by Quinn, Cari
“No, you weren’t the stupid one. He was.” Nic hauled her up by the arm and into her arms.
Bella rested her head on Nic’s shoulder. “My instincts are usually so much better than this.”
“We all have that one guy that makes us extra dumb.”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, honey. Adam made me extra dumb. Sometimes we keep them, and sometimes we throw those fish back. And sometimes we leave the hook in their mouth and hope they bleed out.”
She didn’t want to laugh, but a watery chuckle came out anyway. She slipped away from Nic and stood up. Everything on her hurt. As if her body knew just how bad she was feeling and was commiserating. She winced at her alarm clock. She needed to meet Cam in twenty minutes to make sure the Saturday night crowd was covered. Two bands from New Jersey were coming in for the main stage show in the park. Not to mention that she would have to show her face.
As much as she wanted to crawl into her bed and ignore the world, this was her home. And she would have to walk with her head held high long after Logan King rolled out of town.
She snapped her favorite pair of jeans off a hanger.
“Unh-uh. Cute dress is the correct choice, honey. You need to look extra hot and fuckable.”
Bella swung around. “I do not.”
“Oh yeah you do. The first rule of public break ups is look infinitely fuckable. Even if you don’t plan on taking a pretty boy home, at least make everyone think you can.”
“Your logic is so often flawed. Why do I keep you around?”
“Because I am your swami.” Nic pushed by her and flicked hangers aside until she got to the end. “Where have you been hiding this?”
Bella sighed. “It’s too tight.”
“Nothing is too tight.”
“So says the girl that has her picture next to the word luscious in the dictionary.”
“Why, thank you.” Nic held the dress up in front of Bella. “This blue and your crazy yummy eyes. Totally rock the warm, smoky eye shadow and lots of mascara. You need big hair too.” She turned Bella around and popped her on her ass. “Now.”
“You’re a menace.”
“You’re welcome.”
She stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door. Armed with a spray bottle mixture of coconut oil and water, she wet her hair down and stuck clips in her hair. She got dressed, blew her hair dry and shook it out until it was all soft waves, then did her eyes. When she returned to her room, Nic was on her iPad again.
She quietly moved to Nic’s side and stole the iPad.
“No, B—don’t.”
She looked down, because how could she not? Nic had just said the magic word.
Logan kissing a woman.
Logan kissing her.
Somehow that made it worse.
A photographer must have caught them in front of the house last night. The picture was fuzzy, but it was definitely them. She looked happy. Her chin tipped up to kiss him, his arms around her. The memories of what happened just after that picture assaulted her. The atrium, his bed, the shower. Her traitorous body reacted to the memory. Even when he’d hurt her so completely, she couldn’t stop the heavy need pooling within her.
She closed the cover on the iPad and set it on her bed. There was no way she could get through that night if she didn’t shut those memories down. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” Nic was unusually quiet as she stood and went to the door. “You look great.”
Bella practiced her winning smile. “I had my very best friend pick out the perfect outfit.”
“Yes, I did.”
She slid her arm through Nic’s. “Then let’s go show each other off.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Twenty-Five
Logan stood in the center of the gazebo. It was Sunday—the last night of the festival. The air was still and the humidity had finally broken. His band was there. Hundreds had gathered in his little town. To see him play, to see All the King’s Men in an intimate show.
And he would give it to them.
Because that’s what he was supposed to do. The night before had been a shittastic show in his mind. The critics and newspapers had disagreed. But he believed it was more because of the team he’d played with for the weekend. They’d pulled him out of the fire a few times. And now he was here, one more time. This stage was different than the barn. It was familiar and stifling at the same.
But his life would not be ruled by one woman. He closed his eyes. Let the song he’d rehearsed a dozen times buzz in his head and the long sigh of Zeke’s guitars bolster him.
She was out there.
He could feel it. The little hairs on his arms rose. When he didn’t start the song like he should, the boys knew. They replayed the first chords, trusting him to walk out and give the performance that everyone deserved.
That he deserved.
That Izzy deserved.
That Aimee deserved.
He played for himself and he played for Izzy. But Aimee would learn tonight, that he would never perform for her again.
He stepped out of the shadows, his voice a low roll of words he hadn’t known existed inside of him.
Whisky beats and a hard rain save me tonight.
If you only knew what it cost me to fight.
The taste of your memory reminds me
That you’re anything but mine.
The lyrics had come in the dead of night. He’d sat in the moonlit atrium and had written the song at three in the morning. And now he was putting himself on display. An apology and a plea for her to have a good life. It was buried under metaphors and innuendo, but the heart of it was for her.
Would always be for her. As her song flowed into another, he stood taller.
His gaze drifted over Aimee in the front row. How she got by security every single time, he’d never know. Probably a crisp hundred dollar bill. How many times had they played just that trick to get around a security guard at a hotel?
His heart stuttered, and his words grew weak for a split second. Then his voice soared as he pointedly turned from her. He strode to the other end of the stage and laughed with a twelve-year-old sitting on her dad’s shoulders. He concentrated on those kinds of faces. Of the true fans, of the indulgent men that were obviously there with their girlfriends or wives.
He wanted to win them over for the first time in so very long. He poured himself into the show. His band’s songs, cover songs, sing alongs. Anything that kept the crowd pumped. And when he finally couldn’t do one more song, he landed on his knees with his throat as raw as it had ever been.
He found her in the crowd. At the back, with her friend at her side.
With no choice, he signaled to Morgan for a song they didn’t do often, but he kept as an audible on every setlist. When the spirit moved him, it was the perfect song. Morgan was his jack-of-all-trades when it came to instruments. And his sad saxophone was particularly poignant.
Seger’s “Turn the Page” drifted into the night. Logan closed his eyes and let the lyrics wrap around the crowd, let the song give him strength. Because he didn’t want to leave. For the first time he’d wanted to stay for longer than a week.
He’d found someone he wanted to start over with. And he had to walk away. He’d find solace on the road.
For now.
* * *
Logan draped a towel over his head as he sat on a folding chair at the back of the gazebo. It had been a helluva lot milder than any other night of the festival, but it was still brutal under the lights. He hunched forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. The guys were laughing and getting their flirt on with the women that always managed to get backstage, even at a small town festival.
He didn’t want to play nice tonight. His head throbbed from dehydration and a raging hangover. And he honestly just wanted to get drunk again. At least when he was blurry-eyed he could sleep. And he stopped reaching for her.
At least
he’d kept his shit together at the show. That’s all that mattered. The entire weekend had shown him that he could still feed off the stage, that it still meant something. If he took nothing else from this weekend, he could take that.
“Sir, you can’t—Sir!”
Logan looked up as one of the security staff strong-armed a guy that looked like a linebacker gone soft. Logan caught the jowly profile and sighed. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for the paparazzi.
“Logan! Hear me out.”
“Not interested, Brian.”
“I think you will be,” he called out.
Logan swiped the towel off his head. This was the same guy that had ambushed him at the darts and balloon game. Did he really think that Logan would feel like talking?
“I got a photo that maybe the new missus wouldn’t like to see.”
Logan climbed two stairs and paused. He curled his fingers on the railing. He was so going to regret this. “Let him come back.”
The security guy had Brian’s arm up behind his back. “Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes.” Logan sighed, turned around and came back down the steps. “I know him.”
Brian broke the hold and shoved the guy back a step. “He knows me.”
“What are you twelve?” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “This better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good.” He handed over the mini tablet.
Logan rubbed his eyes then looked down. It was fuzzy and dark, but it was obviously him and Lindsey. How had he known that one, idiotic moment would bite him in the ass? He barely had kissed her. He flicked through the pictures. But damn if the pictures didn’t look like he was about to seduce her.
“Fifty grand and I won’t sell it to the entertainment blogs.”
Logan looked at him and lifted one eyebrow. “This was days ago, Brian. Why do you think anyone would give two shits about this picture?”
“Because, you’re on the hot sheet again. Where you and Aimee Collen are, there is always a click-through.”
Fucking Aimee. She’d be haunting him forever. “And why would you take a paltry fifty thousand when you could make the rounds with said picture?”
“Because I like you, Logan.”
Logan barked out a harsh laugh. More like Brian couldn’t sell the picture for more than twenty. “Right. You only like cashier’s checks and cash transfers, Bri.”
He shrugged. “Be that as it may, I’m here to help you out. You and that hot little bookstore owner looked awfully cozy. You must have a golden cock, man. They all want a piece of you.”
“Let me give you a tip. When you’re extorting money from someone, try to use one or two of your brain cells. Just a thought.”
Brian clenched his jaw. “Fifty large, my final offer.”
He handed him back the tablet. “Let it go to print. You aren’t getting a dime from me, Brian.”
“You’re a cold one.” Brian backed away. “I saw you with the new girl. She’s a hot little piece. Seems like she’d be worth the money to me.”
Logan forced himself not to react. Brian was a snake, but he was a perceptive one. He motioned to the security detail and he shuffled Brian out and beyond the barrier.
Izzy was worth a million times more than that. He’d happily hand over his fortune for her not to see that damn picture. It was before they were together, and a mistake to even allow that kiss with Lindsey to almost happen. But it was also the final bit of napalm he needed to make sure what they had was scorched from the earth. Izzy was already hurt. If she hated him, then she would be safe from Aimee.
And right now, that was all that mattered to him.
Twenty-Six
Bella tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and tightened her stubby little ponytail as she closed her front door behind her. Coffee. She needed so much coffee. The last show had been excruciating.
There had been no way to avoid going and watching Logan own the stage with huge smiles and a sex appeal that was probably illegal in at least thirty states. No. She’d done her duty and stood next to Sharon and the council as Logan delivered.
The show had been flawless. As if he hadn’t just sliced her chest open the day before. Reiterating just how right she was.
Logan King had been her most epically beautiful mistake.
But today was a new day and she could start over one more time. She’d done it before. And it would take a boatload of coffee to recover from the restless night’s sleep. She breezed into Valentine’s Diner.
Dee came out of the back with a sunny smile. “Hey there, Miss Bella.”
“I’m in desperate need of your espresso machine.”
Dee’s blue eyes sparkled. “You know my baby never lets you down.” She petted the monster that took up half of her back counter.
“It better not,” Sam shouted from the back. “I’m still paying that sucker off.”
“Don’t listen to him, baby. He doesn’t know our special bond,” Dee crooned.
Bella laughed. “Double shot mocha latte with extra cinnamon, please.”
“Oh, it’s a serious day.” Dee dumped espresso beans in her grinder.
Oh, that sweet, sweet smell. Bella dropped onto one of the swivel stools. “I have a lot to catch up on now that the festival’s over. I need all the help I can get.”
A group of girls came in and sat at a booth in the back. Their eyes widened once then looked down at their phones.
“Here you go, Bella.”
Bella frowned and turned back to Dee. She left a five on the counter and pulled the cup toward her.
“Nah, on the house.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“I insist.” Dee leaned on the counter. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Okay, thanks.” Bella slid off the stool. That was weird. Maybe it was because she’d given Valentine’s a free booth. They’d made a killing. Even Sam couldn’t complain about the money they’d raked in. “I’ll see you later.”
“Sounds good, sweetie.”
Bella glanced over at the stage. Cam and his crew were busy pulling down the stage apron that went around the gazebo. Another year finished. She smiled at two women that passed her on the sidewalk.
They smiled back, but a peal of laughter seemed a little excessive. Again, she got the distinct feeling they’d been looking at her like they knew her. Winchester Falls was a small town, but not so small that every person knew the other.
And she was pretty good at remembering faces.
She definitely did not know those women, or the trio of girls at the diner.
She took a fortifying sip of Dee’s latte and turned into her store.
“Bella, is that you?”
She frowned. “Yeah. What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming in until afternoon.” She lifted her cup. “I would have gotten you one.”
“I had to come in.”
“Hey, I don’t mind the help. We’re backlogged on orders with the—”
“B. Honey, stop.” Nic folded her arms.
“Okay, what the hell is going on? Everyone’s acting weird today.”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“No. Did something happen?” Her stomach flipped. She hadn’t turned on the television in days. “God, nothing terrorist-related, right?”
“Only if you consider what I’d like to do to Logan King’s nuts. I might get arrested. I don’t think it deserves a terrorist alert, though.”
She sighed. “I do not want to talk about Logan. I want to put him behind me.” A decade would be good. Well, minus the aging. But the hurting part. She’d definitely skip that.
The ache in her chest had been a twinge for all of a minute. Then Nic had to bring him up. Shouldn’t that be against the best friend code or something?
She walked behind the counter and grabbed her iPad. “Well, if you’re here early then I’m going down to the dungeon. I’ve got loads of orders to sift through.”
“B.”
“You are not goi
ng to let this go, are you?”
“I thought I was coming in to be a shoulder, now I guess I get the job of bomb squad.”
“Fine. Tell me, oh bomb expert, just what did Logan do that is going to make me get so upset.” Was it wrong to want to skip this and run downstairs? To ignore it? Because the big sad filling Nic’s eyes made her want to scream, “No.”
Nic took her iPad and flipped off the cover. “It’s a picture. It’s not that bad. But, it’s not great either.” She tapped on the screen then handed it to Bella.
She closed her eyes. She so didn’t want to see it.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was Logan on stage at the barn. A picture from that first night. When he’d been blazing on fire. The black shirt she’d peeled off of him before bringing him into that moonlit room.
But then she saw the inside caption. The picture was slightly blurrier, but there was no doubt who it was. Logan and Lindsey.
Kissing.
Her jaw clenched tight and tears flooded her eyes. “Damn you, Logan.” She whipped the cover closed. “Just, dammit.”
Had it been the same night? He was always wearing black when he was working, so she couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. If she hadn’t been sure about just how much of a liar he was, this certainly was the final bit of proof.
Nic came up behind her, her hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She blew out a breath. “But I will be.”
Twenty-Seven
New York City
Logan stepped out of the Town Car. The unending noise of the city was jarring compared to the relative quiet of the last few weeks. He’d needed to get back into the city for a number of reasons, but the main one had been here.
A discreet bronze plaque was the only way thing that distinguished this wall of glass from the other half dozen on this block of West 70th. Bold, capital letters read: ROTH DEFENSE.
