"If we need to."
"So that's it?"
"Yes," Damon said simply. "That's it."
August stared him down. Damon stared back. The others couldn't look away.
August nodded stiffly.
"Fine. You want me gone? I'm gone."
He crossed the room and stormed through the door, slamming it shut behind him.
The room was eerily still.
"What the fuck did we just do," Cameron whispered, breaking the silence.
"We saved his life," Noah said.
Ian shook his head.
"No. We destroyed it."
Damon clenched the hair at the back of his head in his fist, tugging on the strands.
"We had to do it."
He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.
"We can't let him leave like this," I said. "I'm not letting it end like this."
I didn't want it to end at all.
I rushed to the door, flinging it open and skidding to a stop in the hotel hallway. August was already gone. I hurried to the elevator, praying for it to arrive quickly.
When I finally made it to the lobby of the hotel, I saw August's tall, blond figure exiting the building. I ran after him.
"August, wait," I called.
He stopped.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I never meant for all this to happen."
"No?" He flicked his gaze back to me. I took a step back, alarmed. His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, simmering with a cold fury. "What exactly did you expect to happen?"
"I didn't think…" I never thought it would have come to this. But… "Damon was right. We can't stand by and let you hurt yourself."
"You're so easy to read." His eyes narrowed. "You're not worried about me. You're worried about yourself."
I gaped. August continued before I could speak.
"You think you finally found someone who understands you and he's a fucking drug addict. You're afraid I was just lying to you to get what I want, like I lied about everything else."
Tears stung the back of my eyes.
"That's not true! I don't think that at all. You didn't lie about us. I know it."
"I was doing fine before you showed up."
"You weren't fine. You said it yourself. You haven't been fine for over a year."
"I had it under control."
My stomach clenched, indignation settling in my gut along with the guilt.
"Are you forgetting that I watched you almost die?"
"That was an accident. I wouldn't have let it happen again."
"It shouldn't have happened in the first place."
"Don't tell me how to live my life. You don't know anything."
"I know music means everything to you. I know Darkest Days and the guys mean everything to you. You don't have to give all of it up. You just need to rest and stop pushing yourself. You don't need to prove anything to anyone."
He laughed bitterly.
"Is that what you think I'm doing? They're the ones who kicked me out."
"Not forever," I said desperately. "Just for the tour."
"They made it clear they won't let me back in unless—" He shook his head. "I'm done."
"You don't have to just walk away from everything. This doesn't have to be the end."
August growled, pushed open the lobby doors with a shove, ready to storm away.
Hot tears fell down my cheeks.
"You said you'd stay." I forced the words out. "You told me you'd stay as long as I wanted you to."
He turned back. His eyes burned with resentment.
"I guess that makes me a liar after all."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Click.
Delete.
Click.
Delete.
Growling in frustration, I hit the select all button and deleted every photo.
All my photos were awful. Everything I'd shot since…
I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my stomach.
…everything I'd shot since August left had been terrible. It was like my foul mood seeped into my camera, spoiling every photo.
A part of me knew I was being too hard on myself. My photos weren't terrible. They were fine.
Fine isn't good enough.
August's words echoed in my head.
That was the real reason I was mass deleting my pictures. Every time I looked at a photo I'd taken, August's voice rang in my ear, telling me I could do better, telling me that I had the potential for greatness if only I reached out and grabbed it.
But it was just my imagination. August wasn't here anymore to tell me those things.
And it was all my fault.
August hadn't come back to the hotel that night, or the next morning. He hadn't shown up by the time we had to leave for the next city. The band's manager Naomi called to tell us August had already booked a flight back home.
With grim expressions and our hearts in our throats, we had piled onto the tour bus and pulled out of the city without a chance to say goodbye.
It had been a week now. A week without the drummer of Darkest Days. The swirling pit of guilt and despair in my gut hadn't lessened. If anything, it had grown, like a black hole threatening to consume me from the inside.
"Excuse me?"
A young girl with wide brown eyes held her camera up in her hands, pointed at me.
"Sorry, am I in your way?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"No. I wanted to ask if I can take a picture of you."
I blinked.
"Me? Why?"
"I'm the social media intern for this concert venue," she explained. "I'm supposed to get interesting behind the scenes photos of people working to share online."
I didn't know why a photo of me frowning into my camera would be considered interesting. I nodded anyway.
"Just keep playing with your camera like you were before," she said. "I'll be quick."
I went back to my camera. With all my photos deleted, I had to pretend I was doing something.
True to her word, by the time I looked back up, the girl was off to the side, speaking to a roadie who had a skeptical look on his face.
Taking photos of crew members probably wasn't the kind of thing the poor girl thought she signed up for as an intern for a concert venue. I hoped her boss at least let her meet the bands and take photos of them. It was probably the only perk of an internship with what I assumed had to be low pay, or even no pay.
With no photos to speak of, I left the backstage and headed back to the tour bus. If I wasn't going to get any good shots, I might as well work on editing the ones I'd already taken.
I stepped onto the bus and paused.
Cameron sat on the sofa closest to the doors, face buried in his phone's screen. He must have been taking the time to rest and text his girlfriend before the show.
He flicked his gaze up when I appeared on the top of the stairs. He stared me down, his lips twitching into a frown. His gaze flicked back to the phone without a word of greeting.
If I'd thought Cameron had been giving me the cold shoulder before, it was nothing compared to the icy reception that greeted me every time the band got together in one room.
Disheartened, I made my way to the small office at the back. Turning on my laptop and opening my photo editing software, I clicked through the photos, trying to decide which ones to work on.
Hushed voices from the bedroom at the back caught my attention. Two identical voices. I couldn't hear what the twins were talking about. Or, more accurately, furiously hissing to each other.
The door opened. Ian stalked off. I kept my eyes trained on my laptop.
Damon came out. His hand was buried in the hair at the back of his neck. Frustration lined his face. He saw me.
"Hey," he said half-heartedly.
"Hey," I said carefully. "Are you guys okay?"
"Yeah. Just—" he let out a slow breath. "The usual shit."
The usual shit, in this case, had come
to mean arguing about August.
"Ian still upset?"
"He's turning this into a me-and-him thing." Damon glanced out the bus windows, watching his brother stomp off toward the venue. "He's saying I shouldn't have made him choose between me and August. Says it's just like me making him choose between me and Hope."
"That's not a fair comparison."
"Doesn't stop him from making it." Damon leaned against the office desk, shoulders slumping. "I know we did the right thing. If August kept playing while taking drugs, eventually something bad would have happened. Again. It was for his own good. Ian knows that." Damon pressed his lips together. "He just didn't have the guts to back me up on it."
"I don't think it's about guts." I looked down at my lap, hair falling to cover my face. "It's about friendship. And loyalty. And love."
Damon snorted.
"Should we start fighting over who cares about August more?"
"You all care about him. That was never in doubt."
"And you?"
I shot my head up, panicked.
"What do you mean, me?"
Damon cocked his head.
"You care about August."
A statement, not a question.
Heart thumping madly in my chest, I thought quickly.
"Of course. He's been a good mentor. A good friend. I didn't want to see him get hurt, either."
Damon seemed to accept the answer. Maybe he didn't suspect anything.
"Have you spoken with him?" Damon asked.
"No. He won't answer my calls. Or return my texts."
"The others haven't heard from him either. The only reason we know he got home safe is because our manager called us. We had to tell her everything over the phone. She nearly had an aneurism."
"Is she nice? Your manager? Will she look after him? Make sure he's taking care of himself?"
"She'll try. Don't know if he'll let her."
We both went silent, thinking about how stubborn August was.
"I should show you something." Damon took my laptop and typed quickly in the search bar, clicking the first link. He tilted the screen to show me. "It's the article that journalist wrote about you. The interview where you nearly threw up."
"I didn't almost throw up."
But as soon as I saw the photo accompanying the article, bile rose in my throat.
A picture of Darkest Days, with me in the center, wide-eyed in terror, clutching my camera in a white-knuckled grip.
"Don't really like my hair in that picture." Damon flashed me a grin. "But you look cute."
"Right, that deer-in-the-headlights look sure is appealing."
"Some guys go for the doe-eyed Bambi thing." Damon's phone beeped. "Ian says the guitar tech wants to see us. At least he's still talking to me."
"I'm sure he'll come around. Him and Cameron."
Damon craned his head to the front of the bus.
"Yeah, Cam's been kind of an ass. He's really giving Noah some competition these days." Damon gave me a rueful look. "It's only a few more weeks, right? Then we're back home and we can see how August is doing and figure things out from there."
"Only a few more weeks," I agreed.
But if this week was any indication, those few would feel like years.
Damon left. I turned back to my laptop. After examining the picture, chagrinned, I began reading the article.
It was good. I was a photographer, not a writer, but the piece sounded solid. Nothing exploitative like a trash mag would write. There was a bit of background about the band, the awards they had received, their reputation in the industry, their critical reception. The band's answers to her questions were printed verbatim, albeit cleaned up a little.
And then, at the end, was a special section devoted to me. I hadn't remembered half the things I'd told the woman. Seeing my words out there for all to read sent a pang of anxiety running through me.
I didn't sound bad, though. Or at least, I didn't sound like an idiot. She'd kept the questions short, and I'd done the same with my answers.
I'm very grateful for this opportunity. I know how lucky I am to be working with such a prestigious band.
Yes, this is my first real job out of school.
No, I have no connections in the music industry.
Yes, I've had my work shown in a few gallery exhibits for students.
No, I haven't really thought about what I'm going to do after this.
But there had also been personal questions.
Yes, August has been a very good mentor.
No, I didn't know who he was when he first approached me.
Yes. It would be wonderful if we could continue working together in the future. I've learned a lot from him. I'd like to continue learning more.
August had taught me so much. Opened my eyes to so many things. He had changed me.
I guess that makes me a liar after all.
A pang of hurt hit my chest.
Every time I remembered his last words, my stomach churned. My heart ached.
I didn't want to believe everything between us had been a lie.
But August Summers demanded perfection. He wanted his tour photographer to be the best.
Is that what he had been doing? Had he been building my confidence, helping me come to terms with myself, only so that I'd perform at the level he expected? Had it all been a lie?
If so, that was sick. Beyond sick. It was monstrous. No normal person would go that far, pretend that much. I couldn't believe August would do something like that.
Then again, I wouldn't have believed August would lie to his closest friends for a year or more about something so serious.
Feeling dejected, I turned off my laptop. Instead of working, I spun around in my chair, using my toe to push off the floor. The dizziness and nausea in my stomach helped mask some of the heartsick feelings roiling around in there.
On my fifth spin I stopped. My gaze landed on the side table. On a book. August's book. The one I'd seen him reading several times.
I picked it up. The pages were yellow and dogged-eared. It looked well read and well used. I turned to see the cover. The Giver, by Lois Lowry. August's favorite book. I only knew a bit about it. A young adult novel with critical acclaim. It was on the reading list at some schools. I'd never read it myself.
It had been left behind when we took off without him.
He'd had his suitcase in the hotel room with him, but he hadn't packed everything. Looking around the bus, I noticed a few other things that belonged to him. A spare shirt. His wireless earphones. The pair of comfy sneakers he'd worn the night we climbed up those rickety fire escape stairs to the roof.
Carefully, I gathered up all his forgotten items. I scrounged around and found a canvas bag to keep them in.
I placed the bag on my desk. I stared at it. This was all that was left of August.
Pinpricks of tears threatened to gather at the back of my eyes. I blinked rapidly, keeping them at bay.
This was going to be a long three weeks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Cameron!"
A tall, dark haired girl threw herself at the bassist. He caught her and swung her around as they laughed together. Noah grumbled next to me, but after being around him for months, I could detect a hint of a smile threatening to tilt up the corners of his lips.
As the other band members were greeted by their loved ones, I stood awkwardly near the front of the tour bus. We were finally back home. The guys were greeted with a warm welcome. I hung back and watched the hugs and kisses and tears from afar.
Hope spotted me. She detached herself from Ian and ran up, surprising me with a big hug.
"Cassie! I'm so glad you made it back in one piece. Good to see the guys didn't drive you mad."
"They weren't as bad as all that."
"Maybe they're maturing?" Her eyes sparkled as she glanced back at her boyfriend. Ian had his brother in a headlock. Damon punched him in the ribs, hard enough to make him wince and let go
. "Maybe not," Hope laughed.
"I bet you're happy to have him back home," I said.
"Very much so." The sparkle in her eyes faded. "And what about you? Are you glad to be home? It must have sucked to finish the tour without August." She shook her head, tsking with her tongue. "We always told that boy he's going to work himself into an early grave."
"Right."
Hope eyed me.
"Can I ask you something?" She leaned forward. "It wasn't really exhaustion, was it?"
Startled, I glanced at Damon, as if he held all the answers. He'd come up with the official cover story.
"Um."
"I knew it!" Hope pursed her lips together.
"Please don't say anything," I said. "It's August's personal business."
I was positive he wouldn't want the whole story getting around.
Hope nodded.
"Of course. I won't ask what really happened. But… is he going to be okay?"
"I hope so," I said quietly.
Her eyes turned soft and understanding. She pulled me into another brief hug.
"If you ever need anything, we're here for you. Me and Ian, and even Damon."
"I do need one thing. Do you have August's address? I have a bag of things he forgot on the bus."
I didn't explain why none of the guys were bringing it instead of me. Hope didn't ask, just texted me the address with a nod.
"I never said thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"You talked Damon into being nicer to me, didn't you?"
"I wouldn't say I talked him into it. I just helped him see things from his brother's perspective."
Hope flashed me a grateful smile. When she returned to her boyfriend's side, I could see Damon was relaxed around her, not riled up. He no longer looked like a cat with its back arched, hair standing on end, ready to hiss and scratch.
I was glad at least one good thing had come out of this tour.
I was waiting for my taxi to arrive to take me back home when Cameron appeared at my side. I stepped back unwittingly, my grip tightening on my suitcase handle.
"I come in peace." He held his hands up, his lips curving into a small, sheepish smile.
Hard Rock Deceit: A Rock Star Romance Page 15
