“You want to put your hands on someone?” Wyatt asks Dillon, leaning close to him. “Try me, motherfucker.”
Over his shoulder, I spot a big bear of a man stalking toward them. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that has Security written in large bold print across the front of it.
“And I think I just wet myself,” Heidi hisses into my ear, holding on to my forearm.
“Well?” Wyatt challenges again. When Dillon flips him the bird, I hold my breath, hoping McCrae’s smart enough not to fly off the handle. Glancing at me for a second, he tells Dillon, “Yeah, fuck you, too.”
My heart is beating so hard that I swear it’s louder than Ben’s drums. Wyatt starts toward me, wearing an apologetic smile, and because Heidi chooses that exact moment to say something right into my ear, I don’t hear everything Dillon says next.
But I hear enough.
“…groupie slut.”
I lose my breath for a moment just as Wyatt whirls on him. Dillon is lucky because the bouncer finally intervenes, wedging himself between them, breaking up what could have been a night in jail and a lawsuit for Wyatt.
“Show’s over,” Wyatt growls the moment he reaches my side. He pulls me to him, crushing my body against his.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not, McCrae.”
The band finishes up the song they’re currently playing, and Nate leans into the microphone, announcing that they’re taking a fifteen-minute break before starting the next set.
Wyatt cocks an eyebrow mockingly. “Show’s over for fifteen minutes then.”
I feel multiple sets of eyes burning into us as Heidi and I follow close behind Wyatt to the bar manager’s office. Cal and the Hazard Anthem boys are already inside the room.
Heidi plops down into the chair behind the giant U-shaped desk, exhaling and inhaling a few times. She glances around to each face, including mine. “Remind me why I go to bars again?”
“Well, that was fucking interesting,” Ben comments, scratching the tip of one of his drumsticks against his shaved head. He winks at me. “I think you could’ve taken that shithead down, but I can’t say I wasn’t happy to see McCrae jump off that stage.”
Wyatt grins, but I can tell he’s still angry. It’s in his blue eyes and the way he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists. “A hundred bucks says the only thing Kylie was thinking about was bailing me out tonight.”
I jerk my head from side to side, but it’s mostly because I’m a shaky mess right now. “Please, I don’t even have a debit card.” When he rolls his eyes, I add, “But if you have to know, I was thinking of the lawsuits.”
“You ever stop working?” Cal chimes in. I shake my head at him as he backs up toward the door. He makes a face and then glances toward the desk to my best friend. “Hey, Heidi?”
She leans forward. “Yes, douche bag?”
He grins. “You and me. Shots before we go back on?”
She’s already on her feet, heading toward the door. She gazes back at me, widening her eyes like she still can’t believe what just happened. Hell, neither can I. “You’re buying. You know that, right?” she asks Cal.
“Please, I know how much money you make,” he counters as he closes the door behind them.
Wyatt flicks his eyes between Nate and Ben until they take the hint to leave.
“Sorry about McCrae’s stage dive,” I apologize as they head to the door.
Nate waves it off. “Shit, he probably just got us a bunch of new fans with that move.” He starts to say something else, but then he bites the corner of his lip and shakes his head. “Ten minutes left, fucker,” he calls out to Wyatt as he and Ben exit the office.
Finally, I let my shoulders drop. When Wyatt leans back against the desk, I lay my head against his chest. “Lucas would’ve had your balls if you pulled a stunt like that on stage with YTS.”
I feel him shrug. “There are more important things to me than music.”
By the way he’s looking down at me, like I’m the only thing he needs at this very moment, I believe him. “Careful saying things like that,” I whisper.
He lifts my fingers to his lips. “But, god, it’s true.”
“Is it okay to come in?” a voice says from the door.
We slowly break apart and turn together to face Terra. She’s leaning against the door frame, looking like a rock goddess in a black sequin tank top and dark skinny jeans. Crossing my arms over my chest, I jab my tongue inside my cheek and stare Terra down. There’s no way ten minutes have already passed.
“I know I’m a little early,” she starts, her voice apologetic, “but the crowd is going insane. The band’s ready to go back on.”
Wyatt dips his gaze back to mine, his blue eyes promising me that we’ll continue later. “I’ll see you after the show,” he says before he sprints out of the manager’s office.
For a few seconds, Terra’s green eyes linger on his departing form before she turns to me. “So, that was interesting.” Then, she blushes and shakes her head. “The, um…little conflict back there, I mean.”
I slide my hands into my back pocket and give my shoulders a little shrug. “That’s the same thing Ben said.”
“I’m just glad you’re alright.”
She sounds like she genuinely cares that I’m safe, so I smile graciously at her. “Thanks.”
“Do you want to head back out and listen to them? Or do you want to stick around in here? It’s totally up to you.”
“I’m good to watch. I’m so used to this kind of thing happening that I can almost predict how the night will end before the band starts playing.”
“Shithead radar,” she says as she walks out the door. “Nice.”
We walk together toward the stage, and the crowd is so wrapped up in the band’s current song that they seem to have moved on from the confrontation between Dillon, Wyatt, and me. I spot Heidi on the opposite side of the stage, close to where Cal is playing, and she waves me over. Before I can leave, Terra stops me.
“I know you couldn’t make it out last night, but I’m having some after-show cocktails at my place.”
She glances up at the stage, and though I don’t follow her gaze, I know whom her eyes focus on. I struggle to keep my smile in place. It’s all I can do to not say something negative, knowing it would damage Wyatt and Cal’s relationship with Hazard Anthem.
“I hope you and the boys can make it out.”
“We’ll try,” I promise before leaving her to join Heidi.
***
For the next forty-five minutes, I think of ways to avoid going to the after party without offending the rest of the band. When none come to mind, I decide that I can deal with Terra eye-humping Wyatt—at least for a few hours.
When the band’s set is finished and they’ve loaded their equipment, Wyatt finds me in the crowd. He pulls me to him, looking at me like I’m the only person in the bar, even though Ben and Terra are only a few feet away from us.
“You know what I said about you being mine tonight?” he asks in a low voice. I nod. “That starts right fucking now.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
“Where are we going?” I demand as he pulls me toward the Suburban. It’s located at the far end of the bar’s parking lot, and I find myself glancing around cautiously to make sure Dillon’s not waiting out here with a crowbar, wanting to start a fight with Wyatt. Fortunately, we make it to the SUV without running into trouble.
He presses the unlock button on the remote and opens the door for me. “You’ll see when we get there.”
I cross my arms over my chest, glancing at the entrance to the bar. “Should we at least tell Heidi and Cal?”
“You really think either of them care? Trust me, Ky, they’re big kids. They can take care of themselves.” He points to the leather passenger seat and gives me a wicked smile. “Now, get in.”
He’s quiet as we leave The Twisted Keg. He speeds past our hotel and the restaurant where Heidi and I ate this morning, contin
uing his silence.
As we exit the city limits of Albuquerque, my eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t like surprises.”
He tilts his head slightly, his blue eyes burning into me, as he grips the steering wheel with one hand. “But it’s taking your mind off of Lucas’s newest bullshit.”
Well, yes. Tonight has been so hectic that I haven’t had time to think about what’s going on with my older brother. “So, you think that taking me to God-knows-where will keep me from reality?”
“Of course it will, Bluebird.”
“It might help if you at least clue me in on where this escape is going to take place,” I reply. He responds by lifting his shoulders, and I sit back in my seat, letting the sound of whatever’s playing on Octane, my favorite Sirius station, fill the silence inside the Suburban.
I’m humming along to an Evans Blue song, staring out my window, when Wyatt drives past the Welcome to Santa Fe sign. Turning to look at him, I scoot as far as I can toward the center console and lean over so that my lips graze his ear. “Babe?”
His back straightens, and he glances at me from out of the corner of his eye. “Hmm?”
“Why the hell are we in Santa Fe?”
He twists his face to mine, leaving less than an inch between our mouths. As he accomplishes this, I’m amazed at how he manages to stay on the road. “Because I want to fuck you in every city I can before we go home in a couple days.” When he laughs after he says this, I know he’s screwing with me.
At least, I think he is.
I quickly find out what his plans are when he takes a series of turns. He finally swings the Suburban into a parking lot that’s hardly large enough to fit the massive SUV. One corner of my mouth quirks up as I glance at the fluorescent lights on the building right in front of us.
“Piercings and tattoos,” I say, and he grants me a nod. “So, which are you here for?” My eyes automatically dip down to his crotch, and I think of his Prince Albert.
He touches his right hand to the left side of his chest. “And before you ask…” He opens his door and gives me a cocky grin. “No, this isn’t one that can wait until we get back to L.A.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I say as I get out of the SUV. I join him at the front of the building where he slides his hand into my back pocket and stares down into my brown eyes. “It’s late. You sure you want to do this tonight?”
“Corey’s already expecting us. Best fucking artist I’ve ever met, beautiful, and he’s only available right here.”
He holds the door open for me. The second I step inside the tiny parlor, I’m immediately greeted by the aroma of green soap, fresh ink, and witch hazel. I inhale and exhale several times, letting the intoxicating familiar scent wash over me.
Wyatt lowers his mouth to my ear. “Does it to me, too, beautiful.”
As I glide the tip of my tongue over my lips, he draws in a deep breath.
“Know what you’re getting?” I ask.
He nods confidently just as a short man with surprisingly very little ink darts out from behind the curtain across the room. “Wyatt!”
Wyatt quickly introduces us. “Kylie, this is Corey. Corey, this is—”
“Bluebird,” Corey says simply.
I swear I flush all the way down to the tips of my toes. When did Wyatt tell this man about me? More importantly, what did he say?
“Nice to meet you, too,” I reply. I glance back and forth between them, hoping that Corey will tell me what Wyatt’s said about me.
He doesn’t, and while they talk, I wander to the lounge area and sit in a plush suede chair. Every few moments, I catch Corey or Wyatt glancing over in my direction, and it’s unnerving. I pluck a giant binder from the coffee table and begin to flip through it, running my fingertips over each page of intricate tattoo designs.
After several minutes, from across the room, Corey asks me, “See anything you like?”
My lips curve into a smile as I nod my head. He’s prepping the ink on his worktable, but he takes a moment to shoot me a curious look. “Too many. Your work is absolutely amazing.”
Wyatt makes a little sound in the back of his throat that resembles a chuckle, drawing my attention to him. He’s already in the chair with his shirt off, and his blue eyes rake over me.
“Want to watch?” Corey asks as he cleans Wyatt’s skin.
I shake my head. For me, watching lost its novelty years ago, and besides, no artist wants somebody staring over his shoulder while he works. I reach for the next binder, and when I’m done with it, I pick up the next one. Once I’m out of photos to look at, I flip through the pages of Inked while listening to the soothing hum of the tattoo gun as Corey runs it across Wyatt’s skin.
I’m on my fourth issue of the magazine, admiring a tattoo of a skull surrounded by orchids, when Wyatt finally calls me over. Glancing up, I realize that the sound of the machine has stopped.
Standing, I stretch out my legs, which have gone stiff from sitting so long. I cross the linoleum floor slowly, squinting at the design on the right side of his chest until I come right up on it. At the moment, it’s just an outline. His skin is splotchy, but this is something I’ve seen before. It always heals.
What stops me from immediately saying anything is the design itself. It’s a bird descending, and I study it carefully, starting from its tail feathers close to Wyatt’s muscled left shoulder to its beak in the center of his chest. At first, I think it’s a crow because of the creature’s fierce features, but then I notice where the color is partially filled in along the wings.
And I realize that it’s a bluebird.
An aggressive and powerful and utterly sexy bluebird.
Words finally find me. “It’s gorgeous.” I look up from the tattoo into Wyatt’s eyes, feeling my throat swell at just how vulnerable they suddenly look. “It’s my favorite.”
And that’s the truth. Out of every mark of ink on his body, this bird is the one that has the most significance to me. It’s the one that I’ll dream about.
Wyatt and I don’t say too much to each other as he pays Corey, but when we get to the door to leave, I pause. “You okay, Ky?” he asks, touching my shoulder.
I grip the doorknob and shake my head. Turning around to face Corey, I clear my throat. He glances up from where he’s cleaning his equipment and cocks an eyebrow. “Is it too late for you to do one for me?”
Corey’s eyes dart from Wyatt to me, and he laughs. “If this motherfucker is paying, then hell no.”
I draw my hand away from the doorknob to head over to speak to Corey about the design I’m looking for, but Wyatt stops me. “It’s not over yet,” he says in a pained voice. “No more fucking blackbirds, Ky, not yet, not until you give me a chance.”
I peel his fingers away from my arm, one by one, shivering when his thumb brushes the tiny scar on my wrist as he lets go. “No, no blackbirds.”
It doesn’t take Corey long to sanitize his work station, and once he’s finished and I quietly tell him what I want, it takes him a total of fifteen minutes to draw up a sketch for me. Thirty-five minutes later, when the needle cuts into my finger like a razor blade, I suck in a deep breath of air. I can feel Wyatt’s intense eyes on me from the other side of the room, but I keep my focus on watching Corey’s boot work the foot pedal on the floor.
I go through the different emotions as Corey turns my skin into his canvas. At first, there’s the pain. It builds up slowly until it feels like he’s piercing everywhere at once. Then, there’s the high, the sudden rush of adrenaline. It doesn’t kick in until I’m numb to the needle, and the only thing I’m able to feel is the vibration from the tattoo gun. And last…there’s the feeling of release. That doesn’t come until Corey finally leans away from me, and I hold my hand in front of my face to examine the tattoo.
Gone is the name Martin, which has branded me for more than seven years. In its place is a knotted design. It races around my ring finger with a tiny bow in the center. My new ink is nowhere near as intricat
e as the bluebird between my shoulder blades, nowhere near as painful as the blackbirds on my collarbone, but it symbolizes something none of the others do.
Letting go of the past.
It’s 2:49 a.m., when we climb back into the Suburban. Wyatt takes an alternate route out of Santa Fe, a back road, which causes the GPS to reset and estimate our time of arrival to 3:53 a.m.
He reaches into my lap and pulls my hand into his, being careful not to squeeze my wrapped-up finger. “I’ve been amazed by you since the first time I touched you, Ky. I’ve wanted every part of you since that day,” he starts in a rough voice. “Do you know what the bluebird is for?”
“Happiness,” I say, repeating what he explained to me about my own a few years ago. “A new beginning.”
He shakes his head. “It’s for you. You’re my happiness, and I’ll fight until the end to make sure you know that.”
In all the years we’ve played this toxic game, in all the years when we’ve sworn off being a real couple, this is the closest he’s come to telling me that he loves me. It’s even closer than the time on my parents’ porch four years ago, and it leaves me speechless.
I turn down the radio volume, canceling out the bittersweet grittiness of “By the Way,” my favorite Theory of a Deadman song. I can’t listen to a song about being ripped apart and saying good-bye to the one you love when Wyatt’s sitting right next to me, telling me all these things.
“I can’t let you go,” he continues. “Not when you’re the only goddamn thing on my mind. It’s impossible.”
I rub my hands back and forth over my face, letting his words seep in. He glances over at me, waiting, and I take a deep breath. “I can’t promise you anything, but I know how I feel about you.”
I know that I’ll hate it if he’s with anyone else. I know that if I walk away from him without trying, I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself, regretting what could have been.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1 Page 149