“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.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“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.”
“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 tha
t 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.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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 that 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.
“S
ir, 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 balloon game. Did he really think that Logan would feel like talking?
“I got a photo that maybe the new missus won’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.”
Anything But Mine Page 18
