REGRET - The Price of Truth: Everhide Rockstar Romance Series Book 4

by Tania Joyce

  It was his fault for pushing Lexi away. With his hands on the kitchen counter, Hayden stared at his bread toasting. Curls of smoke spiraled into the air. The scent of it burning filled the kitchen. He didn’t care. It could burn like the gaping hole in his chest.

  Lexi hadn’t come to last night’s show. Her absence had been a punch to his gut. When he’d seen his friends in the crowd but no Lexi, he’d struggled through the entire gig, barely able to hold the set together.

  He clutched at his chest. He just wanted this pain to stop.

  Seeing Lexi yesterday morning had hurt too fucking much.

  Even after a month apart, time hadn’t healed his wounds.

  Nothing had gone right since moving to Boston. His band’s in-house job didn’t have the crowds they’d expected. Their booking agent hadn’t landed as many gigs as promised. Sharing a house with the guys was a nightmare. Any attempt to discuss his grievances fell on deaf ears. Partying was out of control. But most of all, he missed Lexi. Living with her, he’d had a life outside the band. Now, he had none.

  He had to find a way to move on. Survive without her.

  His heart had never hurt this much. He’d hardened his emotions against his addict parents at a young age. He’d never loved a girl this much before. He’d put every effort into his music, made something of himself and fallen for the one person who had seen him through the worst and best of times. It crushed him that she didn’t feel the same way.

  Argh! He needed to get her out of his head. She invaded his every waking moment. Filled his brain. Still had hold of his heart. He wanted to feel good again. Be happy. Stop fucking hurting.

  He glanced at Kilt’s jacket laying on the table. He swallowed hard, gritted his teeth.

  There was a way.

  He tossed the burnt toast into the trash, grabbed Kilt’s jacket and headed to the basement, their practice room. He sank onto the old sofa and dug around inside Kilt’s pockets. Bingo! He pulled out the silver tin and opened the lid. His fingers trembled as he picked up the small glass vial and thin plastic tube. He blinked away the sting in his eyes.

  This had to work.

  He shoved aside the pile of music magazines on the coffee table. Tipped a quarter of the white powder onto the glass surface. Grabbed the old credit card out of the tin. Shuddering, he cut and sliced the powder, formed two perfectly even, perfectly straight white lines. His gut twisted like rope. This is the only thing Dad ever taught me.

  He’d thought it was cool when he was six years old. His parents only gave him attention when he prepared their drugs. Stifling the tremor in his heart, he tapped the card on the table. The end result looked like a runway that promised to take him to a better place. A better place where he didn’t have to think about Lexi. Where it didn’t hurt.

  Was this what went through his mom’s mind every time she snorted a line or injected shit into her veins? She wanted to stop the pain, the ache, take away the loneliness when his dad was gone for weeks on end driving long-haul trucks. Or was it the need for the high? To feel good, to be happy, to have fun.

  Whatever. He needed both.

  He rolled the plastic tube between his fingers, peered down the barrel.

  Fuck! As he stared at the powder, his vision blurred.

  I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

  I need this.

  His heart stampeded in his chest, pounded like a brute against his ribs. He leaned forward and hovered the tube an inch above the first line.

  One hit. Feel better.

  His hand trembled and he closed his eyes. Childhood memories flickered to life. He’d been so excited to go to a friend’s tenth birthday party. He’d rushed out of his bedroom ready to go, but instead, he’d found his mom passed out in her room. Blood had trickled from her nose, vomit had dribbled from her mouth, and her glassy eyes had stared into space. That had been his first 911 call. Her second OD. His third trip to emergency.

  The first time she’d screamed, ‘I hate you.’

  His heart staggered and lurched. For years, he’d watched his mom deteriorate from an attractive woman to the gaunt skeleton she was now. He shuddered, recalling the countless police visits to their house. Being dragged off to foster care. Visiting her in hospital. Rehab. How his parents never got better. How they’d never loved him.

  Neither did Lexi.

  Lexi didn’t love him.

  Arrrrgghhh!

  Tears sprang from his eyes. His hand shook. The tube slipped from his fingers, hit the table, rolled onto the floor. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go down this path, because once he started, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wasn’t going to end up like his mom. Destroy the people around him. He had to fight this—not be tempted by a quick fix. He may not have been good enough for Lexi, but he was better than this.

  Slumping back, he rubbed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Fuck. This. Shit.

  There was only one other option.

  Music.

  His drums.

  He jumped to his feet and sat behind his practice kit. He picked up his sticks, ran his fingers over “Lexster” carved into the end of one, spun it ’round and struck the snare, hard. He’d hidden his heartache from his bandmates, tried to drown it out with alcohol. That hadn’t worked. If he let the pain consume him, he could thrash it out of his system.

  His life was here now. Without Lexi.

  Pumping his foot on the bass pedal, he played around with the tempo. Fast, then slow. Loud, then soft. He didn’t care if he woke the guys upstairs. Lexi bombarded his mind. Her laughing when they danced at a club. Cheering him on when he played. Smiling at him over morning coffees. Squeezing him tight when they hugged. Damn it. He struggled to draw breath, felt as if he were drowning. He slammed his sticks against the snares, the tom-toms and the cymbals. Bang. Crash. Bang . . . boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Bang.

  What was she doing now? Was she heading home? Having fun with the girls? Did she ever think of him?

  The high cymbal copped a flogging. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  If she missed him half as much as he missed her, she had to be hurting too.

  He stopped, rubbed his palms into his eyes. Hauled in deep, shaky breaths.

  He needed to find the right beat to smash out the pain crippling his heart.

  Clutching his sticks, digging deep, he drummed out his pent-up emotions, the agony. Loss flowed through his fingertips. Escaped through the beat, the rhythm, his pounding sticks. Every cell in his body ached for Lexi. God, I miss you.

  Why had she given up on them? Not given them a chance?

  Why didn’t she love him like he loved her?

  He closed his eyes, rattled by the words that formed in his head. He swallowed hard, played a slow, heavy beat and sang.

  I’m staring at the moon,

  Do you see it too?

  I’m wondering if you’re missing me as much as I’m missing you.

  I’m watching the sea,

  Hear it calling to me.

  I’m wondering if you’re feeling the same ocean breeze as me.

  I didn’t think it’d hurt,

  As much as it did.

  Didn’t think I’d miss your laugh and everything you’d ever said.

  Every strike stabbed his muscles, his bones, his chest. It wasn’t enough to release the hurt, so he drummed harder. Faster. Louder.

  Where are you now?

  Where are you now?

  Are you thinking of me?

  Are you dreaming of me?

  Are you missing me at all?

  I’m lost without you,

  Lost without you.

  I’m drowning.

  I’m staring at my phone,

  Wishing you’d call.

  I’m praying you got my message and know I’m sorry for all.

  I’m wishing you were here,

  Lying in my arms.

  I’m broken without you, ’cause you’ll always own my heart.

  Where are you now?

  Wh
ere are you now?

  Are you thinking of me?

  Are you dreaming of me?

  Are you missing me at all?

  I’m lost without you,

  Lost without you.

  I’m drowning

  He froze when he heard claps. His eyes shot open. Kyle and Hunter stood at the bottom of the stairs. Thank God it hadn’t been Kilt or Reg; they’d fucking hate a heart-breaking song like he’d just played. These guys . . . they thrived on it.

  “That. Was. Awesome,” Kyle said, eyes wide. “I thought you didn’t write songs.”

  “I’ve been tinkering.” Hayden shrugged. “Nothing serious. That shit just came out.”

  “Good thing I recorded it.” Hunter waved his cell phone.

  “Please delete it.”

  “Nope. Posting it to Insta right now.”

  “Don’t!” He stood and charged around the front of his kit, reaching for Hunter’s cell phone.

  “Dude.” Hunter pulled it away. “Chill. I won’t.”

  “Fuck.” Hayden slumped onto the sofa. Hunter sat next to him; Kyle took the old office chair by the rack of guitars.

  Hunter spotted the cocaine. His eyes grew to the size of golf balls. “Holy shit.” He pointed. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “No.” Hayden shook his head. Idiot for even being tempted. They didn’t need to know how close he’d come. “It’s Kilt’s.”

  A wicked grin slid across Hunter’s mouth. “May I?”

  “You?” Hayden’s heart screamed at Hunter to stop. “Please don’t. You haven’t done that shit for years.”

  “I know.” Hunter poured the rest of the vial onto the table, picked up the tube off the floor. His eyes glinted with mischievousness.

  Hayden grimaced; he didn’t want his friends to go down the path again. Music was their life. His too. “Hunt, don’t . . .”

  Hunter sucked in a deep breath, smiled, then blew through the tube, sending cocaine into the air. The cloud loomed like a puff of smoke and slowly sank into the carpet. He erupted in a ball of laughter.

  “Holy shit!” Hayden joined him. Kyle too. “You just blew an eight-ball away. Kilt will kill you.”

  “Nah.” Hunter put the tube and vial back into the tin and threw it onto the table. “He was so wasted at the after-party last night he won’t fucking remember if he took it or not.”

  “You’re ballsy, man.” Kyle chuckled as he leaned back on the chair, swiveling it from side to side.

  “I know.”

  Hayden wouldn’t be able to wipe the grin off Hunter’s face even if he tried. Didn’t want to. Getting rid of that shit was for the best.

  Kyle crossed his ankles and arms, jerked his chin at Hunter. “You just get off tormenting Kilt, don’t you?”

  “Yep.” Hunter wiped his hands on his jeans and leaned back into the sofa.

  Kyle’s gaze whipped back to Hayden. “So . . . how you doing? It’s been a bit of a crazy weekend.”

  “Tell me about it.” His voice swung with cynicism. “Nothing’s gone to plan.” He’d gotten too drunk on Friday night. Driven Lexi away. Fought with his band before the show. Hit an all-time low. “Sorry we haven’t hung out.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Kyle said, picking up Reg’s guitar. “You did good last night. You held the show together. Without you, it would’ve been shit. The guys were too wasted.”

  “Yeah. Downing tequila like it’s water does that.” Hayden hated the band getting high or drunk before a big gig. That was what they’d fought about. His band had to pull themselves together, or venues wouldn’t want them to play.

  Kyle struck the strings, turned the tuning pegs.

  Hayden held out his hand. “Kyle, don’t fuck with that.”

  “I’m not. I’m tuning it. Reg is fucking tone-deaf.”

  Exactly what Hayden thought. Kyle strummed the strings. Tweaked the pegs until it sounded better.

  Thank God. Hayden had wanted to do that for weeks.

  “Where are the girls?” Hayden’s gaze lingered on the stairs, wishing Lexi would appear. He needed to say sorry, but wasn’t sure if he meant it. They did need time apart.

  “They headed home.” Kyle put the guitar back on the rack. “Lex wanted to see her mom before we fly to Miami.”

  “Why didn’t she come to the show?” The stab to his chest made him flinch. He knew the answer but wanted to make sure she was all right. “Is she okay?”

  “What are you talking about?” Hunter jerked his chin back. “She was there. Taking photos and at the bar.”

  The knife in his heart dug deeper. She hadn’t come to see him before the show. Hadn’t come to have a drink after. She’d left without saying goodbye. Fuck! He’d hurt her so much that she didn’t want to see him. She’d only been at the show because of their friends.

  “You two have a fight?” Kyle looked up from underneath his bangs.

  “You could say that. I’m not handling the way things ended between us. But I’ll get over it. I’ll be fine.” He was counting on it anyway.

  Enough talk about Lexi; it wrecked him too much. “You heading back soon or you wanna go grab some lunch somewhere?”

  Kyle glanced at his watch. “Maybe next time. We have to head soon. But before we go, can we talk business?”

  “Why?” Hayden’s voice turned lackluster. “You going to lecture me about fucking up my chances too?”

  “Nope.” Hunter rested his arm on the back of the sofa. “Quite the opposite. We wanted to wait until after the gig. Didn’t want to mess with your headspace.”

  Hayden lowered his chin, rubbed and kneaded the back of his neck. “Yeah, like it’s in such a good place right now.” He wasn’t sure if he could feel any crappier than he already did.

  Kyle chuckled as he tugged the collar on his leather jacket. “Well, we hope this cheers you up. We want to throw something on the table for you to consider.”

  “Shoot.” Hayden ruffled his hand through his hair, wiped his eyes.

  “Slade gave notice last week.” Kyle leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “He wants to be released from his contract based on medical grounds. His shoulder is fucked and has to have surgery. Plus, with a new baby, he wants to stay at home. So . . . we need a new drummer. We thought of you first. Wondered if you want the job.”

  What the fuck? Hayden’s heart faltered. His blood pressure skyrocketed as he replayed every word Kyle had said in his mind. Slade. Released. Need Drummer. His pulse whooshed in his ears. “Me?” He clenched his fist, jabbed it against his thigh. This was not happening. This was such bad timing. If they’d asked him three months ago, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity. He would’ve had a chance with Lexi.

  But life was different now. He’d moved cities. He had a new job. He’d given up everything for his band. The girl he loved didn’t want him.

  “Hell yeah.” Hunter hooked his ankle over his opposite knee. “You’ve become an exceptional drummer. We’d love you to join us.”

  “Fuck.” Hayden’s mind raced. Working for them would be insane. He could picture himself traveling the world, hitting the recording studio, playing in front of stadiums full of fans, all with Lexi by his side. But . . . she wasn’t his. Nothing would ever be the same.

  “Fuck what?” Kyle tilted his head; a divot formed between his brows.

  Hayden jutted his chin toward the staircase. Irritation itched his veins. “I’ve just moved here. I have a band. Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me? After what happened at the party?”

  “Nope. But what Kilt did was fucked.” Hunter shuffled around on the sofa to face him. “We know what you’re going through. We know what it’s like to give up everything to pursue your dreams. The buzz, the high of finally being on the right path. We’ve been through that phase you guys are in now. We’ve done the drugs, the parties, the women.”

  “We want your talent, man.” Kyle fidgeted with his wedding ring. “For so long, it was just me, Hunt and Gem trying to take on the world. We’
ve always been a family. But our family has grown. It includes Kar, Lex and you. Bec, Kate, Sophie and our backup band. We’re a team. Have been for years. It gutted us when you said you were moving. But things have changed. Slade’s injured. There’s only one person who can fill that legend’s shoes and that’s you.”

  The corner of Hunter’s mouth quirked. “While it would give me nothing but pleasure to steal you away from Kilt, it’s more than that, Hayds.” His tone softened, exuded sincerity. “You’re one of us.”

  Family. That was all Hayden had ever wanted. A family to love him and to belong to, and to have a place to call home. He’d had that with Lexi, but she didn’t want any part of it anymore. Didn’t want him. He loved these guys more than his fellow bandmates, but their world involved Lexi. Seeing her every day, being around her and not having her would make it impossible to breathe. Just like now. “What you’re offering is incredible. But . . . I can’t. I’m committed to these guys. I can’t just pack my bags, come home and move back in with Lex.” Hayden’s heart hit the floor with a thunk. “I couldn’t live with her again. Not after what happened.” His old life was over. Lexi didn’t love him. Her words still burned deep inside his chest.

  “Then don’t.” Hunter shrugged a shoulder. “Move into my place until you find somewhere.”

  They weren’t making it easy for him. His dream job playing at the top versus Lexi and his band butted heads with his heart. “Thanks, Hunt, but it’s not necessary.”

  Kyle smoothed his hands down his jeans. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you and Lex. But she does love you—just not in the way you want. She was so cut up about you leaving. I think she ended it out of love, not because of no love.”

  He wished he could believe that. But he knew her. Knew she wanted to look out for herself, chase her career, and not get close to anyone. She’d shot him down in the process. “Not making me feel any better. I forgot you’re a philosophical son of a bitch.”

  “Always.” Kyle grinned. “Can I give you some advice?”

  Hayden flicked his hand. “Knock yourself out. You’re on a roll.”

  “Don’t make this decision based on Lex.” Kyle’s gaze drilled into Hayden. “Make it about yourself. About music. What do you want? If you live and breathe music with your guys, trust each other with your lives, great. But if you don’t, you won’t survive. You need to be a united front, want the same things. It’s what makes Hunt, Gem and I work. We know you want the same as us. You’re our best friend. When we’re home, you hang with us more than your band. You jam with us. You fit into our world. We want you to become a permanent part of it.”