by Cherrie Lynn
“Much better,” he said with approval, dark eyes taking in Zane’s appearance. “Ready to go?”
“No. I have work to do. And if it’s your plan to get me laid, I don’t need your help, and it isn’t gonna work anyway.”
“Because of Rowan.” When Zane cocked an eyebrow at him, Damien clarified. “You said her name in your sleep.”
Zane had hoped Mike might be the source of that disclosure. If he couldn’t escape her even in dreams, hanging out at Players damn sure wasn’t going to do it for him, either. “I really don’t feel up to this.”
“Up to what? I haven’t seen you since, what, Mike’s title fight? Come on over, let me whip your ass at poker and take all your money. It’ll make you feel better.”
Damien wasn’t bluffing. He was a world champion of the game and ran a highly illegal poker room in the attic of his club. And he always got what he wanted one way or another, because within fifteen minutes, Zane was driving downtown to Players, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Because hours after Rowan made that post, he still hadn’t figured out what to do about her. Despite his thinking about her in his dreams, no great knowledge had come to him. She was doing more than defending herself in that message to the fans; she was reaching out to him. He knew it.
“Tell me the entire sob story,” Damien prompted once they’d smuggled Zane safely upstairs to the poker room, except for a couple of girls who had intercepted him downstairs and pleaded for pictures, which he’d grudgingly obliged. It always made him nervous, being here, so he rarely visited. He figured it would be just his luck for it to get raided while he was hanging out. Wouldn’t that thrill the paparazzi?
The clink of chips and the flutter of cards surrounding them, Zane let the whole sorry tale pour out. By the time he was done, Damien was well on his way to being drunk and most likely contemplating jumping out the window. One could never tell by Damien’s eyes if he had the least bit of interest in what one was saying. He had the quintessential poker face.
“Mike’s one to talk,” he said once Zane was done, showing that at least he had been paying attention. “How many times did we tell him to leave Savannah alone?”
“I made that exact point to him.”
“You should go get her.”
“Go get her?”
“Just fucking go get her.”
If only. “She’s a new mom.”
“Zane. Go. Fucking. Get her. Mike didn’t listen to you, or to me, he went and got the girl. So do the same thing. The only difference between you and Mike is that you’re listening.”
“Yeah.”
“You love this girl?”
“Yes.”
Damien sat back and crossed his arms, studying Zane for a moment before he said, “She loves your band, right?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just so happens I have an idea, but we’ll need some help . . .”
* * *
Rowan didn’t quite know what to make of it when she didn’t hear from him that night, but maybe he really didn’t check his account anymore. If he’d seen it, then surely her comment would’ve drawn some sort of response from him, a text at least, but when one hour bled into another, she finally gave up and went to bed. Her sleep was restless and tormented and far too short; when Zoey cried out from her bassinet at some ungodly hour she couldn’t be bothered to look at the clock to confirm.
Diaper change. Bottle. Cuddles. She moved like an automaton through the routine. Puppet, Zane? I’ll show you a puppet, happily dancing for this little angel. Then she settled in the rocker with Zoey and checked her phone. No messages. More followers, a ton of replies, several notes in her in-box from fans sending her messages of support . . . and a few that continued the abuse. She couldn’t be bothered with those, until one in particular caught her eye. It had been sent in the past fifteen minutes.
Funny, the girl wrote, and Rowan could practically hear her sneering tone as she read the words that made her blood run cold. Why is he at Players in Houston right now with me if ur as close as u think?
And she’d sent a picture.
The mere glimpse she got showed Zane with a pretty blonde standing on tiptoe, kissing his cheek. It was more than she needed to see. The thump of her phone hitting the floor startled Zoey, who was only beginning to doze. “Oh, Mommy’s sorry, sweetie,” she murmured, snuggling her even closer. “So sorry.”
The baby didn’t make a peep, only drifted back to sleep, and Rowan wished she could be so innocent and carefree.
Fine. If that’s how things stood with Zane . . . that was fine. She had her own life to live, her own things to do. Savannah must have been mistaken, or else she had misconstrued the situation. Except that now Rowan had made a fool of herself in front of a good chunk of his fandom. Her eyes filled with hot, helpless tears, and she was so tired of them. So very, very fucking tired. She refused to let a man give her any more.
It all ended now.
She carried Zoey back to her bassinet, placing her gently down. One thing was certain; she’d been blessed with a sound, if short, sleeper. Zoey might not sleep more than two or three hours at a time, but when she was out, she was out like a light.
Only then did Rowan walk over and collect her phone, which had been cushioned from its fall by her deep carpets. Her heart hurt with every beat. Here she had been concerned about him, worrying about him, when he was out having a grand old time.
She couldn’t do this anymore, and she wouldn’t be a fool for him. Calmly, without a word to him, she blocked him in her contacts list. Then she went back to bed, where she cried her eyes out one last time over Zane Larson.
Chapter Twenty-two
Rowan looked up from Zoey’s face as Savannah and Mike burst in her front door, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on. Get up,” Savannah said. “We’re going out.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said get up, get dressed. Mom is more than happy to babysit; I just talked to her. We’re getting you out of the house for the night. One night, Rowan. You need it.”
“But—”
“No buts. The only ‘but’ I’m concerned with is your butt getting off the couch and putting on something cute.”
Rowan’s eyes shifted over to Mike for help. “What the hell is going on?”
He shook his head, his arms crossed over his massive chest as he stood by the door. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” Whatever was going on, he didn’t look entirely happy about it, but Savannah was positively bursting with energy. It was really hard to look her friend in the face and refuse.
“Savannah, I’m covered in spit-up. I haven’t showered in three days. I’m sure my ass is two sizes bigger than my party dresses. I can’t go anywhere.” And she hadn’t spent a single hour away from her daughter since she’d brought her home six weeks ago.
“We’ll wait for you to get ready. It doesn’t matter what you wear. Give me that precious angel and go take a hot bath, have a glass of wine. We’ll take her to Mom’s when you’re ready to go.”
The protests came fast and furious, but Savannah wasn’t hearing any of it. She walked over and claimed her niece, gently taking her from Rowan’s arms and then settling with her in the other rocking chair to coo at her. Rowan could only sit and watch helplessly. “At least tell me where we’re going.”
“Nope,” Savannah said. “Go get in the tub. Take your time.”
That part of whatever Savannah had planned, at least, sounded like heaven, and Rowan needed it. In the past couple of weeks, she and Savannah had been cleaning out Tommy’s side of the closet. It was hard, emotional work. A lot of tears had been shed, a lot of memories shared, and with it all had come much-needed closure. There were still boxes stacked inside the closet, some marked to keep, some to donate, some to give to loved ones. And there was still work to be done, but they were taking it slowly and making good progress.
“All right. Fine. Jeez.” She smacked both hands do
wn on the couch and pushed herself to her feet. Maybe while she was soaking, she could come up with a good excuse not to leave the house. Even though a quiet dinner somewhere without being interrupted by a baby’s cries wouldn’t be so bad. She could be up for that, though Savannah seemed too excited for something so mundane.
Even now, Savannah grinned up at her, looking so beautiful and natural sitting there with Zoey that Rowan could clearly see her holding one of her own, and soon. Mike had better get ready.
She took her friend’s advice and poured herself a glass of wine, afraid she would need it. A long soak with her favorite bath bomb followed, during which she could have fallen asleep if she’d lingered much longer. These sleepless nights were getting to her.
Rowan hadn’t worn anything but pajamas and sweats in so long that dressing in anything else seemed strange, but she managed to find a pair of leggings she could wriggle into and a long black tunic that hid the deflated remains of her stomach.
“You look great!” Savannah trilled when she came downstairs, but Rowan curled her lip.
“I need about a thousand calories less per day and a gym membership.”
“Plenty of time for all that. Let’s get the little princess ready to go to Grandma’s.”
Little princess had fallen sound asleep in Aunt Sav’s arms. She slept even as they strapped her into her car seat, and she slept all the way to Regina’s house. Rowan nearly cried when she left her, still sleeping and so precious, but Savannah tugged her out the door. Regina was more than thrilled to have the time with her granddaughter.
Mike waited for them in the car outside, and as he drove away from Tommy’s parents’ house, Rowan was glad the mystery was about to be solved at last. Every guess she’d made had gotten shot down, so she was at a loss. She had to admit, it was a little exciting.
When Mike took the exit for the airport, however, she shot up in her seat.
“No effing way.”
In the front seat, Savannah burst out laughing.
“No way, I mean, I can’t fly anywhere. What are y’all doing?”
“We aren’t going far,” Savannah said soothingly. “It’s okay.”
It was only then that it occurred to her that this had something to do with Zane. But she didn’t dare to hope, and she couldn’t bear for that guess to get shot down with all the others. So she didn’t put it forth and lapsed into an uneasy silence.
But as Mike checked them in for their flight, she caught a glimpse of where they were flying to. “We’re going to Houston,” she hissed at Savannah. “What is going on? Tell me. Tell me now.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“You know I said I wasn’t speaking to him anymore.”
Savannah turned wide, too-innocent eyes on her. “To who?”
Nice try. Savannah knew about what had happened the night Rowan made her embarrassing debut on Zane’s Instagram. And while she’d assured her that girl at the club was just someone trying to start trouble—and while Rowan believed it was most likely true—what did it matter? Everything in the world was against them. Everything and everyone. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to fight the whole damned world. Better to cut her losses now.
Funny how she was the first one on the plane ahead of her friends, still convinced despite Savannah’s protests that this was all about him.
And when it isn’t? she asked herself. Are you prepared to deal with that disappointment?
She hadn’t seen him since he left her hospital room, and even those memories were vague and muddled. Since she cut him off, she barely listened to his music. It hurt so much. Not only had she lost him, she’d lost the soothing balm of his voice on her ragged soul, and she didn’t know what to do about this gnawing ache in her heart. It wasn’t getting better; it was only getting worse.
The flight was bumpy and short, and she wanted to kiss the ground when they emerged from baggage claim at George Bush Intercontinental. It reminded her of going to meet him for the first time . . . especially when a sleek white limo waited at the curb for them.
“Oh my God!” she squealed, looking like a total dork in front of everyone. Savannah and Mike laughed as she stepped inside. “I’ll never get used to this!”
“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Savannah asked her, then turned to Mike with a grin, snuggling beside him. “Lots and lots of very good memories.”
Rowan spent most of the drive with her nose stuck to the window, watching the lights of Houston grow ever closer. Where were they going? His house? Yes, surely his house. He’d given her a tour over the phone, but she wanted to see it. It didn’t seem as if they were heading to any exclusive part of town where he might live—they were going downtown.
“Where are we going?” she demanded for the fiftieth time. “This is killing me, Savannah.”
The building they pulled up to at last was huge, square, and modern, all lit up in neon despite the empty parking lot and the CLOSED signs all over the place. What caught her attention was the club’s name: PLAYERS, with a spade standing in for the A.
“Why are we here?” she demanded, turning big eyes to the two lovebirds curled up on the leather seat opposite her. The closer they’d gotten to their destination, the more mysterious Savannah had become, a little smile curving her lips.
“Hmm. Let’s go see,” she said.
The three of them piled out into the humid twilight air. It was mid-October, but summer hadn’t released its grip on Houston any more than it had New Orleans. Rowan’s gaze crawled up the massive building, and suddenly she wanted to run back to the airport and fly home to her daughter. To safety. She’d checked on Zoey a couple of times—Regina said she was just fine.
Was Regina in on this too? That couldn’t be possible. Was this another secret they were keeping from her mother-in-law? At least Savannah’s head would roll too if that were the case.
“Savannah . . .” Rowan said, suddenly overcome with panic. “Your mom? Is this . . .”
“Mom is handled,” Savannah said, stepping forward to give her a long, hard hug. “I handled it. So you go in there, and don’t worry about anything. Just have a good time.”
“But . . . what am I going in there for?” As she asked it, one of the front doors opened—only one in a bank of many. A man she’d never seen before grinned out at all of them and swept his arm inside.
“Entrez,” he said.
“Hey, Damien,” Savannah said, and Rowan got her first good look at Zane’s brother, the subject of his “Luck of the Devil” lyrics.
She could believe every word of them. Damien Larson positively oozed confidence, from his expensive-looking jeans and pristine white shirt to the assessing depths of his dark eyes. He had the look of a man who made his own luck. Zane hadn’t talked much about him, but she’d heard a deep respect in the little he’d said.
There wasn’t much in the way of resemblance between any of the three men, except for the dark hair. But like Zane and Mike both, Damien was incredibly good-looking, if in a more debonair way.
“Damien, this is Rowan,” Mike said, as they all entered the building.
“The honored guest.” He grinned at her, all perfect white teeth and sharp dark eyes. It was rather like being sized up to be eaten.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, tearing her gaze away lest she get a little flustered. “Great place you have.”
“It’ll do.” He led them through a huge, cavernous room. Only a few lights were on to even show where they were going; Rowan could make out a bar running almost the entire length of the room. There was a second level, open to the floor below, overlooking it all. She could imagine this place packed with writhing bodies and pumping dance music, but right now, it was empty except for the four of them.
But there was a stage at the opposite end, set up for a full performance. Drums. Guitars standing in their racks. A mic stand. All of it glowed in a single spotlight. There was also a table down front, a table with only one chair.
“What’s going
on?” Rowan asked, a tremor beginning in her stomach.
“Go have a seat,” Savannah encouraged. “Maybe you’ll find out.”
There was something disconcerting about walking through that room all by herself to take the seat, like something might jump from the shadows and grab her. As soon as she sat down, the lights dimmed even further, casting everything in a bluish glow.
One by one, the members of August on Fire came out to take up their instruments. Holden on the drums, Wills on the bass. Deke and Sol on opposite ends of the stage with their guitars.
By the time Zane walked out to take the mic, Rowan was sobbing.
He was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt . . . stage attire she’d rarely seen on him. His black hair gleamed under the lights. Standing behind the mic stand, he grinned at her, then he dropped down to sit on the edge of the stage in front of her, staring into her eyes as the music kicked in.
* * *
She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, sitting there gazing up at him with tears streaming from her gorgeous eyes, and he knew he couldn’t stay away anymore. In fact, as the words to her song began to pour forth from him, the few feet separating them now was too much. He took the mic and hopped from the stage, kneeling in front of her to sing.
They’d been practicing it all week, and while he thought he would feel like an idiot doing this, the love shining in her eyes negated all those misgivings. She’d never said she loved him, not even when he’d said the words first, but he could see it. He always could, and that was all that mattered. He’d been so wrong to leave her, even if she’d asked him to.
When it was over, she threw herself into his arms, shaking with emotion. “Never letting you go again,” he murmured in her ear as the guys behind him whooped and cheered, his voice ragged with desperation. “Never, never. I love you. I want to be with you. I want to meet Zoey. I want to help you take care of her.”
“Oh God,” she gasped. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“I love you,” she choked out. “I didn’t think I would say that to anyone else so soon . . .”