by Quinn, Cari
Logan’s eyes shot to Zeke’s. Confused, he shook his head. “No. How?” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “It just happened.”
“Dude, you’ve been back here for an hour.”
The walls of the hallway were closing in on him. He pushed past his friend to the stage. Johnny and Lindsey were at the music stand going over lyrics. They shot worried looks at him. Where was Cole?
Logan went over to the piano and picked up his iPad. The setlist was there with the lineup. Right. Cole had a show in the city, but he’d be back for the finale the next night. Emerson and Morgan were sitting at a table near the bar at the back, eating. Everyone was settled except him.
Everyone seemed normal. Except him.
The crack of the back door slamming jolted him out of the fog.
Isabella.
Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders as she huddled into a thin sweater. He jumped off the stage and hustled to her.
Her topaz eyes were rimmed in red. She crossed her arms over her stomach and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t do this, Logan.” Her voice cracked on his name.
Logan’s chest tightened. “Izzy.” He looked over his shoulder. All eyes were on them. He ushered her outside and took her hands. “I’m sorry about earlier. I handled it badly.”
Understatement.
He’d frozen like a freaking deer in headlights.
Shame and embarrassment brewed in his gut. That Aimee could reduce him to that level always made him insane. At first, he’d tried to laugh her off, then ignore her. He’d even tried to hit the dating scene to dissuade her. But Aimee was a master at deflection and working the tabloids.
Each one made him look worse, and sound like the unstable one. For over a year he’d reacted in anger until no one wanted to be around him. As emasculating as it was, he’d finally had to get help.
But the largest part of his shame was that he brought it on himself. How was he supposed to tell Izzy that? That it was his callous behavior that had brought the shitstorm to him.
He cupped her cheek, but she backed away. “Don’t.”
He dropped his hand and stuffed them both in his pockets. He cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming down.”
“Thanks—are you serious? I have over twenty photographers outside my shop. I had to borrow a wig from my friend just to get out the door.”
His eyebrows snapped down. “Did they follow you?”
Her eyes widened. “That’s what you’re asking me?”
“I don’t want them following you, or hurting you.”
“Don’t worry about them, you’re doing a bang-up job.” She poked him in the shoulder. “You just stood there while she spewed all that nonsense. Do you know what that sounded like?”
Logan scrubbed his face with his hands. “Izzy.”
“It sounded a helluva lot like I’m the other woman. All those pretty words last night, just a line, right?”
“What?” He grasped her shoulders. “God, no.”
“I should have known better.” She tipped her head back. “I kept asking myself why you were so adamant about making me feel like we had something. It’s what you do.”
He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “Is that what you think?”
“You get off on leading a woman on. Make her feel like she’s the only one. That the super-rich, super handsome rock star feels something for you.”
“No.”
But wasn’t that what he’d done with Aimee? How many parties had they hooked up just to get the paparazzi talking? To play jokes on them. Had he led her on one too many times?
She shrank back. “God, how could I have been so stupid? This is why Bad Bella was gone and buried. Because a bad boy with sexy green eyes and a fleet of women shouldn’t be able to hurt me. I should know better.”
“Izzy, no.”
“Then tell me. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that you don’t string women along.”
“You’re different. We’re different.”
“Why? Why would we be different? We met four days ago. Four. We didn’t have time to be different.”
Logan’s shoulders tightened and his stomach pitched. He was losing her. He could see it. Why would she want to be with him? Not after today. He’d left her alone in that mess. “You’re right.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Let’s just call this what it was. A fling. I got the fantasy fuck of a lifetime. Your reputation is utterly intact.” The last word cracked. She clasped her hand over her mouth as one tear slid down her cheek and melted into her hand.
She broke him. Hours ago, she’d been laughing in his arms and now he’d brought her tears.
It’s what he did.
He wanted to go to her. To drag her into his arms and promise her that it wasn’t true. Instead, he lifted his chin and took the slap. “Satisfaction guaranteed. Goodbye, Isabella. I’ll be gone after the last show.”
She backed away from him, her face ashen.
Logan turned his back on her and opened the door. He slipped inside and closed it softly behind him.
Nash and Lindsey were at the microphone. Her angel-bright voice matching her hair and sweet smile. Nash, all dark angles and intensity. Logan had known there would be magic with the people he’d brought together.
At least this was one thing he could get right.
Logan moved behind the bar and spotted the bottle of Jameson behind glass. He picked up a stainless steel shaker and bashed the lock until the slider turned enough for him to jimmy the door open and grab the bottle.
At least she’d be away from him. He didn’t deserve her.
He never had.
Twenty-Three
“C’mon, man. That’s enough.”
“One more drink and I won’t care that the one woman I want to be in the audience will be missing, and the one I despise will be waiting for me with a crazy smile.” Logan tipped back the red plastic cup until he got the last drop of whisky. He’d put Aimee on the no-fly list, but she’d be there. She was always there.
“You didn’t care half a bottle ago. Now, you’re too drunk to find A minor, let alone see the crowd.”
“So?”
Zeke sat next to him. “You’re the one that put this barn show together. And you say you have this great love for the town. You want this guy,” he looked him up and down, “on stage?”
Logan swished the last quarter of the bottle. “They’ll get over it.”
“And the press?”
He shrugged. “They already think I’m a chump.” Logan shoved his sunglasses on his face. “Useless to try and change that.”
“It’s because you let them. You should have reported this chick a year ago. It is not your fault she’s unbalanced.”
“Isn’t it?” Logan dropped the bottle on top of the piano with a thunk. It rolled to the side and the precious caramel-colored liquid glugged out. Logan made a grab for it, but ended up knocking it to the floor. “Dammit.”
Zeke scooped up the bottle and tossed it in the garbage. “If you believe that, maybe you’re just as fucked up as she is.”
Logan’s chest heaved. “Maybe I am.” He’d let Izzy walk, hadn’t he? He sure as fuck hadn’t been strong enough to stay away from her. And now he’d tasted her, felt her move under him, heard his name on her lips.
Those were things he couldn’t turn off. No matter how much whisky he consumed.
“Sober the fuck up and pull yourself together. We have a show in two hours. If not for you, then for the people that came here to support you.”
With his gut roiling and his head pounding, he tried to make sense of just how messed up he was. Logan pushed off the stool and headed backstage. Zeke was right. The chasm of crap he was facing wasn’t anyone else’s problem but his own.
Nausea settled on him, alternately clammy and sweaty. Instead of swallowing it down, he busted into the small bathroom and slammed to his knees. He retched until his gut was on fire and his head spun. He dropped weakly to the floor, his head rap
ping against the door.
The door opened and he fell onto his back, across the threshold.
“Oh my God. Are you all right?”
Logan gave a thumbs up. “Fine.”
Lindsey crouched down in front of him. “You’re a hot mess.”
Logan rolled onto his knees. He held his midsection, hoping that the last of the whisky was gone. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” He staggered to his feet. “You here to give me some unsolicited advice too?”
“No, I came to pee. But since I’m here.”
“Pass.” Logan brushed by her and held onto the wall. The world was still a bit crooked. At least thirty-five degrees off.
“You love her already, huh?”
Logan came to a stop at the end of the hallway. “You’re a fanciful girl.” He turned enough to be heard, but didn’t look at her. His head throbbed like an infected tooth and the anger that had been dulled with alcohol was rearing up.
“Maybe, but I’m not the one lying to myself.”
He kept walking, dug out a water from the cooler and managed to get down the stairs to the main floor without falling on his face. He needed air.
He paused at the bar. Oblivion and numbness was so much better than this. But he kept walking. The door…her voice. He could still hear it in his head. The one silvery tear she couldn’t hold back.
Logan stumbled into the trees, a limb snaring his t-shirt, scraping the hell out of his arm. He backed into a tree, sliding down the trunk to the ground. He crossed his arms over his knees and buried his face.
He couldn’t be in love with her. Not this fast.
Even if he wanted to stick that clusterfuck of an idea under the microscope—and he did not—what did it matter? He couldn’t keep his shit in order enough to prove to her that he was worth the effort. But he could get the festival done on a high note. Even if he had to fake ever fucking chord.
The rat-a-tat beat of Morgan on the drums kicked him into gear. He stood, and while still a little muzzy, he could at least walk a straight line. He got to the checkpoint at the side of the building. A behemoth of a guy—who might rip his uniform shirt if he took too deep a breath—stood sentinel. When he spotted Logan, the guy nodded.
“Hey. Can you do me a favor?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I need someone to drive me up to my cabin and bring me back. I didn’t bring my stage clothes and I need a shower.” Definitely needed a shower. And a fucking toothbrush.
“No problem.” He lifted his wrist and murmured into it. Suddenly another man wearing the RD logo on his t-shirt pocket came around the corner.
“Just follow me, Mr. King.”
Logan nodded. He got into the black SUV and shot Zeke a text that he’d be back within the hour. The ride was quick and quiet. His escort seemed to know that Logan wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Through the gate and to the front of the house, Logan blocked out memories of Izzy. He’d never get through this if he didn’t.
He used the palm plate and was relieved that the house was empty. He took the stairs two at a time, stripping as he went. The clothes went into the trash before he ducked under the punishing spray of his shower. Memories of Izzy’s cries, her honeyed taste on his tongue made him race through his routine.
He brushed the death out of his mouth and paused with the tube of toothpaste in his mouth. His pills were there. With shaking fingers, he turned the bottle of Valium around in the cabinet.
The urge to check out rode him hard. The one psychiatrist he’d seen had been a little too eager to fill out that prescription pad for him. And the one time he’d allowed himself to take one, he’d been in a fog the entire day. A delicious calm that made him feel absolutely nothing.
He’d hated it. Logan shut the medicine cabinet firmly.
No way.
With a towel around his waist, he went to the wardrobe and pulled on a black dress shirt, boxer briefs, and pants. As he sat on the bed to pull on socks he tried to ignore the mussed sheets and Izzy’s midnight flower scent. His house was full of her.
Exactly the reason he rarely brought anyone to the cabin. He had friends and the band, but never a woman. It had always been his refuge. And now she was in every freaking room.
Eating with him, cooking, loving—no, just no. He stepped into a black pair of shoes and left the room without a backwards glance. He raced down the stairs, stopped in the kitchen for another bottle of water and downed four aspirin. On the island was a basket.
Dread slicked down his spine. It was full of smoked meats and breads, high end mustard, and an assortment of olives and pickled vegetables. Perfect for after a show. He curled his fingers into a fist, then plucked the card off the stick at the top.
Charlie.
Logan breathed a sigh of relief. His manager.
He leaned on the counter top, his knuckles cracking with the flex of relief.
One good thing today. He grabbed the water he’d set down and set a second envelope spinning.
He curled the card into his fist and ripped it in half. He wasn’t going to let her get to him again today. He’d already lost Izzy, he wasn’t going to fuck up the entire night by reading whatever psycho love note she’d sent him.
But as half of the note fluttered to the marble counter, he saw a reference to Izzy.
He quickly pulled the envelope open and pushed the two halves together.
You made the correct choice. She was never good enough for you. She doesn’t love you the way I do. She never could.
I did like walking around her place though. Words are power. We know that don’t we, love? Her world is full of words, new and old. So many pretty books and pictures. So fragile.
I’m glad you didn’t make me show you how fragile.
Love,
Me
The room dissolved into a red haze. Before the haze lifted, his hands were full of ribbons of paper.
No.
There was no way.
He swept them all into his hands and stalked to the trash. Just before he dumped them in, he stopped.
What if it was more than a scare tactic? What if Aimee went too far?
He opened a drawer below his liquor cabinet and dropped them in there. There was no way he could ignore this. Not when it came to Izzy.
He set the codes for the house to lock it down. There would be no free-flowing access. Not now, not ever.
He used his palm print for verification and got into the SUV. “Sorry. Took a little longer than I thought.”
“I’ve been ordered to get you down there, sir. You go on in thirty.”
Logan nodded and looked out the window. “I’m ready.”
Twenty-Four
“Bella, you’re going to have to come out eventually,” Nic said from outside her apartment door.
“Nope. I’m moving the computers up here. I never have to leave.” Bella sat cross-legged on her stripped bed. She’d pulled the sheets and mattress cover off in a rage and cleaned every corner. Her room smelled like a damn orchard. No trace of sandalwood and vanilla.
If she could have used bleach on her skin, she would have. Not that it mattered. There were marks all over her body where his beard had left little crosshatch abrasions. Every time she moved she was reminded how many times and where he’d touched her.
She pulled her iPad onto her lap. She had over fifteen different pages open and she’d binged on every news article that had ever mentioned Logan and Aimee Collen. Now that the shock had worn off, she recognized the woman.
Aimee Collen, only daughter of Henry Collen and Elizabeth Stanton-Collen. Manhattan royalty for the Collen Hotels and Stanton Spas. Their family fortune made billionaires look like a poor, bastard cousin.
Aimee and Logan had been a hot item a few years ago, and now were off and on according to the tabloids. Every article or blog post or freaking social media regurgitation mentioned Rock royalty and hotel heiress were a match made in heaven. They’d gone on a tear through every one of the five star hotels
in the Collen repertoire. Wild, lavish parties and a social media trail of pictures and video that rivaled a Kardashian.
It made her stomach hurt to even think about them, let alone look at them.
Had he just been slumming it with her? The stupid little bookstore owner that was good enough, and pretty enough while he was on vacation?
The crank on her door’s pulley system gave way and Nic slid the steel door open.
Bella’s eyebrows shot up. “That key is for emergencies.”
Nic stalked in. “I think this qualifies.” She reached out and snatched the iPad out of her hands.
“Hey!”
Nic slapped her hand. “No. You will not look at web searches with Logan and skanky Aimee.”
“I wasn’t.”
Nic looked down and turned the tablet around. “Oh really?”
A picture of Logan with his arms around Aimee’s waist and cheek pressed against hers on the freaking French Riviera filled the screen.
Bella fell backwards on her bed. “How did I not know about that?”
Was that her whiny voice? Just shoot her for God’s sake.
“From what I gathered, they broke up a while ago, but hook up randomly.”
Bella lifted her head and peered at her best friend. “You told me not to fall into the vortex of Logan and Aimee web browsing.”
“Well, of course you’re not supposed to. But as best friend, I have the dirty job of gathering intel.”
Bella flopped back down. “Nic logic, I forgot.”
The bed dipped. “Honey, you know how the tabloids get. I can’t find concrete proof that they’ve even been together for the last six months.”
“You didn’t see his face when I asked him. He couldn’t have looked guiltier if I’d caught him with his pants around his ankles and her naked in his arms.”
“Okay, enough with the vivid imagination. That is not healthy.”
“Right. Because that pales into comparison to the ten different web posts I found in the last hour with me as the star idiot. My mouth hanging open and Logan standing there looking stupid with that goddamn dragon in his arms.” She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late, tears were falling down her temples. “So stupid.”
