“Then what the fuck is this about?”
His words turn fervent. “This is something we always dreamed of doing, isn’t it? Since we were, what, eighteen-year-old kids playing dives in Nashville? Life on the road! The tour buses, the hotels… a new city every week, a new girl every night… The three of us taking on the world together.” The light in his eyes dims a shade. “That was the dream. We got so close last time, so fucking close… and then it all fell apart.”
“Linc—”
“No, Ryder. You don’t understand what it was like when you went into rehab, then disappeared on your surfing spirit-quest. Aiden knows, because he was right there with me, elbow deep in the shit.” His nostrils flare. “Over a year of working as a damn waiter between gigs, before we finally landed that spot playing for Lacey, of all people. And playing is a generous term for what we did. That crap wasn’t music.”
“I get it,” I murmur. “Linc, I really do. Trust me, the past two years weren’t exactly a walk in the park for me either.”
“I know that.” His throat works as he swallows hard. “But that’s why I want us to enjoy this. We have to seize this moment, because they don’t come around all that often. And if Felicity walks away after this tour, like she claims… it’s also the only moment we’re gonna get. The only time we’ll ever be Wildwood.” His voice drops to an uncharacteristically serious tone. “Every second is limited. Forgive me for being a fucking sap, but I just… I want to do it right. Okay? I want to enjoy it before it slips away.”
Aiden sighs deeply. “Linc, it’s only our second day.”
“Exactly. This should be the fun part, before we’re run down and sleep-deprived. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves. Instead you’re both sulking.”
“I’m not sulking.” Aiden’s voice is gruffer than his expression.
“Oh, please. You’ve been sulking since Carly stepped foot in California.”
Aiden grunts and looks out at the pool.
“And you.” Linc turns his eyes on me. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but you and Felicity need to sort our your shit before it implodes.”
My spin stiffens. “Felicity and I are just fine.”
“Oh, really? ‘Cause last I saw, you two aren’t even friends, let alone back together. How long do you think that’s going to work, huh?”
“Stay out of it, Linc,” I warn lowly.
“I’d love to, but this affects us all — if you two don’t find some common ground, fast, things are going to fall apart before we make it halfway through this tour.”
“Did you have a problem with our performance last night?” I growl. “Because I’m pretty certain it was the best damn show we’ve ever played.”
“That may be true. But only because you were running on pure anger the whole time you sang. Once that rage runs its course… once the fire between you burns out… what’s left? What’s keeping your music grounded? What’s giving you the emotional drive to convince the crowds you’re a cohesive act? What’s keeping the two of you together at all, besides a signature on a contract?”
His words hit me harder than anticipated.
What’s keeping us together?
It used to be late night lyric sessions, writing under the stars with crappy guitars. It used to be bare limbs in the moonlight, our gasps and moans making melodies in the air that needed no accompaniment. It used to be a hell of a lot of things that are no longer relevant.
What’s left to hold on to?
The silence drags on as I consider his words. Even Aiden looks worried as he stares across the table at me.
“Figure it out,” Linc says softly, eyes on mine. “Make it right with her. Bury the hatchet, before we’re all up shit’s creek without a paddle.”
We’re waiting for the check when we spot them walk into the pool area, dressed in torturously tiny string bikinis. Carly’s wearing red, Felicity yellow. My eyes drag along her body inch by inch, taking in the sight of all that pale, porcelain skin under the scorching sun overhead. It’s bad enough she’s nearly naked. When I see her dark hair is pulled back in a thick braid, I lose it altogether. I’m instantly hard, flooded by memories.
My fingers sinking into silky depths in a dark alley outside a bar, my self-restraint unraveling with every strand that falls free around her face.
My hand wrapped around that braid, holding it like a leash as I drive into her from behind with relentless thrusts.
My name on her lips, her cries the most beautiful symphony I’ve ever heard.
Fuck.
I shift in my seat, but it’s no use. My erection is harder than steel, and it’s not going anywhere on its own. Every day I spent without her, living like a celibate monk in Hawaii, was torture. But these past few weeks have been a whole new kind of hell. I am a walking case of blue-balls, hornier than a high school freshman, set off by her most innocent actions.
The way she gnaws her bottom lip when she’s nervous.
The way she walks, hips swinging with natural grace.
The unexpected laugh that bubbles up from her throat.
The grip of her fine-boned hand on the microphone shaft.
Two years is far too long to go without tasting her, without touching her skin or claiming her mouth or hearing her scream my name.
“You should see the looks on your faces, right now.” Linc laughs like he’s having the best day of his life.
I look up and see Aiden wearing a tortured expression that mirrors my own, his eyes on the blonde in the red bikini currently applying lotion to Felicity’s back.
“So…” Linc’s brows waggle. “Anyone fancy a swim?”
Chapter Seventeen
felicity
“This is the life.”
Carly takes a long sip of her mojito and leans back on her poolside lounger. The brand new red string bikini she’s wearing is so skimpy it should be illegal, but we were in such a hurry to get to the pool, we didn’t bother pausing to try anything on during our impulse-buying session at the hotel gift shop this morning.
“Hey, remind me to pay you back for the suit.” She shifts her position, getting comfortable. “I can’t believe we forgot to pack them.”
“Consider it a welcome-to-the-tour gift, manager.”
She grins. “Then remind me to thank you profusely for dragging me along on this unexpected adventure. I do love Nashville… but I feel like I’ve been stuck in a rut, lately.”
“Carly, I’m the one who should be thanking you. If you weren’t here, I’d be alone with the guys. What would I possibly do with my free time between shows, without you here to entertain me?”
She shoots a suggestive look in my direction. “I can think of a few things you’d be doing.”
“Such as…”
“A certain smirking, broad-shouldered lead singer comes to mind.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought we buried this topic.”
“That was before I saw your little almost-moment last night, as I was going to bed. Lie to yourself all you want, my eyes did not deceive me.”
Grabbing the sunblock, I start applying it to my bare arms in angry strokes. You’d never know I’ve been living in LA for the past few weeks — I’m still pale as a ghost after all our time in dark rehearsal rooms and fluorescent-lit sound stages.
“Felicity,” Carly pesters.
“What?”
“You’re seriously not going to talk to me about last night.”
“What’s there to talk about? Nothing happened.”
“An almost-kiss is not nothing.”
She’s a dog with a bone, and I haven’t even told her about the rest — how I stared into Ryder’s eyes for nearly an hour in the darkness, lost in his gaze until I fell asleep. I know if I confide in her, she’ll ask what it all means. And, honestly, I’m not entirely sure.
I stand so I can apply lotion to my legs, stomach, and lower back, tugging the strings of my yellow bikini aside so I don’t wind up with unflattering strap-marks.
“So, to be clear… you didn’t want to jump his bones?” Her voice is skeptical. “Because, from where I was standing—”
“Carly, what do you want me to tell you? That I had a moment of weakness after the longest day of my life, and for a minute — just for a minute! — the prospect of falling back into Ryder’s arms for a few hours of mindless distraction sounded appealing?”
“Mhmm.”
“Fine. I admit it. I was momentarily tempted by the superficial lure of a satisfying, no-strings-attached orgasm.” I snap the cap back on and set down the bottle. “That doesn’t prove anything except that I’m human, and it certainly doesn’t change the way I feel about him. Which, for the record, is in a strictly platonic capacity.”
Carly takes another sip of her mojito and mutters something I can’t quite make out under her breath. It sounds like stubborn ass. Before she can clarify, a dry cough sounds from behind me. I whirl around to find Linc, Aiden, and Ryder standing a few feet away, in easy earshot of everything I’ve just said.
Mother fudger.
Ryder is bare-chested and bronzer than a sea-god. There’s a tattoo over his heart I’ve never seen before — a tiny scribble of ink I can’t read from this distance. His abs are so defined, you could bounce quarters off them. His hair is falling messily into his eyes and a red bathing suit rides low on his hips.
He looks like every girl’s lifeguard fantasy come to life.
Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation required ASAP.
Unfortunately, the look on his face belies the delectable appearance — his features are twisted in such a dark glare, the bright sun overhead seems to dim the longer I stare at him. I search his eyes in vain for even a trace of the soft, silent accord we reached last night… but it’s gone. Splintered into nothing by careless words I only said to get Carly off my back.
“Ryder, I—” My attempted amends are cut off before I can get out much more than his name.
“Hello, ladies!” Linc grins as his eyes scan our bodies, taking in the view with an appreciative whistle. “Looking fine this fine day.”
“No one asked you, Travers,” Carly says, peering over the top of her dark shades as he stretches out on the lounger beside her. She scowls when he snags a sip of her mojito without permission.
“Get your own drink, you heathen.”
“Oh, baby, you know how that sweet talk turns me on…”
Despite her best intentions, Carly’s lips twitch as Linc makes a show of swooning over her. Aiden, however, looks less than amused as he watches the playful banter unfolding before his eyes. He drops his towel on our umbrella table, whips off his shirt to reveal a body so sculpted, Michelangelo would covet it, and dives into the water. His angry laps carry him swiftly to the swim-up bar on the other side of the pool, as far from us as he can get.
“What’s his problem?” Linc asks, mischief glinting in his eyes.
Carly shrugs, though her voice is anything but carefree. “I haven’t a clue.”
And she has the nerve to give me a hard time about relationships…
By the time I turn back around to Ryder, hoping to apologize and explain my way out of whatever he just overheard, he’s vanished entirely. He’s not in the water, or at the tiki-style bar. He’s not on a lounger or hiding from the sun under an umbrella. He’s simply…
Gone.
I try not to stress, assuring myself I’ll see him later. Except… I don’t. Not for the rest of the day. Not in the casino as we wander around with Aiden and Linc later that afternoon, watching people lose money for sport. Not in the adjoining suites we all share on the penthouse floor when we get ready for our only free evening to explore the strip. Not even at dinner in the chic Italian steakhouse where Carly, Aiden, Linc and I devour prime filets so big, I’m worried my stage costume won’t zip properly when I put it on for our next show.
No Ryder.
I smile and lift my seltzer in a toast to our second tour city, and all the rest to come.
I sit through a stunningly acrobatic Cirque Du Soleil show Carly somehow scored front-row tickets for by flirting with the hotel concierge, oohing and ahhhing at all the proper points.
I laugh when we bump into Aiden and Linc in the hotel lobby bar at two in the morning — several hundred dollars poorer after a trying their hands at poker, and half in the wrapper, if their glazed eyes are any indication.
Still no Ryder.
I play my part with ease, well-practiced at keeping my guards in place. But all the while, inside my chest, my heart cries out for the vital piece missing from our Wildwood equation.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
It’s not my business anymore, what he does with his time when we aren’t on stage together. In fact, that was one of my very first stipulations when I agreed to come on this tour: separate accommodations, so I could keep him at arm’s length.
I wonder why that stopped seeming like a necessity. I wonder when I started craving his presence, instead of avoiding it. And I can’t stop the tears that come later, when I’m finally alone, my cries muffled in a plush bathroom towel so I don’t wake Carly, sleeping soundly in the next room.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I wish you’d let me say it.
The next day, we have our initial soundcheck at the venue — a massive amphitheater attached to our hotel. I stand at my mic, watching crew members test every bolt in the catwalk, making sure the platform rotates properly and lowers without a hitch. I’m frankly amazed they’ve assembled so much of our set in such a short period. At this rate, they’ll be finished with plenty of time to spare before showtime tomorrow night.
With a seating capacity of just under twenty-thousand, this arena is significantly smaller than the Rose Bowl… but I still feel a flurry of nerves in my stomach as I look out at all the empty seats. If I’m being honest with myself, the nerves might have more to do with seeing Ryder than anything. It’s been over twenty-four hours since the pool incident, and I’m half-mad with anxiety.
How did I ever last two years without knowing where he was, what he was doing?
I know the answer to that: I was sleep-walking with open eyes, functioning on auto-pilot. But now, I’m wide awake once more, my every nerve and synapse firing in response to him. He’s never far from my thoughts, lurking like a ghost in the back of my mind. No matter how I try, I can’t shake him out.
I shoot Aiden a glance, my raised brows asking the question I don’t want to voice aloud.
He shrugs. “I’m not his damn babysitter.”
A few minutes later, we hear the sound of the backstage door swinging open. When Ryder steps onstage, Lincoln grabs his sticks and starts a low, mocking drumroll against his snare. His voice drops to his best radio-announcer impression.
“Ladies and gentleman, presenting Mr. Ryder Run-Late-Again-And-You’re-Dead-To-Us Woods!”
He slams his cymbals to drive the point home.
I stifle a laugh.
“Sorry,” Ryder mutters, taking his spot at the mic beside mine. I dart a glance at him and all sense of amusement flees. He looks terrible — dark bags under his eyes, as though he hasn’t been sleeping. Try as I might to shut it down, the first thought that springs into my head is that he’s using again.
“You good?” Aiden calls, a similarly anxious look on his face.
“I’m fine.” Ryder raises his mic stand a few inches. “Let’s just play.”
He doesn’t look at me as we run through all the basic light and mic checks, playing the intro to Orbit a few times while the sound engineers tweak the speaker volume. They give the thumbs up for us to carry through to the chorus. We switch off verses, totally in sync.
“Now we’re dancing in circles,” Ryder rasps. “Trapped in this orbit…”
“No use fighting fate,” I echo. “Consider this my forfeit.”
Our voices meld together, alternating like a danc
e.
“You’re the break in my voice, the corner of my mind…”
“I’m the tear in your eye, the love you left behind…”
How fitting, to find tears of my own filling my eyes as the lyrics pour out, unstoppable as the driving bass line Aiden’s laying down with perfection behind us.
Ryder doesn’t notice my silent breakdown, staring straight ahead as he starts the next verse. “You’re the eye of my storm. A short burst of sun…”
The tears streak down my cheeks and pool at the corner of my mouth. I try to sing my part, but it catches in my throat, the lyrics coming out clogged with misery.
“If I thought you’d listen…” My voice splinters horribly. “I’d tell you to run.”
The sob bursts out, uncontrollable — a private sound made public when my microphone amplifies it through the arena.
Linc’s drums fade out.
Aiden’s fingers go still.
Ryder’s head swings toward me, but I turn away before our eyes can meet. Instead, my red-rimmed stare finds Aiden’s shocked one.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, dashing my tears away with the bell-sleeve of my sundress. “I just… Give me one minute. Okay?”
He nods gravely.
Without another word, I leave the stage. I’m almost to the backstage door when I hear footsteps, followed by what sounds undeniably like a scuffle.
I freeze, my hand on the knob.
“Get out of my way.” Ryder.
“Give her a minute.” Linc. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”
“You can move or I will move you, Travers.”
“That a threat, Woods?”
“A fucking promise.”
“You’re both being idiots.” Aiden. “Give her some time, Ry. Let her get herself together. She was…” His throat clears. “I’ve never seen her like that. Never seen her cry, even after the shit with her mom the other night.”
I don’t want to listen anymore, to hear them discussing the utter spectacle I’ve just made of myself. I push out into the hallway, walking toward the abandoned dressing rooms. Tomorrow, this will be a hub of activity, but right now it’s totally quiet as I slip inside a storage closet and sink down into as small a ball as I can manage, my spine pressed against a shelf full of cords and various sound equipment.
Unfaded (Faded Duet Book 2) Page 14