Anything But Mine

by Taryn Elliott

  “Logan. Hold it. Don’t throw it yet.”

  Logan ignored them and threw his third dart. This one hit a yellow balloon instead. The click and whir of high end cameras made her stand up straight. These weren’t photographers from a local paper.

  These were paparazzi.

  “C’mon, Logan. Win the pretty girl a prize.”

  “Yeah, we need a good shot.”

  The taunts didn’t seem to faze Logan. He threw a fourth dart and the red balloon exploded with a bang.

  Logan clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Purple dragon, kid.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. King.” The kid used a long pole with a hook and dropped it into his arms.

  “Pose with the dragon and your new flavor, Logan.”

  It was the first time she’d seen the photographers get to Logan. He held up a hand. “I’m sure you can find a better shot than that guys. Buzz off, huh?”

  “Don’t want a picture with the new lady? Or don’t you remember her name?”

  Bella’s eyebrows shot up.

  Logan’s brow snapped down. “Cool it, Brian.”

  “You know this guy?” Bella blurted out.

  “He’s a regular.” Logan stuffed the dragon under his arm and reached for her hand. He tugged her through the crush of people that had gathered. Shouts of fans and people that wanted to talk to him washed over her. People wouldn’t move. Then, suddenly, Logan stopped in the middle of the park. She crashed into him, pushing him forward a step.

  “Geeze, warn a girl.” He didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. She curled her hand around his upper arm and it felt like she’d grabbed onto a slab of rock.

  “Hello, Logan. I’ve missed you.”

  Bella moved to Logan’s side. A woman stood in front of him. A severe pixie cut in copper and burgundy framed her triangular face. Diamonds winked from her ears and wrist. She looked like she was on her way to Wimbledon with her white flared skirt and Ralph Lauren white polo shirt.

  Bella looked to Logan. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle jumped in his cheek. His hand dropped way from hers. “Who’s this?”

  The woman gave her a derisive look and ignored her. “I thought you had outgrown this, Logan. How many women do you need to fuck before we get on with this? It’s getting boring.”

  Bella jerked back a step.

  “Miss Collen. Over here.”

  “Oh, my God. Aimee Collen?”

  Bella turned to a girl behind her. Who the hell was Aimee Collen?

  Her belly cramped as she stared at Logan, then slid her gaze back to the woman in front of them.

  “Are you and Logan back on? How long will it last this time?”

  “Did the annulment ever go through? Did you return the ring?”

  Bella whipped her head around at each shout from the photographers, but there was too much coming at her. The woman—Aimee—stepped forward and cupped his jaw. Logan jerked his head out of her grasp.

  “Oh, stop. I gotta say, I’m not a fan of the beard. Never thought you’d join the little hipster douchebaggery going on with beards. Ruins the lines of your perfect face.” Aimee slid her forefinger along the dent in his chin. She brushed her lips over his cheek and looked straight at Bella. Purple lashes framed watery gray eyes. Aimee lifted one brow and curled her perfectly manicured fingers down Logan’s forearm. Then she turned her full attention on Logan. “I’ll see you tonight. I’m sorry I missed the show yesterday.”

  She brushed by Bella in a haze of Chanel. The crowd enveloped Aimee and she smiled hugely, taking pictures, selfies, and signing autographs. The squeals of the teen girls only added to the confusion.

  “Logan.”

  Logan’s knuckles were white as he clenched his fingers into fists. He looked down at the pavement and wouldn’t meet Bella’s gaze.

  The confusion swarming her head like a hive of bees turned to a gut full of dread. Oh, God.

  Had she heard the word annulment in the chaos?

  Was Logan married? Shouldn’t she know that? Why didn’t she know any of this? Who the hell was Aimee Collen?

  She backed up one step, then two. People were staring at them and the furious shutter click of cameras sounded so loud.

  And he wouldn’t look at her.

  She did the only thing she could, she pushed through the crowd and lifted her chin. She didn’t look left or right, just straight ahead. Somewhere, anywhere. She had to get away from the cameras. Jacob Stack stood in the doorway of the grocery with his arms crossed over his chest, his silver hair ruffling in the light breeze.

  He stepped aside and let her through, then barred the door to whomever was following her. At least with Jacob there, she knew nothing could touch her. At least nothing physically.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Logan was pretty sure he was having a heart attack. Surely his chest couldn’t be this tight without actually having a valve burst.

  He looked down at his feet. The pavement was shifting. He dug his nails into his palms, tightening his fists until bones crunched together. Finally, the spots stopped floating into his vision and sounds sliced into his consciousness like ice picks. He was still outside. Still in the middle of the festival.

  He was hugging a freaking dragon.

  “Izzy?”

  He scanned the area, but there were too many faces staring back at him. The barn. He needed to get to the stage. Behind the park’s main stage was the path up to the barn. His space. The familiar.

  Where was Izzy?

  He couldn’t remember a damn thing. Just that woman. Just Aimee in his space. Her spicy scent that stuck in his nose and to his skin. No matter how much he washed or scrubbed. It was there. On him.

  Soaking inside him.

  He climbed the steps to the stage and across. People shouted for him. He felt the beat of drums as he accidentally crashed a set. He rushed for the back of the gazebo and down the stairs. He ran because he could. Legs pumping up the incline, his breath ragged. Without warm-up, under a panic attack.

  Finally, he gripped the steel barricade.

  A man came running. “Mr. King. Are you all right?”

  Logan nodded. “Aimee Collen. Add her to the do not admit list.”

  The man scribbled into a notebook and also added it to his phone. Several phones around the barricade went off and Logan breathed a little easier. He leaned against the doorway to the barn. Anger burned off the first licks of panic.

  He was still carrying the damn stuffed dragon. He went up the stairs and set it on an amp.

  Zeke flipped his guitar around his back. “There you are. Twitter has blown up, son. What the hell happened at the festival?”

  Logan shook his head and headed backstage to the hallway. He pressed his palm to the wall and dug out his phone. With shaking fingers, he hit Izzy’s contact name.

  “Pick up. Pick up.”

  “Hi, this is Isabella Grace, please leave a message.”

  He bowed his head. “Izzy, please. I can explain.” Christ, that sounded like a line. “I can’t do this over the phone and I can’t come find you. With…what happened, there will be so many more paparazzi on the way. Please.”

  He hit the end button and slapped the wall hard enough that the pain shot up his arm, dissolved some of the shock.

  Zeke found him. He wasn’t sure how much longer it was. He couldn’t focus long enough to even look at his phone. Just the white noise pushing at him.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  “I need to work.”

  Z grasped his shoulder and turned Logan to face him. “What. Happened?”

  Logan shook his head.

  “Christ, Lo. Is it true? Freaking Twitter exploded and the stupid rags are reporting that you had an altercation at the festival.” He made little air quotes on the word, altercation.

  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.

  ∞ ♦ ∞

  “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 rapping 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.