“Dylan.”
My hands shake as the call drops, and I try getting him again with no luck.
I quickly grab my purse and keys from the counter in the kitchen and shove my cell in my pocket.
Before I know it, I’m on a plane to New York, with no idea of what’s waiting for me there. My nerves are already in overdrive, so when an older woman comes over to me on the plane with a sympathetic expression on her face, I know something is wrong.
“You must have seen,” she says sadly.
A familiar panic settles in my chest, threatening to end me. It’s the same fear I felt with my parents when I didn’t know the details of their accident.
“Seen what?” My voice breaks.
She bites her lip, pulling out an iPad and showing me the screen.
My lips part as I stare at the headline.
Dylan Hilton in Car Crash After Leaving Party with Mystery Girl.
I reread it again, sure I misread it the first time. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to read the article. It says that Dylan left some friend’s party with a blonde girl, both of them drunk. Not long after, it was reported he had been in a car accident and was being transported to the hospital.
Love. Do I love Dylan?
Maybe the better question is if he loves me.
I close my eyes, silently handing the tablet back to the stranger.
She brushes her hand on my arm. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You guys seemed so cute.”
Seemed. Like we’re nothing now.
With that, she walks off.
Blinking back tears, I fight the feeling that maybe I was wrong about Dylan. We’d grown closer, he opened up, told me more about his family. How he planned on going to Clinton to see his siblings.
He seemed better. Lighter. Less tortured.
He even told me he planned on telling his family everything about what happened. For the first time in years, he was letting his demons go.
The flight felt like an eternity as I drowned in the possibilities of what I’m walking into. The temptation to get on the next plane back to Nashville crossed my mind, but I decide to take Dylan up on advice he offered me a long time ago.
Don’t run from your demons.
I text Ian that I’m at the airport, and ask where I can meet them. His reply is instant, saying they’re at Albany Med, which isn’t far.
When a taxi takes me there, I tell myself to keep calm until I know Dylan’s okay, until I know the whole story.
But hormones … they’re a bitch.
Dylan
It’s been hours since they brought me in, a whirlwind of questions circling me. Between the doctors and the guys, it’s hard to hear them all when they demand answers from me.
I’m lucky, so the doctors tell me. The crash totaled my car when it hit the tree, but it only left me with a broken leg and bruised ribs on top of a few cuts on my face from where the shattered windshield got me.
The pain is bearable, mostly from the pain meds they gave me. If it weren’t for them, I’d be even worse off, if not from the injuries, from being the one place I hate most.
Not to mention the ridiculous stories going around aren’t helping ease the stress level. I went to my cousin’s graduation party to give her a gift, and practically got mobbed. I left, sober, with some young high school bimbo on my tail all the way to my car.
I sped off before she could get to me, but took a turn too fast, losing control of the car. All I could think about as I tried correcting it was how bad I wanted to see Ash. And when the tree came into view faster than I wanted it to, I had no clue if I’d be able to do that again.
When the doctor places me back in my bed after putting a cast on my leg, I wait for one of my many texts to her to be answered with no avail.
Dammit. She must have seen the articles.
Ian told me she was on her way a while ago, but he couldn’t explain the story because his phone kept cutting out when he was driving to the hospital. I could only image what she must be thinking of me.
My thoughts break apart when the door opens, and Ashton appears. She looks like a mess, her hair everywhere, eyes puffy, face pale. She’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a ratty white T-shirt, and it still gets my heart racing.
The guys all leave us alone, Ian giving me a pat on the shoulder as if to wish me luck. As he walks by Ashton, he gives her a quick hug before closing the door behind him.
“You look …” Her voice is hoarse. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She nods, sniffing back tears. “Good.”
Walking over to me, she does what I never expect her to. She slaps me.
“What is it going to take, Dylan?” she growls, pushing against my chest with what little strength she has. “When are you going to open your damn eyes and see that you’re destroying yourself!”
Whoa. “I’m not—”
“No. It’s my time to talk. So sit down and shut up,” she barks, claws coming out if I don’t be quiet.
I clamp my lips together, knowing I’m about to get my ass chewed out. And for once, I don’t even deserve it. Who would have thought?
“You say that you’re dedicated to your band more than any of those other guys combined. You say it’s your entire life. Fine. Some people don’t need anything more. You say that you don’t want anybody in your life that can ruin what you’ve become. Great. If you think you’re better off without somebody to love you, good for you. But you’re a fool, Dylan Hilton. A damn fool for thinking that anybody would truly believe that the band means anything to you after tonight.
“You got behind the wheel of a car drunk. You not only endangered your life, but other people’s lives. If the band is so important to you, why risk it? What would’ve happened to Relentless if the accident had been worse? If your body was wrapped around that tree just like your car? That would have ended the band. That would have changed everything, and you act like it’s nothing.”
“Ash—”
“I’m not done!” she snaps. “You think you’re invincible but you’re not. You think you can go out and party all night, drinking and doing God knows what with whoever you want. But one day you’re going to find yourself in a situation you can’t get out of. Then what? What will the perfect life you’ve made for yourself be then?”
I wait until I know she’s done lecturing me to bother saying something again. I’m sure listing the ways she’s wrong won’t get me any brownie points with her, but she needs to know the truth.
“You’re wrong. If Ian did something like that and died, then it’d be the end of the band. I’m replaceable. Any guitarist is.”
She shakes her head. “And there it is,” she answers quietly. “You’re afraid. Of being replaced. Being disposable. Is that why you live it up now? Just so you can say that you did. Well guess what, Einstein? If you keep going on like this, they’ll actually have a reason to get rid of you. That is, if you don’t get yourself killed first.”
She grabs her purse from the chair and turns to leave, but I grab her arm before she can walk out of the hospital room.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “I’m afraid of all those things. But what you’re not right about is what happened tonight. I wasn’t drunk, Ashton.”
Her tough-girl act drops. “What?”
I give her a small, amused smile. “I wasn’t drunk. I know the tabloids are saying that I was, but I swear I didn’t have a drop of alcohol today. I was seeing my cousin. Then I was going to say good-bye to my parents, book a plane ticket, and see you. I missed you, Ash, and I want this to work. I think it’s all worth it, and I’m hoping you think that, too.”
I realized long before the crash that everything I bottled up was just building to my demise—to the moment I exploded. Telling my parents about the assault, telling them that I was moving away, helped more than I would have thought. I was able to let go of the past, and say good-bye to Clinton for good.
What I
hoped was that I could find a place closer to Ashton if I knew it was what she wanted, too. I swallow past the anxiety I have over the possibility that she might not want it. The only way I know how to try getting her to believe in me is being completely honest.
“And while I am afraid of being replaced, the one thing I’m scared of more is having to live the rest of my life knowing that I let you walk away for good. I don’t want to know what that’s like, Ash.”
She takes a feeble breath. “You … what?”
I pull her toward me, sitting up so we’re face-to-face. “Listen very carefully, Boots. You’re annoying and outed my love for Abba to the world. For that, I may never forgive you. But I can never make it up to you for what you’ve done for me. I didn’t want to believe that I could be anything more than the pain I was holding onto until you came along.
“You helped me let that go, and replace it with something better. If you didn’t, I would have ended up here eventually, right in this bed, still drunk out of my mind, and probably a hell of a lot more hurt if I hadn’t managed to correct the car before it was too late. You saved me from myself.”
She blinks back tears, but they stick to her lashes, showing just how powerful the truth is when it counts.
“But the other girl. They said—”
I pinch her lips. “Ask me what the first thing I notice about those other girls is,” I tell her slowly, eyes sweeping over her face.
I let go of her lips.
She takes a deep breath, slowly letting the air escape her. “What is the first thing you notice about other girls?”
I brush my lips against her cheek before drawing back. “That they aren’t you.”
That’s all it takes before she’s in the bed next to me, careful not to brush my bad leg and ribs. She kisses me, claims me, owns me, long before I can show her just how much I mean every word.
She takes something out of her bag, a piece of paper. Handing it to me, my eyes travel down to my handwriting. It’s the lines I wrote the last time I saw her.
My eyes lock with hers. “I told you,” I whisper. “You saved me.”
She squeezes my hands, overcome with emotion. I take the opportunity to say, “You, Ashton King, are the best thing happened to me. And every moment that we shared is one that I plan to cherish for as long as you’ll let me.”
As usual, there are so many people to thank for this book being able to happen. Dylan’s story took so much out of me to write, but I’m beyond proud of how it turned out. So thank you to everyone below for making this what it is!
Kellen: As Relentless’s #1 fan, you helped me mold Dylan into the man we both knew he could be, while keeping true to his personality. Thank you for making this story what it is. (And sending me steamy inspiration to get into Dylan’s head. ;)
Micalea, Sara, and Wendi: Thanks for the entertainment when I needed a break from my deadline! I truly wished we lived closer, because we’d cause some serious mayhem.
Micalea: GIRL! Thank you for letting me add in Hollis and his band. It was so fun to put in that little Easter egg, and I cannot wait for their books to come out!
Emily: Emily, you helped bring Dylan to life, showing a side of him that stood out from the others. Thank you so much for creating such an amazing cover, even after I was such a pain in the ass for having you change it so many times. You’re going place, my friend!
Melissa: Per usual, this book wouldn’t be polished without you! I had so many doubts about this book until you told me there was nothing to worry about. Hearing that it was your favorite one out of the series so far made my life. (And Dylan’s, because let’s face it, that asshole has one big ego.)
To my readers, thank you for your continued support and reviews! You guys rock my world!
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Barbara C. Doyle grew up in a small town in Upstate New York, surrounded by a passion for writing, pizza, and cats. Her journey started at the young age of fourteen, and grew as she pursued a degree in English throughout college. She believes that the written word is best used as a mode to escape into a different reality, thus the birth of her novels. Her other passions include binge-watching Netflix, reading, and hanging out with her cat.
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