Unfaded (Faded Duet Book 2)

by Julie Johnson

  I hold the heels of my hands against my eyes, hoping it’ll stem the flow of stupid tears still sliding down my cheeks, but they don’t seem to want to subside, even after five minutes of deep breathing exercises.

  This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I’m losing my mind a little more each day, pieces of my soul stripping away as I force myself to fit my sharp edges into a perfectly round peg, provided courtesy of Route 66 Records.

  Smile pretty. Take a bow. Pose.

  Act like you love him.

  Act like you even have to act like you love him.

  I want to leave this tour and never look back, before I lose myself completely. I want to go home. But I can’t — it doesn’t exist.

  I have an empty cottage on the outskirts of civilization.

  I have an empty plot of land where a mansion once stood.

  I do not have a home. Not anymore.

  Because I built my home out of a man, not a place. And, in the absence of his love, I am cut adrift, a wandering waif without a place to lay her head.

  The knock is so soft, I almost don’t hear it. He doesn’t wait for an invitation — he knows me well enough to realize I won’t give one. The door cracks open, letting in a shaft of light as he steps over the threshold. He settles on the floor a few feet away from where I sit, curled with my knees to my chest, my forehead resting on my kneecaps. He kicks the door back closed with his foot, shutting us in the darkness together.

  “Hey.”

  The first word I ever heard from his lips, so many moons ago. It zips along my skin, a bolt of electricity.

  “Hey,” I whisper miserably. “Just give me a second, I’ll come back out—”

  “Don’t bother. I told Linc and Aiden to leave. We’re done for today.”

  I keep my head buried in my arms. “But the soundcheck…”

  “We’ll come early tomorrow. Make sure everything is ready to roll. It’s not a big deal, Felicity.”

  He’s being so nice, it makes me want to cry all over again.

  “So, you want to tell me what that was about?” He hesitates a beat. “I know things with you and me aren’t ideal…”

  My voice is small. “It’s not just that.”

  “Okay. Then what?”

  “I don’t think I can tell you about this.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re barely making small talk, these days, let alone trading secrets.”

  “Fair enough.” He sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “But, Felicity… we were friends before we got together. We used to confide in each other about everything.”

  “I know,” I whisper, shattered.

  “If you need a friend…” He swallows audibly. “If you need someone to talk to, someone who won’t judge or push or tell you what to do… just someone who’ll listen… I can do that for you. Be that for you.”

  I pause. “A friend?”

  “A friend.” He pulls in a long breath. “Talk to me, Felicity. Tell me what’s got you so tangled up in knots.”

  The darkness swells with unspoken sentiments. I push them aside, but I can feel them lingering on my skin like cobwebs long after they’re cleared from the air as I search for the right words.

  “I feel so lost, Ryder,” I whisper finally. “I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m trying so hard to hold all these pieces together, to be the Felicity Wilde the world wants to see… and I feel like I’m failing at every turn. Failing the label, failing the band, failing the fans…”

  Failing you.

  “That’s crazy,” he murmurs. “The label is making so much money on this tour, they’re going to erect a Felicity Wilde statue in front of their office. As for Linc and Aiden, they aren’t exactly the touchy-feely type, but they’d both take a bullet for you if it came to that. And the fans adore you. They show up in droves to get your autograph, wait in line for hours to take a selfie with you.”

  “Carly showed me what they’re saying online.” I look up sharply. “That I’m the reason you spiraled out of control, before. That my leaving was the reason you fell apart.” Another tear streaks down my cheek as I remember his words, before our first show.

  You left me.

  You ripped my heart from my chest.

  I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.

  That’s the worst part of all those #FelicityIsABitch comments. The fear that, deep down, they might be right.

  Ryder runs a hand against his stubble, an old nervous habit. “You can’t listen to internet trolls, baby. They’d tear themselves apart if it meant an ounce more attention.”

  “Logically, I know that. But the thought of perfect strangers hating me, when I’ve already got so many people hating me for real…”

  His face gets dark with anger. “What are you talking about?”

  “When Gran died…” My voice breaks, still unaccustomed to the loss. “She left everything to me. Every cent. All her guitars. Her land outside Nashville. Everything. That made the rest of my relatives pretty angry. I expected it from my parents… but Gran’s attorney told me he’s dealing with counter-claims from everyone. My cousin Devyn, my Aunt Kim… relatives I didn’t even know I had are coming out of the woodwork with torches and pitchforks and lawyers to contest Gran’s will. They’re saying I committed elder abuse. That I essentially stole millions of dollars.”

  “Felicity, those people don’t deserve to be called family,” Ryder growls. “Your aunt never protected you. Never stepped in to stop your parents or lifted a finger in your defense, unless it was to further her own agenda. If they want to contest the will, let them try.” He leans a fraction closer. “Your mother was wrong the other night. I met your grandmother. I saw the two of you together, even after she’d lost her memories. That woman loved you more than anything. She wanted you to inherit her legacy. Not them. You. Any judge worth his salt will see that, and rule in your favor.”

  “It’s not about the money,” I whisper. “It never was. Not for me.”

  “I know that — and so did she. That’s why she left it to you.”

  “I still can’t believe she’s gone. I feel like I’m still numb after last year, like I was just starting to come up for air, and now…”

  I don’t know how many more losses I can take before I fall apart.

  There’s a careful pause before Ryder asks, “Last year?”

  I suck in a breath. I didn’t realize I’d spoken those words aloud.

  “There’s something else weighing on you, baby. I can see it, plain as day in your eyes, and… I can’t help thinking you might breathe better, if you got it off your chest.”

  He waits patiently, watching me struggle for composure. I wrestle with the words, trying to force them from the pit of my stomach where they seem to be perpetually lodged.

  “Last year…” I tremble into silence, then start again. “Last year…”

  Try as I might, though, I can’t get the words out. The ones I’ve never been able to admit out loud to anyone, about the other grave I cried over, months before Gran was lowered into the earth.

  Another rogue tear slips down my cheek. Ryder reaches out, almost without thinking, and smooths it away. We both go still as soon as he makes contact. The tiny bead of grief quivers on the tip of his finger in the air between us. I watch it for a split second, suspended, wondering which direction it’ll roll.

  Either way, the end game is the same.

  Splat.

  The tear hits the floor and, a heartbeat later, I hit his chest. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, but he recovers almost instantly. His arms come around me, strong and safe and warm, as I bury my head in the crook of his neck and wrap my hands around his waist.

  It’s not a romantic embrace. It’s pure comfort in a moment of weakness. It’s surrender after a long battle, a handshake with the enemy on the besieged front lines.

  Still… my tears drip faster and my whole body seems to sing.

  Home.


  Home.

  Home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ryder

  My pulse is roaring so loud, I can hardly think straight.

  She’s pressed tight to my chest, her every curve plastered against me. It’s torture and bliss all rolled into one. I want to savor the moment forever — the feeling of Felicity in my arms, her salty tears dripping against my skin, her slender fingers fisted in the fabric of my t-shirt — because I know it won’t last.

  Heaven and hell in the shape of a girl.

  Mouth in hair, arms banded tight around her back, I hold her for what feels like hours in that dark, dusty storage closet.

  It’s not nearly long enough to sate my need.

  When her tears subside, she goes limp in my embrace, all the tension sliding out of her like a wet rag wrung dry. Our chests move in tandem, breathing as one. She makes no move to pull away, content in the circle of my arms.

  God, I’ve missed this.

  Missed her.

  When she finally shatters the silence, her voice shakes.

  “Did I cross the friend boundary?”

  I shrug lightly, striving for a casual tone. “Friends hug.”

  Her hold loosens and she pulls back to look at me. Less than two inches separate our faces. It fucking kills me not to kiss her, but her swollen eyes and lost expression are enough to curb the desire raging inside me.

  “Thank you, Ryder.” Her voice cracks on my name. “For listening. For being you… even when we aren’t us.”

  I nod, feeling my heart splinter. “Anytime.”

  She rises to her feet, and I school my expression so she doesn’t know how much it pains me to let her slip out of my arms, how hard it is to keep my hands off her body now that I’ve had a searing reminder of the way we fit together, corresponding stars in the same constellation.

  We don’t touch again as we walk out of the storage closet. The world feels glaringly bright outside our small, silent room. I’d give almost anything to go back; trade every night I’ve ever spent in five-star hotels for a few more stolen moments with her in the dark — breathing dust motes, my hands on her skin.

  Stevens and Smith shadow our every step at a careful distance as we make our way back from the arena, leaving the stage lights behind. We don’t speak, each lost in our own thoughts as we traverse the gaudy halls of our hotel, smiling at fans who recognize us as we cross the lobby, picking up our pace before they notice Felicity’s red eyes and start asking questions she’s not ready to answer.

  Apparently, not even when I’m the one asking.

  I want to push her. To force her to tell me what she went through while we were apart. To reach inside her and pull out the words, one by one, until there are no more secrets left between us.

  But I’ve got secrets of my own, things she still doesn’t know: about my arrest at The Viper Room and the note I should’ve left on her bedside table that night, explaining where I’d gone. The weight of those unspoken words presses down on my throat a little harder every time she looks at me with wariness in her eyes, as though she expects me to fly off the rails again at any moment.

  I’ve given her all the ammunition she’s ever needed to distrust me. Whether it’s pride or sheer stubbornness keeping me from telling her the truth doesn’t really matter — based on what I overheard at the pool yesterday, hearing it wouldn’t change a thing between us.

  Strictly platonic.

  The words ring in my ears as I say goodbye at the door to her room, trying not to dwell on the pained look in her eyes when I walk away. Stepping inside my suite, I’m not entirely surprised to find Lincoln stretched diagonally across my king-sized bed, playing video games on the mammoth flatscreen.

  “What are you doing in here?” I rumble as I collapse on the sofa by the window. “You have your own room right next door.”

  “Yours is bigger.” His tone is completely unapologetic; his eyes never flicker away from the screen. “How is she?”

  “Better.” I keep my voice soft, so the words don’t carry through the wall.

  “So, she’ll be good to go for the show tomorrow night? No more waterworks?”

  “Give her a goddamned break, Linc. She’s been through a lot, lately.”

  “Never said otherwise. I just want to make sure she’s ready to go on before we shove a mic in her hands in front of twenty-thousand people.”

  “She’ll be fine. She just needed a minute to get her head together.”

  “Seems like a lot of that is going around, lately.” He groans as his character gets killed with a shower of animated blood, finally setting down the wireless controller to glance at me. “You, last night, for instance.”

  I grunt.

  “Where were you, anyway? You missed a great steak, plus watching me and Aiden win big at poker.”

  I shoot him a skeptical look, having heard quite a different version of events from the bassist.

  Lincoln sighs. “All right, that’s a lie. We got cleaned out. Lost a couple hundred each.”

  “Sounds more like it.”

  “So, where were you? Exploring the strip? Hitting a club? Hooking up with one of the criminally hot girls wandering around the casino floor?”

  “I was helping the crew build our stage.”

  His brows go up. “As in… moonlighting as a roadie?”

  I nod tightly.

  “Why the fuck would you do that?”

  I prop my feet up on the coffee table. “I needed the distraction. Seeing as my surfboard is a few thousand miles away, manual labor was the next best option.”

  Or, so it seemed at the time. I worked until midnight — hauling equipment, wiring speakers, tightening heavy bolts as we built the catwalk piece by piece. I figured I’d be far too tired to think about Felicity when I finally fell into bed.

  A useless effort, it turns out — not only did I spend all night tossing and turning, I spent all day walking around with shredded arm muscles.

  “Surprised the crew let you help.” Linc stares at me dubiously. “Do you even know anything about putting together a stage?”

  “Remember where I used to work? The great dynastic plans I ditched to pursue music?”

  “Your dad’s company.” Comprehension flares. “Ah. Right. Woods Electric. You guys did sound systems for stages and shit. So…”

  “Like riding a bike.” Leaning back, I close my eyes. “We should really give the crew a bonus. They’re good guys, and they work harder than just about anyone I’ve ever met.”

  He pauses a beat. “Manual labor kicked your ass that hard, huh?”

  “Can’t even jack off, my arms are so sore.”

  A snort flies from his lips. “And that’s my cue to leave. Rest up, man. Can’t have you dragging during tomorrow’s show.”

  I roll my eyes as he walks to the connecting door that leads to his room.

  “And enjoy your blue balls!” he yells at top volume — loud enough for Carly and Felicity to hear him next door, if the flurry of giggles that erupts through their wall is any indication.

  I hurl a pillow at him, but he’s already disappeared.

  Prick.

  Somehow, the Vegas show tops our LA debut. Everything goes off without a hitch. Our transitions are totally cohesive, our choreography more natural now that we’ve clocked some performance hours on a real stage. The crowd is just as enthusiastic as they were the first time around, swaying in their seats and singing along as Felicity and I make our way through the set list. The emotional stakes have never felt higher as we share a mic, eyes locked, the spotlight shining down on us like a halo in the dark arena.

  ‘Cause love don’t burn out, even though you’re gone…

  And hate don’t come just ‘cause you write it in a song…

  By the time we reach the final notes of Faded, our platform sinking down to the depths of the stage, we’re both riding high. I can feel the energy jumping from her skin to mine as we walk through the catacombs of the arena in the dark, b
are arms brushing with every step. Backstage, Aiden and Linc have already popped a bottle of champagne. They chug it down, straight from the bottle. Felicity and I have a toast of our own with cold bottles of seltzer.

  “To you,” I murmur, holding her stare.

  She looks away too quickly, pulse pounding visibly in the veins of her neck.

  To us, I add silently inside my head.

  Try as she might to pretend she’s not feeling this strange new current between us, our eyes tangle throughout the VIP meet-and-greets. She might not want to admit it, but something has thawed, since that moment in the storage closet yesterday. There’s a new catch in her voice every time she says my name, a new glint in her eyes every time she looks at me.

  Maybe it’s stupid, maybe I’m setting myself up for disappointment… but I can’t suppress the hope that stirs in my chest as I catch her staring at me again from the other side of the room.

  Just friends, I remind myself. Play it cool. Don’t push.

  I toss a wink in her direction over the heads of three squealing fans, and watch a deep blush flood into her cheeks.

  Screw being friends, my throbbing cock demands. Grab her by the hand, unzip that sparkly little dress, and reclaim what’s yours.

  My jaw clenches in a smile as I pose for yet another selfie, forcing my eyes away from her as the fans crowd in from all sides. For their sake, I try to summon the charming, flirtatious lead singer they came here to see.

  “Say Wildwood on three!” Carly calls in a mockingly sincere tone, snapping a picture with glee.

  This. Is. Hell.

  The last wave of VIPs features a highly inebriated bachelorette party. Thanks to the super-platinum tickets they purchased, Carly lets them hold me hostage for far longer than any of the previous groups. I spend a half hour fending off the sloppy advances of the bride-to-be, attempting to extract myself with as much chivalry as possible. Still, by the time Carly hustles them out, the rest of the band is long gone. I glance around the empty room with an unhappy glower.