by Jayne Frost
Logan eyed me as he slid the heavy patio door across the track. And then without a word, he retreated, leaving the sheer curtain to flutter in the balmy California breeze.
I sucked down the last of the Jack, then jumped to my feet and stalked after him. “What the fuck is the matter with you?!”
Logan dropped his key on the table. “You want a beer?”
Lunging, I grabbed his collar. “Don’t fucking walk away from me. I asked you a question.”
Eyes on mine, Logan latched onto my wrist and twisted just enough to show me he wasn’t playing. “I ain’t walking away from nobody. I’m getting a beer. Do. You. Want. One?’
“Does it look like I’m here to socialize?”
Logan ambled to the fridge where he grabbed two bottles.
Sliding a Pale Ale in front of me, he said, “I saw you leave with Kimber. Why the hell are you here?”
His fingers coiled tightly around the beer as he took a swallow. Yeah, he was ready to go. And I was just mad enough or drunk enough to unleash that part of him that might land me in the hospital.
Not that I couldn’t fight. Hell, I could brawl with the best of them. But Logan had trained at the feet of the master—his old man. Jake Cage was a mean son of a bitch with a foul temper. It took Logan seventeen years to best him, but I was there the night he did.
A memory of Logan’s bloody face and vacant eyes stole some of my anger.
Ripping a hand through my hair, I dropped onto the barstool. “Kimber had a fucking camera crew with her. Did you realize that?”
Logan leaned a hip against the counter. “So, did they cockblock you or is there a sex tape in the offing?” He smirked. “I’m guessing the former based on your temperament. Shake it off; there’s a lobby full of willing pussy downstairs.”
My brows drew together. “I’m with Anna. You know that.”
Logan snorted. “That didn’t stop you from fucking Darcy, now did it?”
Years’ worth of pent-up hostility and resentment shone in his eyes. Amazing that I’d never seen it before.
“That was a mistake.”
Disgust curled Logan’s lip as he took another swallow. “Yeah, whatever.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my gaze. “For someone who claims to care so much, it seems like you don’t give a shit if Anna gets hurt.”
Logan’s bottle met the bottom of the stainless-steel sink with a loud crash. “Don’t you fucking lecture me about hurting Anna. You disappeared for four fucking years, leaving her to raise a kid by herself.” He jabbed his finger into my chest. “You—not me.”
I searched his eyes, unflinching. “Did you know about my kid?”
“No, dude, I didn’t. But even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have said anything. You dumped Anna and never looked back. I don’t want to see the kid’s face when you decide to do it again.”
Pain radiated up my arm when I landed the blow to Logan’s cheek. Surprisingly, the shot to his nose left only a slight tingling in my fingers. And the counter punch he landed on my mouth? I didn’t feel it at all.
The blow stunned me, though, knocked me back, giving him enough time to charge.
We tumbled to the ground, taking out the coffee table on our way down.
Pinning me on the hardwood floor, Logan wedged his forearm against my windpipe.
Kicking hard to gain purchase, I clawed at his arm. “Get the fuck off me!” I choked out.
“Now, now, you started it.” A maniacal smile spread across his lips as a thick scarlet stream dripped from his nostrils. “So why don’t you answer me a question: how bad you want me to hurt you?”
“Fuck you,” I spat, spewing droplets of blood onto his T-shirt. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Barking out a laugh, Logan rolled off me. “That’s cute. I think we both know that ain’t about to happen.”
Fighting to drag air into my burning lungs, I sat up.
On the other hand, Logan’s breathing remained slow and even, and despite the blood streaming freely from his nose and the gash on his cheek, he reclined on his elbows and stretched out like he was getting ready for a nap.
“You know,” he began, “if a bloody nose or a black eye is what it’s gonna take to get you to listen, that’s fine.”
I wiped my lip on my shoulder, trying not to wince. “What makes you think I’d give two fucks about anything you’ve got to tell me?”
Logan sighed. “’Cause I’m your best friend. And I know you. It’s not that I don’t think you’re going to step up and take care of the kid. That’s the easy part. You throw a couple of bucks her way, visit when you can—you’re golden. It’s the rest of it you’re gonna struggle with.”
Pain shot from my throbbing hand to my elbow as I flexed my fingers. “You don’t know that.”
“I know what I saw. And honestly? I kinda fucking respected you for breaking it off clean. But now you’re trying to play happy family, and we both know you were never good enough for Annabelle. Not then, and not now. No matter how many willow trees you plant in your yard or paint on your arm.”
A ripple spread from his pupils, rolling over his pale blue irises. He believed it, this shit he was spouting.
Staggering to my feet, I loomed over him, fists clenched at my sides. “I was with Anna for years, and I never looked at another woman.” Acknowledging his cocked brow, I heaved a sigh. “Fine, maybe I looked. But I never acted on it. Just that one fucking time.”
Logan snorted again, and a fresh rivulet of blood joined the tributary leaking from his nose. “Once is all it takes.”
The fury clouding my perception burned away like fog, and I saw Logan clearly for the first time in weeks. Maybe years.
“Is this about my mistake, or yours?” His grin faded to a blank stare. “Maybe you’re just salty because there’s nobody coming to give you a second chance.” The voice in my head blasted a warning as I pushed us past the choppy waters and into the eye of the hurricane. “You heard from Laurel lately, bro?”
This time I didn’t need to look for a ripple. At the mention of his sister, a twenty-foot wave crested in Logan’s eyes.
It’d been ten years since child protective services took Laurel away. Logan spent weeks looking for her, asking about her, nosing around in every group home in the city. When he came up empty, he never spoke of her again. And from the look on his face, he wasn’t going to start now.
“Is that your ace in the hole?” Logan mumbled, averting his gaze. “Because you’re going to have to do better than that.”
There was nothing better than that. I’d ripped his still-beating heart from his chest. Which was only fair since he’d done the same to me.
Glass crunched under my feet as I walked toward the back door, leaving my best friend to deal with the wreckage of his past.
Inside my bungalow, I flopped onto the bed with the phone in my hand.
A half hour later, I was still staring at the empty box next to Anna’s name, trying to think of one good thing to tell her.
Finding nothing, I went in search of some ice for my swollen knuckles.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sean
Shifting in the canvas chair, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. The harsh lights in the dressing room weren’t doing me any favors.
The makeup artist winced as she applied balm to my swollen lip. “Sorry.”
I shrugged, too tired to care. “No worries.”
Her cheeks warmed to a rosy pink as her fingertips grazed the angry contusion on my neck. “This looks painful.” She rushed to apply powder to the dark purple bruise. “I don’t think I can cover it completely.”
“It’s fine, sug—” I caught myself before the endearment tripped fully from my lips. All part of the new leaf I was turning over. “Do the best you can.”
Across the room, Logan sat with his back to me, another member of the team trying valiantly to cover his battle wounds.
When our gazes collided in the mirror, his
lips tipped upward at the corners in his trademark smirk. Taking the olive branch, I gave him a small nod.
Neither of us was likely to proffer an apology. And that was fine for now.
A smartly dressed blonde swept through the door. “We’re going to need the room,” she barked without looking up from her iPad.
Relieved, I pushed out of my chair. In less than twenty-four hours my nicotine craving had returned with a vengeance.
I tipped my chin at Cameron. “I’m going to go grab a smoke.”
Blondie caught my arm as I made for the door. “Not you.” Her slate gray eyes shifted to Logan. “Or you.”
The four makeup artists scurried away like mice with their caddies in tow. Christian and Cameron weren’t so easily commanded. They joined Logan and me, standing awkwardly with our hands in our pockets.
“If you two would excuse us,” Blondie said to Cam and Christian.
Cameron shrugged. “Depends on who you are.”
She pursed her lips, obviously unaccustomed to being questioned. With a sharp exhale, she held out her hand for Cam to shake. “Olivia Block, Conner Public Relations Management Team, West Coast.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Christian muttered as he scrolled through his phone. “Do you have a card or something?”
Olivia cocked her head. “Excuse me, Cameron, is it?”
That caught his attention.
“You’re with the public relations team, and you can’t even tell us apart?” Glancing at Logan, Christian said blandly, “That inspires confidence.”
Any response was drowned out by the flurry of activity when Benny Conner strode in, jabbering into his Bluetooth.
Olivia straightened up like she was preparing for inspection.
Wrapping up the call, Benny tapped his earpiece. “How’s everyone doing today?”
“Hi, Benny,” Olivia interjected, an eager smile curving her lips. “I was about to go over the schedule.”
“Liv, if you wouldn’t mind showing Cameron and Christian to the dining room.” Sinking onto the leather sofa, Benny addressed my bandmates. “Our chef makes a mean ahi tuna steak. To die for.”
Benny looked down and brushed a hand over his tie. I got the feeling if Cameron and Christian declined, he had no problem telling them to wait in the bathroom.
Olivia blinked. “Benny . . . are you sure . . . ?
He lifted his gaze without moving his head, and Olivia swallowed. “Of course. This way, gentleman.”
Reluctantly, Cameron and Christian followed her out the door.
We were supposed to be on camera in thirty minutes with the host of Entertainment Tonight. Since Logan and I looked more prepared to shoot a promo for a Fight Club reboot, it was safe to assume that wasn’t going to happen.
Benny stretched his arm over the back of the couch, amused. “I heard all the rumors about you boys before I ever took a look at your band.” A thick New York accent etched his tone. “Lindsey Barger is a well-respected manager in this town, and she said you were trouble. But I don’t give a fuck about rumors. What I care about is dissension in the ranks. You want to tell me what the hell happened last night?”
Adopting a casual posture, Logan dropped into the canvas chair. “What makes you think there’s any dissension?”
Logan’s blue eyes shifted to mine, and noting the silent plea behind the bravado, I ambled to his side.
The promoter tipped forward, elbows on his knees. “For one, you made kindling out of the antique table in Logan’s bungalow. Add to that your beat-to-shit faces, and I put two and two together.”
Logan didn’t respond, setting his jaw and staring at his boots.
It was safer to pick up the slack than risk letting Benny ignite Logan’s short fuse, so I said casually, “That wasn’t a beef, Benny. That was Tuesday. I’ve known Logan all my life. Sometimes things get heated. Doesn’t mean shit.”
The tension ebbed from Benny’s face but didn’t recede entirely. “So, you’re telling me that this was all just a squabble between friends?”
“Best friends,” Logan said flatly, “Or else Sean over here wouldn’t be standing. Know what I mean?”
I barked out a laugh. “Your confidence is astounding, asshat, considering that shiner you’re sporting.”
Logan shrugged. “Lucky shot.”
Benny shoved to his feet, mollified. He didn’t notice the strain in our exchange, but then, why would he?
“Typical Sixth Street band,” the promoter said with a smile. “You guys are all the same. Work hard, play hard, fight hard. Conner Productions made Damaged a household name with their first tour. I’ve seen a couple of black eyes and trashed hotel rooms.”
Logan and I sat up straighter, waiting for Benny to elaborate. He didn’t.
Instead, he leveled a serious gaze and said, “I’m not likely to put up with that shit from you guys. Keep it off my tour. Are we clear?”
Logan accepted Benny’s outstretched hand. “Crystal.”
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
Benny sighed, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “Since you two look like you met the business end of a billy club, I’m sending you home. Put some ice on your faces. I’ll see you back here in a week or so to discuss terms.”
And then he was gone, barking into his Bluetooth before the door clicked shut behind him.
Logan gave me a sidelong glance. “I guess that means we’re in.”
My stomach tightened, but I wasn’t sure it was from excitement. “Looks that way.”
After gathering our things, we headed for the dining room to pick up the guys.
In the elevator, Logan asked, “Are we good, bro?”
I liberated my lucky drumsticks from my pocket, stroking my thumb over the A carved into the base.
We weren’t good. Not even close.
“Yeah, man. We’re fine.”
Logan examined his reflection in the shiny doors. “Shit, I’m too pretty to be this banged up. I hope my face heals by next week.”
He shoved his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Me too.”
Staring at the floor, I hid my eyes. Or the lie behind them. The bruises were a reprieve. A stay of execution. And the longer the evidence stayed on my skin, the more time I’d have with Anna and Willow.
Chapter Thirty
Anna
I sighed into the phone, one eye on Willow as she sat on top of the large granite island in Sean’s kitchen, scrupulously sorting vegetables for our salad.
“Are you even listening to me, Anna?” Peyton’s voice boomed in my ear.
Honestly, I wasn’t. My best friend had been droning on for fifteen minutes, peppering me with questions about my plans. And really, I didn’t have any.
Something had shifted yesterday morning before Sean left. The way he’d looked at me, touched me as he moved inside me.
And that damned card.
Tu me manques.
You’re missing from me.
The phrase rolled around in my brain.
“Anna?” Peyton prompted, growling her discontent.
“I’m listening,” I lied, turning my attention to the pot of marinara simmering on the stove. “I just don’t see why you’re pushing this so hard. I mean, with everything going on with Dean, and now Melissa, I haven’t had time to think about moving.”
Peyton went silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Have you heard from Sean today?”
My skin prickled, because, no, I hadn’t heard from Sean. Not since his plane landed.
“He had that party last night at Benny’s and then a bunch of press engagements today.” My tone held more bite than expected, and I mentally chastised myself. “He’s busy.”
More silence, and goose bumps rose on my arms.
I looked up at the air conditioning vent above the stove, but it wasn’t that.
Closing my eyes, I asked, “What aren’t you telling me, Pey?”
I could hear her shifting, grappling with whatever she nee
ded to tell me.
“I have something to show you,” she finally said. “Don’t freak out.”
Well, that didn’t sound good.
I took a deep breath. “I won’t.”
When my phone beeped with an incoming text, I pulled the device from my ear and stared at Peyton’s message. Enlarging the thumbnail, I swallowed hard when a photo of Sean and that reality star, Kimber Tyson, populated the screen.
They were smiling. Happy.
After scrutinizing the picture for much longer than necessary, my attention slid to Willow. The urge to grab my daughter, our belongings, and the last scrap of my dignity almost sent me running for the door.
But then I heard Peyton calling my name over and over.
I put her on speaker.
“He was at a party,” I said listlessly. “It’s his job.”
The minute the excuse tumbled out, I shuddered. Because I knew I’d always make excuses.
Don’t you want more for your daughter?
Dean’s words trickled through my brain as Peyton sighed. They pitied me, both of them.
Dragging a wooden spoon through my spaghetti sauce, I said quietly, “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning, and we’ll go look at that apartment by the bridge.” A sharp pain corkscrewed through my chest. “I’ve got to drain the noodles now. I’ll call you later.”
Without waiting for her reply, I disconnected the call. I wasn’t mad at Peyton, just disappointed in myself. A week in Sean’s house and the wall encasing my heart had started to crumble, leaving me vulnerable. Exposed.
I had to think about Willow.
If I allowed the man I loved to run around with other women, so would she one day.
With a sigh, I switched on the boom box. Music throbbed from the speaker, and Willow’s foot began to rock.
So much like her father.
I returned to my cooking, and a moment later a strong arm banded around my waist. Frozen with fear, all I heard over the blood rushing to my head was a low rumble. “Fuck, baby—”
I howled, jabbing my elbow into the intruder’s stomach. When I spun around, wielding the spoon like a Samurai sword, I met Sean’s azure gaze. He clutched his ribs, feigning an injury. Willow giggled but I wasn’t amused.