Missing From Me: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 3)

by Jayne Frost

  Still, a little spark ignited somewhere deep inside.

  Hope?

  I wasn’t sure, but as Sean continued to work my body, I surrendered and let it engulf me.

  Draped over Sean’s chest, with our limbs tangled, I drifted in and out as he stroked my back.

  When the alarm went off on his phone, he silenced the ringer. I expected him to get up, but he didn’t, settling back against the heap of pillows.

  “When do you have to leave?” I asked, peering up at him.

  “Not for a couple of hours. The limo’s picking me up last.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “It’s only for three days.”

  Turning my face into his chest, I effectively ended the conversation. It wouldn’t change anything. Conner was going to offer Caged a spot on the tour, and then Sean would be gone for a year.

  Though the prospect was still terrifying, for the first time, I felt something other than despair. I quickly shut down the Disney music playing in my head. This wasn’t a fairy tale.

  But then did all happily-ever-afters have to end with a white picket fence?

  As I pondered, tracing the words inked over Sean’s heart, a new curiosity took hold. He’d added quite a few tattoos since we’d split, but this one wasn’t even in English.

  “What language is this?”

  The question seemed safe enough. But apparently not, since Sean went rail stiff. “French.”

  Covering the ink with my palm, I rested my chin on top of my hand. “Did you get it in France?”

  He nodded, then looked away, and I got the message. Whatever it said, or whatever it was, the topic was off limits. The font on the tattoo was loopy, or I might have been able to commit the short phrase to memory and look it up later.

  But from Sean’s reaction, I probably shouldn’t.

  His arm banded around my waist when I scooted to the edge of the bed. “Where are you going?”

  I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Bathroom.”

  When I returned, Sean was propped against the headboard, looking down at something in his hand.

  He held out an envelope—old, stained with a coffee ring, and unsealed.

  Climbing onto the bed, I sat onto my heels, my knees brushing his side. “What’s this?”

  He caught my hand as I peeled open the flap on the envelope. “There’s a story that goes with that.”

  The seconds passed into a full minute. “Do you want to tell me?”

  Sean laughed, low and humorless. “Not really. But I will.” And after blowing out a breath, he began, “We were in France when I heard about your engagement. Since none of us read newspapers, but didn’t want to appear like hicks, we requested the Austin Statesman be delivered whenever possible. It was in our rider. The list we gave the promoters—”

  “I know what a rider is.” I smiled. “Please tell me that Lo didn’t have any weird requests like no brown M&M’s.”

  Another laugh. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever we requested, they made sure it was done.”

  “That’s not always a good thing. Do you really want someone’s hands all over your candy?” I raised a brow. “Those brown M&M’s aren’t going to magically jump out of the bag on their own.”

  Sean wrinkled his nose like he just got the visual, and for a second, he relaxed.

  Until I tapped his arm with the corner of the worn envelope. “So you got a copy of the Statesman . . . ?”

  With my wedding announcement.

  I didn’t say it, but I knew where he was going—straight to the picture of me in the white dress in front of Barton Springs Country Club. The photographer had to crop out my belly to get me to agree to the session, so I remembered it well.

  Sean took my hand, toying with my emerald ring. “I read your wedding announcement, and then I cut it out and read it again. And again.” The column of his throat constricted as he swallowed. “Then I got shit-faced drunk. Plastered.”

  He paused to look at me, so I pinned on a semblance of a smile, urging him to continue. Even if this story ended with something as drastic as Sean proposing to someone else, I’d handle it.

  Another sigh and he continued, “So I found myself wandering down the Champs-Élysées, drunk, and I stumbled into this gift shop. Nobody understood English. Or maybe I wasn’t making any sense.” His grimaced. “See, I wanted to buy you a card, but they didn’t have anything that said, ‘I hope your new husband dies a grizzly death,’ so the salesgirl gave me that.” He tipped his chin to the envelope. “Honestly, I don’t remember buying it. But when I woke up the next morning it was on the nightstand.”

  With unsteady hands, I peeled back the flap and then took out a card with a drawing of the Eiffel Tower on the front. Inside, in bold font, was the phrase inked on Sean’s chest.

  Tu me manques.

  After I tried my hand at the pronunciation, Sean laughed and then let the phrase roll off his tongue. “Tu me manques.”

  I ran a finger over the letters. “What does it mean?”

  He took the card back. “In English, it means ‘I miss you.’” He stared at the drawing on the front. “But in French, there’s no such phrase, so it more closely relates to ‘you are missing from me.’” Sean’s eyes met mine, and he smiled. “So, I guess I wasn’t as drunk as I thought. Or maybe the salesgirl was psychic. Because that’s how I felt, like I was missing something.” Sean laid my palm flat against the ink on his chest. “Right here.”

  The steady thump of his heart was the only sound in the room. In the world. And after a long moment, I crawled into his lap.

  I love you.

  The words were there, ready to break free, but instead of giving them wings, I pressed my mouth to his, and showed him in the only way I could allow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sean

  The scene on the red carpet in front of Benny Conner’s Brentwood mansion resembled a post-Grammy party, not the intimate meet and greet his PR team had described.

  Flashbulbs lit up the night sky as I made my way down the rope line.

  “Sean, turn to the left!”

  “Sean, look over here!”

  “Can you take off your glasses.”

  I did as the reporters asked, but after foregoing sleep to spend more time with Anna, followed by a bumpy flight, then an accident on the 405, I was in no mood to deal with the press. So instead, I took my time with the crowd. This much fan presence wasn’t the norm, but I’d come to realize Conner Management had a method to their madness.

  Since Caged was still in the courtship phase of our negotiations, our “spontaneous” appearance was calculated to gauge public interest.

  It was a risk for Conner and all upside for Caged.

  A favorable response assured our place on the bill, but a very favorable response gave the band a huge bargaining chip when it came to hashing out terms. And that’s all I cared about.

  If I was going to tour for a year, I wanted assurances. Time off being chief among them. No adding shows to fill the gaps. And no jetting off for a movie premier just to up our visibility. Before I stepped on a plane, the calendar would have to be set in stone. Something tangible I could bring to Anna.

  She didn’t trust me yet. But she loved me. I could feel her love in every touch and every smile.

  That thought had me grinning like a goofy bastard.

  Until I spotted Logan sauntering toward me, Kimber Tyson at his side.

  Logan and Kimber?

  Oh, the irony.

  My humor faded when he coaxed her toward me, passing her off like a football.

  “What the hell?” My eyes bored into Logan’s as Kimber curved her arm around my waist.

  “Have fun, kids.” Logan smiled as he backed away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  And then he was gone, strolling toward the coveted position at the head of the line where a reporter from Rolling Stone waited.

  Instinct kicked in, and I covered Kimber’s hand, hell bent on breaking free of her hold. But then pand
emonium ensued, every reporter in the vicinity jockeying to get a shot of us.

  I was trapped.

  Pinning on a smile, I leaned close to Kimber’s ear. “You mind letting go of me, sugar? I’m working here.”

  Flashing a row of perfect veneers, she said, “So am I.”

  To prove the point, Kimber popped up to kiss me.

  Molding a hand to her hip to thwart the effort, I held her in place. “Why the fuck do you keep showing up when you’re not invited?”

  Kimber looked up at me with an adoring smile, but the affection didn’t touch her eyes. “Because we’ve both got big things to promote. And I was invited.”

  Despite my efforts, the mask slipped, and I felt a scowl tugging my lips. Rather than lose my shit in front of everyone, I took Kimber by the arm and ushered her to the end of the rope line.

  Stopping just out of earshot of the reporters, I glared down at her. “Who invited you?”

  Away from the cameras, her smile withered. “It doesn’t matter. Besides, it’s not like it’s a hardship. We’ve always had a good time together.”

  Kimber adjusted the strap on her dress, preparing for her next photo op. And I realized I was nothing more than a prop. Like her designer clutch and her thousand dollar shoes.

  I was about to leave, when something caught Kimber’s attention. She turned on that megawatt grin and grabbed my hand.

  Reflexively, I pulled away. “I thought I made it clear, sugar. I’m not interested.”

  The warmth drained from Kimber’s eyes. I suspected it was reflected light, reserved for those who didn’t know her.

  “Do you really think it matters if you’re interested?” she scoffed, her New Jersey accent bleeding through. “Stop being so naïve.”

  Anger boiled under my skin, but I held my tongue. And then I walked away. Kimber called after me in that sugary sweet voice, but I was over it. Over her. And over this fucking party.

  Spotting Ethan Bartell from Alternative Nation in the rope line, holding up a finger, I cringed inside.

  “Sean!” He looked right at me. “A few words?”

  Just walk away.

  But I couldn’t. So I forced a smile and ambled over. “Sure, man. Fire away.”

  He flipped to a blank page in the small notebook in his hand. “What can you tell us about the tour?” Ethan chuckled when I raised a brow. “Can’t blame me for trying, right?”

  Caged was under strict orders to maintain radio silence. And of course, Ethan knew that.

  I felt a hand on my back, and the reporter’s eyes lit up, a dimple winking from beneath his five o’clock shadow. “Kimber Tyson,” he drawled. “What brings you out tonight?”

  She anchored herself to my side, gazing up at me with that fake-as-hell smile. “I’m here to support Sean.”

  Catching her wrist in what probably appeared like an adoring gesture, I squeezed hard enough to get Kimber’s attention. “Why don’t you go get us a drink and let me take care of business. I’ll see you inside.”

  Triumph sparkled in her sable gaze, and she skated a finger over my jaw. “Don’t be long, baby.”

  Batting her eyelashes at Ethan’s cameraman, she paused long enough for him to get a shot of her good side before strutting away.

  Ethan took in every last shake of her ass. “So, you and Kimber?” He grinned. “Together again, I see.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Just friends.”

  Ethan’s attention returned to the door Kimber had just sashayed through. “I’d like to have a friend like that.”

  I shrugged. “Be my guest. She didn’t come with me.”

  “But I bet she’s leaving with you. Tough gig.”

  Assessing me with cool, gray eyes, he gauged my reaction. And I realized this was what made Ethan one of the best in the business. His ability to cut through the bullshit.

  So I gave him what he wanted. The truth. “Not my kind of gig, man. I’m just here to play a little music with my band. I got a girl.”

  Ethan nodded slowly. “Care to spill any of the details?”

  Anna’s face flashed in my mind. Her pretty smile. Those emerald green eyes. And then I thought of Willow and the hold Dean had over both of them. “I’d love to, but I can’t. Soon, though.”

  With that promise in his pocket, Ethan pumped the breaks on his interrogation and turned his questions to our upcoming performance.

  Slipping back into character, I did the song and dance, praising Benny and his management team while avoiding any mention of the tour.

  Once the interview was wrapped, Ethen extended his hand. “Thanks, Sean.” He came in for a bro hug, and said quietly, “Keep me in mind for the exclusive when you make the tour announcement. And I’d love to hear a little more about your mystery girl.”

  I clapped him on the back. “Sure thing.”

  After saying my goodbyes, I waved to the crowd and then marched straight to the staging area where the rest of the guys waited in front of the big Conner Productions sign.

  Throwing an arm around Logan’s shoulder, I snarled, “What the fuck was that all about?”

  “Not now,” he replied through a pearly white smile. “Later.”

  “Fuck your later.” My tone rose along with my frustration. “I want to know what you’re trying to prove.”

  “Dude, I don’t have to prove anything.” Logan’s frosty eyes met mine, a caustic smile painting his lips. “Your arm around Kimber’s waist said it all.”

  Applause and calls for an encore rang in the air as I pushed away from my kit. Ignoring the loudest request—from Benny’s table—I made a beeline for center stage and Logan.

  My fingers curled around his upper arm. “It’s later.”

  He didn’t move, but his bicep twitched in warning. “Unless you want me to break that fucking hand, you’ll remove it.”

  The crew for the next band took the stage, unplugging amps and tearing down equipment. Since the drums weren’t mine, I had nothing keeping me here except Logan and my fury.

  An hour behind the drums should’ve burned off my anger, but if anything, I was more enraged.

  Cameron forced his way between us, a fake laugh rumbling from his chest. “Whoa, what’s going on here?”

  Logan snorted, then ran a hand through his hair. “Ask Romeo. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

  He sauntered to Conner’s table, and the two men hugged it out like they were old friends.

  Cameron raised his eyebrow at me in a silent question, then looked down at my hand, balled into a fist at my side.

  Yeah, no. This wasn’t good. For any of us.

  “I’m out,” I said. “See you at the shoot in the morning.”

  Blind rage rolled through me as I elbowed my way through the crowd.

  Get a grip.

  Since the only thing I wanted to grip was Logan’s throat, I put my head down. When I ran straight into a warm body, I lifted my gaze to apologize and came face-to-face with Kimber.

  “You ready, baby?” she purred.

  She’d parked herself near a crowd at the door. Several people hovered nearby, holding drinks and feigning interest in their conversations, but really, their eyes and ears were on us.

  Benny wasn’t the only fish in this pond. Representatives from our label, gossip columnists, bloggers—all the players were out tonight.

  I let out a slow breath. “I’m going back to the hotel. See you later.”

  Kimber grabbed my arm. “You read my mind.”

  Lowering my voice, I tipped forward into her space. “Not going to happen, Kimber.”

  That triumphant smile I saw earlier curved her lips. She knew damn well I’d never mow her down with a camera crew mere feet away.

  Pressing my lips together, I barreled out the door with Kimber in tow.

  With my height advantage and her five-inch heels, I figured I’d lose her. But no, she matched me stride for stride.

  At the edge of the long driveway, I came to an abrupt stop at the door to my limo.


  Shaking Kimber’s arm off, I said, “Fun and games are over. Go back to the party. And take your cameras with you.”

  She fisted my shirt, hanging on for dear life as I planted one foot inside the car.

  “Fun and games.” Kimber licked her lips. “I like where you’re going with that.”

  When I didn’t respond, she dropped her hand along with the seduction façade. The lights from the video cameras went dark, and the head of her crew sighed in annoyance.

  “This is going nowhere,” he said to Kimber. “I’m going back to get some interiors. See you in there?”

  She nodded, her eyes frigid.

  As soon as the crew was out of earshot, she propped a hand on her hip. “Is there some reason you’re making this difficult?”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I slid onto the leather seat. “There is no ‘this,’ sugar. Never will be.”

  Kimber grabbed the door. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “At the moment, you. Now step back.”

  She searched my face, her eyes boring into mine. “You are an asshole, you know that?”

  “Yep.”

  I slammed the door on Kimber’s next insult. The driver met my gaze in the mirror. He wore and indifferent smile like he’d seen it all before. “Where to, sir?”

  I grabbed a bottle of Jack and an empty glass from the minibar. “Hotel.”

  Thirty minutes later, I exited the limo in front of the Chateau Marmont, the bottle of whiskey tucked under my arm.

  Skirting the usual crowd of gawkers in the lobby, I stopped by the gift shop for a pack of smokes. And then I marched straight to my bungalow, through the cozy living room, and out the sliding glass door to the patio that connected Logan’s room with mine.

  Sinking into one of the retro chic chairs, I lit my cigarette. My eyes closed as I rolled the smoke around my mouth. It tasted fucking awful in the best possible way. Like my best friend and worst enemy. I took a slug of whiskey to mute the flavor of ash on my tongue. And I waited.

  Three hours later a light flicked on inside Logan’s bungalow.