I need to be the Tom I used to be. The Tom who fucks and walks away. The Tom who doesn’t care. Because that’s the Tom I can work with.
Palming my cock, I stare down at her. “Open up, sugar, and make sure to suck me good and hard.”
She smiles up at me. Her smile is nowhere even close to being as beautiful as Lyla’s.
“I’m gonna suck you so good that you’ll never want me to stop.”
I highly doubt that.
But I roll with it. I watch her open up her mouth and slide my cock between her lips.
“Shit. Yeah, that’s it,” I hiss, palming the back of her head urging her to take more of my cock. “Take him all.”
With my cock in her mouth, she starts bobbing her head up and down, sucking me hard.
I close my eyes, trying to relax, as I focus on the feel of what she’s doing.
But nothing is happening.
What the fuck?
Needing this, feeling desperate, I grab a handful of her hair and start to pump my cock in and out of her mouth.
I just need to get hard, then I can fuck her, and everything will be back as it was.
I’ll be back to my old self.
I keep at it for a few minutes, fucking her mouth, but still nothing is happening. He’s not even grown another centimeter.
What the hell is going on?
This never happens to me. Ever.
The brunette lets my cock out of her mouth with a pop, and she starts to run her tongue all over him, making this moaning sound as she does.
It’s nothing like the sweet sounds Lyla makes when she sucks me.
It’s actually getting kind of annoying. I’m tempted to just shove my cock back in there to shut the girl up.
“I love your dick,” she murmurs, taking me in her hand, she starts jacking me off. “So fucking big. I can’t wait to have it inside me. I love your band. I have for years. I’ve seen you in concert twice. I can’t believe I’m here with you. That I have your dick in my hand, and real soon, we’re gonna be fucking.” Her eyes lift to mine. “You’ve got a condom on you, right? Because I don’t have any.”
Of course I have—
No, I don’t.
I don’t have one single condom on me because I stopped buying them when Lyla and I started going clean.
When she let me have more of her.
And last night…she let me have all of her.
My head starts to spin.
I press my hand to the wall for support. The bass pumps through the bricks, echoing the mournful tune into my body. Billie Joe Armstrong’s somber voice feeds the bleak lyrics into my mind.
I close my eyes, trying to shut it all out…but all I can see is Lyla.
The way she looked lying in my bed. My belt tied around her wrists. Washing her in the shower. Her washing me. Kissing her. How breathtaking she was down on her knees in front of me, her beautiful blues gazing back up at me. Moving inside her…having deep, slow sex. Staying inside her until she fell asleep. Holding her in my arms because I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. Unable to sleep because I didn’t want to miss a moment of the time I had left with her, knowing I would eventually have to let her go.
I let her go.
A pain lances across my chest. I can’t fucking breathe.
I need…I need to leave.
No, I can do this. I can fuck this chick.
This is what I do. This is what I’m good at.
We’re in a public restroom. They should have a condom machine in here. I’ll just buy a pack, fuck her, and then go home.
The blow job clearly isn’t working. It isn’t getting Lyla out of my head. But covering the memory of the last time Lyla and I were together by being inside someone else will.
It has to.
I open my eyes and look down…but instead of seeing the brunette, all I see is Lyla staring back up at me.
What the fuck?
Lyla’s big blues blinking up at me. Her gorgeous mouth smiling at me in that sweet way she does.
Panic hits me. A panic I haven’t felt since that day when I was thirteen years old, and my life changed forever.
The day I lost everything. The day I stood by powerless to stop what was happening.
I can’t do this. I need to get the fuck out of here. Now.
“I can’t do this.”
I try to move, but the brunette doesn’t hear me, and she tries to put my cock back in her mouth.
“No.” Hands firm on her shoulders, I push her away. “We have to stop.”
She stares up at me, confusion on her face. “Did I…did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Sidestepping her, I tuck my cock back in my jeans and quickly fasten them up. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I suck in a breath, the feeling of guilt and a whole shit load of other emotions I can’t even begin to contend with hitting me. “I did.”
I yank open the door and practically run out of there, leaving behind the confused brunette still on her knees.
I can barely see straight as I try to make my way out of the bar.
Finally, I make it to the door. Pushing it open, air hits my lungs with force, leaving me gasping. The pressure on my chest is so intense I feel like I’m going to explode.
Lyla’s broken me.
She fucking broke me!
She got inside my head and screwed everything up.
I care about her. More than care about her. I lo—
No.
I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this.
I need to…Christ! What do I need?
Time.
I need time. That’s all.
I tried to jump back into my old life too soon.
I’ll just take a few days to sort my head out.
Get out of the pussy state of mind I’ve let myself fall into with Lyla.
I liked the life I had before—no, I fucking loved it. Before I started making promises, trying to think I could change to help Jake. But that was bullshit. And Tru and Jake are fine now.
I kept my promise. I did what I said.
But things need to go back to the way they were.
Easy. No complications. No expectations.
Nobody telling me they love me.
And me…I go back to not lo—
Caring about anyone but myself.
I go back to the life I had before. It worked. It kept all my crap at bay.
But since Lyla, all I’ve done is feel every day.
Feel her.
I’ve become the man I never wanted to be.
Weak.
I can’t be weak. I can’t care about her. I can’t risk turning into him.
I can’t ever risk becoming my father.
And to not become him means I have to go back to being the man I was before, no matter how much it might hurt to let Lyla go.
Two Weeks Later—A Shoe Store, Robertson Boulevard, LA
It’s funny how time stands still when your heart is broken.
Like somehow, your heart has control of the ticking clock called life.
Time stilled when Dex broke my heart.
And now…after Tom…well, time and everything in between has ceased to move. I’m just drifting through the days. Nothing matters.
There’s just a gaping hole in my life where Tom was.
He came barreling into my world and knocked away every defensive wall I’d built up. I was stupid to think it wouldn’t affect me…he wouldn’t affect me. That he wouldn’t work into my affections. I know the kind of girl I am. I attach feelings to sex. I was naïve to think I could do the whole fuck-buddy thing with Tom and walk away clean.
And now, I’m in love with Tom and he’s out of my life. I’m broken, defenseless, and weak, and I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t seem to fix the void he’s left in my life. No matter how much I throw myself into band stuff and try to keep busy, nothing is helping.
His absence is always here. Every minute of every goddamn day.
I miss talking t
o him. Laughing with him. Fighting with him. Loving him.
I have this constant ache, like I’ve lost a limb. I’m just trying to figure out how he embedded himself so deeply within me in such a short space of time. Wondering if I will ever feel whole again.
“Have you called him yet?”
My eyes move from the spot on the wall of the shoe store to look down at Shannon, who’s crouched before me while fitting a pair of shoes to my feet. They have about a hundred tiny fastenings on them. If you ask me, I think they look like hooker shoes, but Shannon seems to think they’ll go with the dress we just bought for a magazine photo shoot I have to attend with the guys in a few days.
Shannon has been hired as our permanent stylist, which I’m happy about. The only downside is I have to put up with Ashlee as well, but she focuses more on the guys while Shannon looks after me, which I’m sure Ashlee is happy about.
“Have I called who?”
Shannon gives me a look while tugging hard on another strap and fastening it. “You know who—Tom.”
“No. Why would I?” I shift in my seat, averting my eyes.
“You know why. There.” She fastens the last buckle, sounding out of breath. “I thought I was never gonna get those fuckers fastened. Stand up,” she tells me.
I get to my feet, wobbling on the ridiculous heels.
“Walk for me. Let’s see how you look in them.”
“I thought I was a singer, not a catwalk model?”
“You’re not tall enough to be a catwalk model, so shut up your moaning and start walking, sista.” She grins.
I stick my tongue out at her and then start to make my way up the aisle, heading toward the mirror in front of me. I look like a complete tool. The shoes actually do look hot. I just can’t walk in them.
They even look good with my cutoffs and the Angry Birds T-shirt I’m wearing, the one Tom bought for me.
Okay, I like to torture myself by wearing the gift he bought me. And I also might keep his leather jacket in my bedroom, so I can wrap myself up in it at night. I hate myself for holding on to him when he hurt me so much.
“I look like an idiot,” I complain.
Shannon comes up from behind, looking at me in the mirror. “No, you don’t. You look hot. We’re getting them. Now, sit your ass back down, so I can take them off.”
I take a seat. As she works on getting one shoe off, I work on unfastening the other. With my leg hitched up on my thigh, I start unbuckling.
“So, remind me why you haven’t called Tom.”
I let out a sigh, trying to put on a pretense of being bored by her question, when really, all I’m attempting to do is stop my pain from bleeding out all over the floor of this store.
“I have no reason to call him.”
You and me…we end here.
“Bullshit. You miss him.”
“I really don’t.”
I do. I miss him so badly that I feel like I can’t breathe most days. And at the mere mention of his name, I want to scream out the pain tearing at my insides.
Aside from torturing myself with his leather jacket, I also go to bed every night listening to “Thought I’d Died and Gone to Heaven” on loop because he told me that’s his song for me. Analyzing those lyrics, wishing that he had meant those words in the way I wanted him to and not just to serve as a reminder of a time when he once screwed me under a stage.
Steeling myself, I say, “Even if I did, what does it matter? Tom doesn’t miss me.”
He can’t stand the sight of me.
“Yeah, he does.”
My head snaps up, my mouth instantly dry. “He does? Has he said something to you?”
“No. But it’s that right there.” She lets go of the shoe to point at my face. “That look on your face when you thought he missed you—it’s relief. And now, crushing disappointment because you know he hasn’t said that to me.” She grabs my foot again and starts yanking at the buckles. “The two of you need to sort your shit out.” She stops pulling at the shoe and stares me in the face. “Tom might not have said that he misses you to me, but I saw him yesterday, and he looked like shit. I’ve never seen Tom look like shit. And he looked fucking awful. So, I made a point of mentioning your name, and when I did, he looked like I’d just shot his puppy, and then he was out of there a minute later.”
I can’t hide my care anymore. “He looked like shit?” Is it wrong that the thought of Tom looking like shit makes me feel a little better?
“Yep, he was unshaven and well on his way to growing that fucking beard back. Unlike last time though, it doesn’t look hot. It looks gross, like he hasn’t washed for a week. Same with his clothes. And he stank of whiskey. He had dark circles under his eyes that even I wouldn’t be able to cover. He looks like total shit, and I’m guessing it’s because he misses you.”
“He doesn’t miss me.”
The sooner I’m out of here, the fucking better.
My lips turn down at the corners.
Shannon sits up on her haunches and grabs my hands, holding them together on my thighs. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you. I only know the tidbits you’ve given me over these last two weeks, but it’s clear you care about him, and he cares about you. Just call him. What have you got to lose?”
I slide my hands free and move my eyes down. I start on those damn buckles again.
“Pride. I’m not calling Tom. The last time I spoke to him, he made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me. Anyway, even if he has changed his mind, it’s too late. I’ve moved on.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters. “Stubborn, the both of you.” She grabs my foot, yanks it over to her, and finishes removing that damn shoe.
Thirty Minutes Later—Robertson Boulevard, LA
“You wanna grab a coffee?” Shannon asks as we walk toward my car.
“Sure, let’s just dump these bags in the trunk first.”
I unlock my car and pop the trunk. I throw the shopping bags in and shut down the lid.
“Shit,” Shannon utters.
Lifting my gaze to her, I follow her stare across the street, and my eyes land straight on Tom. He’s standing by a black town car parked outside a swanky restaurant.
I can see from here that he looks tired, not his usual pulled-together self, and the beard is definitely making a comeback.
But that’s not the reason I feel like someone is standing on my chest.
No, what’s causing that is the sight of the willowy and very gorgeous brunette who is with him.
They’re standing close together. They look friendly, like they know each other really well.
Intimately well.
She puts her hands on his arms while speaking to him. Tom smiles at whatever she’s saying. He says something back to her, and she laughs.
I hate her instantly.
She lifts her hand to his face and leans in and kisses his cheek.
I stop breathing.
It’s like a car crash. I want to look away but I can’t.
I want to scream too.
But I do neither.
I just stand here, like a fucking statue, watching them.
Tom opens the door of the town car for her. She climbs in the backseat.
Don’t get in the car with her. Don’t get in the car with her.
He starts to climb in.
My heart sinks. I close my eyes, breathing through the hurt.
When I open them, Tom has a foot in the town car with a hand on the roof, and he’s staring across the street at me.
I can see the shock of seeing me here evident on his face.
He’s not happy to see me.
Why would he be? He made it clear how things stood the last time I saw him.
His cruel words come back to taunt me, echoing in my mind.
I’m frozen to the spot, held hostage by his stare, as pain runs through my veins like poison. It’s absolute agony.
A moment ago I was praying he wouldn’t get in t
hat car, now I’m willing him to do just that.
He mouths my name and starts to back away from the car.
He’s coming over here.
Shit. My heart starts to pound a painful beat against my ribcage.
I can’t take another heartbreaking confrontation with him. I need to get out of here. Now.
Adrenaline fires my body into action. I bolt around the car and yank open the driver’s door. I yell at Shannon, “Get in the fucking car!”
Her face jolts in shock. But I don’t care. I just need to get out of here, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to make that happen.
I’ve already got the engine on, and I’m clicking in my seatbelt when Shannon gets in the car.
I glance out the side window, and I see that Tom is trying to cross the busy street, eyes fixed with purpose on my car.
Heart climbing out of my chest and running down the street and away from him, I put the car into drive. With one quick check in my side mirror, I slam my foot down, getting us out of there.
We drive in silence for a long moment.
“You okay?” Shannon asks softly.
I nod, afraid to speak, in case I burst into tears.
“That might not have been what it looked like.”
I take a fortifying breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly, it does. You’re in love with him.” It’s not a question.
I could argue or lie, but there’s no point.
“He knows.” I let out a shallow breath. “I told him the morning after our last night together. He gave me a ride home, and before he left, I told him that I’m in love with him.” I feel my bottom lip tremble. I take another strengthening breath before I speak again. “The short version is, he doesn’t feel the same.”
“I find that hard to believe. I saw the way he was with you.”
I shake my head. “Trust me, he doesn’t. He said to me, and I quote, ‘Take your declaration of love, and tell it to someone who wants it.’”
“Oh, honey. Well, if that’s the truth, that he doesn’t love you—which I highly doubt—then Tom Carter is a bigger goddamn fool than I thought he was. He’s always been a player, but when I saw him with you, I thought it was different. I saw the way he would look at you when he thought no one was watching, and I thought that was it for him, that you were it.”
I know she doesn’t mean to, but her words are hurting me. A stray tear escapes, trickling down into the corner of my mouth.
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