let Shelby go than to put her through that circus.
Except, letting her go would be the same as cutting out my heart.
“It’s not your fault.” He takes a long, serious swallow of his beer. “Besides it doesn’t matter anymore. Those skeletons are buried deep.”
Maybe. But fuck knows no matter how much dirt you throw on top of them, skeletons always have a way of crawling out of the darkest holes.
Chapter Sixty
Shelby
My head throbs.
No, wait. That’s someone knocking on my door.
My eyes open. I stare at the shadowy ceiling, waiting to see if whoever it is knocks again.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I flick a glance at the clock. Who the heck would be waking me up this early?
Groaning
, I sit up and blink a few times. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol last night, yet I still feel like I got run over by a herd of angry hogs.
The knocks come a little quicker, followed by a muffled voice calling my name.
Rooster?
No, he’s supposed to be up north somewhere.
I hurry to the door, but check the peephole quickly to confirm it’s him.
“Rooster!” I twist and yank on the knob, so eager to see him, I can’t get the door to open.
“Shelby?”
“Give me a minute!” I stop my frantic tugging on the handle and realize the deadbolt’s engaged. I twist it and fling the door open. “What are you doing here?” I slam into his chest, loop my arms around his neck and jump up to kiss his cheek.
He wraps his arms around me tight, lifting me up. “Missed you too much.” His lips slam into mine. Something rustles against my behind but I’m too busy trying to get closer to him to figure out what it is.
He pushes into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
“I missed you,” I whisper between kisses. “A lot. Really a lot.” I don’t even know what I’m saying, I just need him to know how happy I am that he’s actually here.
“Missed you too.” He sets me on my feet and thrusts a bouquet of peach roses at me. “Congratulations. So proud of you.”
Pleasure warms me all over. He stopped somewhere to buy roses? I grab the flowers and promptly stick my nose in them, inhaling their sweet scent.
“You watched?”
“Hell yeah. I wasn’t going to miss it.” He brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “You looked really pretty.”
Tell him how badly you wanted him there with you.
But I can’t seem to force out the words. Rooster already does so much for me. Has given up the last few months of his life to travel with me. I can’t guilt him into doing something I know he’ll hate just because I’m too insecure to go without him.
“Jiggy gave me shit all night,” he says in a low voice.
“You made him watch too?”
“Made him,” he scoffs. “Like anyone can make that asshole do anything.”
I search the room for something to put the roses in, finally landing on the ice bucket. “Why’d he give you a hard time?” I ask over my shoulder.
Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17) Page 41
