by K. K. Allen
Wolf’s rising volume catches my attention. He’s only a couple yards away, but his chest heaves like he’s working himself up again. Or maybe he never calmed down. It’s instinct to walk toward him and reach for him, but I hesitate the moment my hand begins to wrap around his arm. I’m not sure if soothing him is what he needs, or if I’m the person to he needs it from.
The moment I touch him, I feel the flinch I feared, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, right? He’s too busy talking to Doug to react, so I’m not sure.
“I’ve been waiting to fire his ass. And now it’s done.” I feel the heat of his words as they rumble from his shaking body, and it’s all too familiar. Not the anger, but the adrenaline. It reminds me of our sex after his shows. How amped he’d get. How ready he was to fill me with every ounce of his need. But I know this isn’t that kind of energy.
I’m surprised when his eyes lock on mine. “You don’t know what your mother was doing here with Crawley?” He’s repeating his question from earlier as if expecting a different answer. What’s worse, he’s searching my eyes like he’s waiting to confirm that I’m telling him the truth.
My chest grows heavy as my throat tightens. Is this how it will be now? He’ll forever question everything I say?
“I have no idea. She’s been texting me, but she didn’t say she was coming to the show, and I had no clue those two even knew each other.”
Wolf lets out an exasperated breath and addresses Rory and Rex over my shoulder. “Can you clean out my room? Just throw everything into bags and get it to the plane.” He turns to Doug, who’s on his phone with someone from the label. “I’m getting Lyric out of here.”
Doug shakes his hand. “Take care of my girl, Wolf,” he says, his tone carrying a hint of warning. I wonder if they’ve talked about me. Would Doug tell him anything? No. He wouldn’t.
Doug hugs me with one arm and then gestures to his phone as his focus turns back to Wolf. “I’m giving your label a heads-up. They want you to call as soon as you can.”
Wolf nods and tugs on my hand, but I halt in my tracks. “Wait. I have stuff on your bus.”
Wolf looks at Rory and Rex again. “Grab everything out of the drawers. Don’t miss anything.”
“You got it, sir,” Rex agrees. He and Rory start to jog off, but Wolf stops them again.
“Wait,” Wolf calls. The guys look back expectantly.
“Why didn’t you stop Crawley from getting on the bus? He hasn’t been sleeping there for a week.”
Rory and Rex look at each other, their faces red with guilt. “He said he had to grab something, so I unlocked it for him,” Rory explains. “I didn’t think anything of it. Figured he left stuff in his old bunk. I didn’t see the lady with him until I’d already opened the door.”
“That’s when I walked up,” Rex adds. “We were deciding how to handle it when Lyric jumped on the bus. I’m sorry, boss. We didn’t realize what was going on.”
I watch the expressions on Wolf’s face morph from anger to confusion and then exhaustion. His shoulders slump. “Fine.” He’s not happy, but he takes my hand and leads me to a car. Everyone else is taking a coach bus to the airport.
Derrick and Terese are standing by the row of vehicles, just as confused as most of the onlookers—myself included.
“We’ll catch up with you guys on the plane,” Wolf says to Derrick. “Tell the guys.”
Derrick nods, and Terese squeezes my hand as I pass by.
As soon as we’re alone in the car, I look at Wolf with a silent plea. I just want him to pull me close so I can relax under the crook of his arm. One week ago, that’s exactly what he would have done.
But things have changed. Wolf doesn’t even look at me, just shakes his head angrily. “So what’s going on, Lyric? You come back on tour and your mom shows up on my fucking bus with Crawley? And don’t tell me you don’t know. She’s your fucking mom, for Christ’s sake.”
My jaw drops, and I can feel heat rapidly climbing my chest. “Excuse me?”
I lean back to get a good look at Wolf’s expression. Stern jaw, eyes pointed forward. He’s dead serious. He thinks I had something to do with what just happened back there. Fuck no.
“No,” I snap, feeling my body begin to quiver. I’m so tired of answering the same goddamn question. He can be pissed at me for leaving all he wants, but to put me in the same category as Crawley and Destiny is too much. “I found out when you did, Wolf. You were standing right there with me.”
He rolls his eyes and stares ahead. “Jesus,” he breathes. “I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. That was a shitshow back there, Lyric, and somehow your mother is involved.”
My face heats with embarrassment. “What can I say, Wolf? I’ve answered you every time you’ve asked the question and the answer remains the same. I have no idea. Not a single clue why Destiny was with Crawley. You’re just going to have to trust me. You think I wanted to walk in on that?”
“Well, forgive me for asking more than once, but you have a funny habit of keeping things from me. Pretty fucking significant things, apparently. Tell me, Lyric. Why should I trust you?”
His words hit me like shrapnel to my heart, and he couldn’t take them back even if he wanted to. My body trembles with anger and so much hurt. I shouldn’t have come back on tour. I shouldn’t be here. Not if Wolf is set on twisting my silence into something it’s not. Haven’t we been through enough this week?
Shaking my head, I face front and lock my arms in place by my sides protectively. “You shouldn’t. Keep telling yourself I’m this awful person you never really knew. Keep pushing me away, Wolf. Your heart is safer that way, right? If you really think the worst of me.”
He reaches for my hand but I tug it away, scooting closer to my door and facing the window. Inside, I’m crying, but I won’t shed one single tear for him. Instead, I let my chest fill with emotion. I let the influx of pain and confusion swarm within the confines of my ribcage, building to an excruciating level. But I won’t let it go. Not now.
I’m not sure how else to handle these arguments with Wolf. They seem to begin with only good intentions as we cling to what we once had together. So if we’re still fighting to understand each other—if we’re still fighting to hold on—then why do we continue to unravel as if there is nothing to save?
Out of everyone in my life, Wolf has been the only one who has been patient with me. Who’s never pushed me. Who, even through my silence, has understood me. Seen the best in me. Why can’t he do that now?
We’re silent the entire way to the private runway where Wolf’s jet awaits. We’re the first ones there aside from the captain and the crew. They stand at the foot of the staircase that leads to the jet door.
I exit the van before Wolf can stop me, and I dart for the stairs. It’s going to be a long way to Miami. A five-hour flight. With the amount of sleep I’ve missed out on lately, I’ll be out in no time and wake for nothing.
When I enter the jet, I’m too upset to appreciate much of it. Normally I would luxuriate in the creamy leather seats, built-in televisions, and crisp air. But tonight, I take the first seat I see and pack the seat next to it with my small handbag.
Wolf walks in after me. I avoid eye contact, and out of my periphery I see that he does too. My heart grows heavier as he steps past me and continues down the aisle. His footsteps grow faint long after I’ve realized we’re done fighting tonight. That should probably a good thing; I don’t know. Maybe not. Because that means we’re done trying, too.
“So, what are we going to do about Crawley?”
Lyric, Terese, Melanie, and Stryder’s girlfriend, Misty, fell asleep as soon as the plane took off, so the guys and I decide to have a huddle session to discuss recent events while I ice my throbbing hand. We’re in a section of seats that face each other, and Derrick’s asking all the questions.
We call Derrick the dad of the group for this very reason. He’s the first person that wants to get to the
bottom of what went down back there, resolve it, and restore peace in our lives.
The one thing that sets Wolf, the band, apart from most other rock groups out there is the fact that we actually get along. We’re family that respects each other. And we all play our own roles.
I know Derrick’s worried. Hell, we all are. Not that we particularly liked Crawley, but he did serve a purpose, even when he was being an asshole.
“Not sure.” I remove the burning ice from my hand and peer down at it. My skin is a palette of blues, red, and greens. A memento of a well-executed beatdown. “I have a call with the label in the morning. I sent Presley a text and gave her the short version of the story.”
Presley is our label rep at Wicked Records and yet another person who can’t stand Crawley’s ass. She was more than happy at the news that the dick was on a one-way trip back to the label. There, he’ll have to answer to the higher-ups who have already promised me he’s out of a job.
Stryder leans in to check out my hand, his long, blond hair a wild and tangled mess falling over his shoulder. Stryder is our California beach bum. Always chill. Never argumentative. And completely obsessed with his girlfriend. His life revolves around music, Misty, and the beach. Traveling with the band keeps him away from the ocean more than he’d like, but the sacrifice is worth it. Besides, he’s able to steal enough beach time when we travel—enough to satisfy him, at least.
“Those were some mean throws, dude,” he says. “I thought you were aiming to kill him.”
“I should have. That fucker had it coming. Crawley got his warning, and he continued to fuck with Lyric. I wasn’t putting up with it. I’m more than happy to deal with the consequences.”
“You could have just fired him,” Hedge cuts in, surprising me. Hedge is normally the first one to have my back in a fight. The reckless one who’d rather ask for forgiveness than ask permission. And his bad behavior is almost always accompanied by a bottle of booze.
“Hopefully you don’t get stuck with more PR drama,” he warns.
I turn away, knowing he’s right but too pissed off to care. “So what if I do? It’ll do wonders for my badass image.”
Hedge snorts. “Good plan. Everyone knows you’ve gone soft with Lyric around.”
I shoot him a glare, although his words don’t actually make me angry. I used to like that Lyric made me soft. She made me hard when it mattered. Mostly, she just made me happy. I hate what our relationship has become. The tension, the anger, the fighting. That’s not us.
But she left me with no choice. I’ll keep her close because I’m still hoping she decides to come clean, but until she does, things won’t be the same. Whatever is eating her up is affecting more than just her. And while I’ve never been one to push Lyric, this problem with her mom isn’t just about her anymore. Not after she showed up on my bus with Crawley.
“What was Destiny Lane doing on our bus, anyway? Does Lyric know?” Lorraine asks as she takes the ice from me and wraps a napkin around it. “Here. Keep icing it. We need your hand to work.”
I give her a tight smile and lean back in my seat. Her question reminds me why Lyric and I are miles apart right now.
“Nah, Lyric doesn’t know. Destiny’s a piece of work, though. They don’t get along very well, but I don’t know the whole story. I’m sure she was there to see Lyric. Maybe I should have made Crawley talk before I fed him my fist for dinner. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”
Stryder chuckles. “You realize he’s going to retaliate, right? With whatever dickhead scheme he can come up with.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing he can do to hurt me worse than when he fucks with Lyric. I don’t know why, but he’s got a problem with her. Had a problem with her before she even joined the tour. Who knows; maybe he and her mom go way back.”
Lorraine is deep in thought. “You think Destiny is planning some shit with Crawley? She wouldn’t do anything to hurt Lyric, though, right? She’s her daughter.”
I’m stumped. It doesn’t seem like Destiny has any respect for Lyric at all, and Lyric clearly just wants to stay away from her. I guess I won’t understand completely until Lyric decides to tell me.
“I hope not,” is all I can say in response. “It’s all good, guys. I’ll talk to the label tomorrow. They’ll have a backup on hand if we can’t find a manager right away. We’ve done this without a manager before. We’ll be fine.”
I stand up, ignoring their rebuttals about us being a bigger deal now, stretch, and make my way back down the aisle until I reach Lyric. She’s sprawled out across a few seats, sleeping peacefully. I take a seat across the aisle and watch her.
Her wavy brown hair is knotted, a tousled lock drooping over one eye. Her mouth is parted, her soft breaths blowing on the strands of hair that aren’t stuck to her lips. I chuckle. I know I’m supposed to be pissed at her right now, but Lyric has always owned every bit of my heart. No matter what happens, she always will.
It’s five in the morning when we step off the plane in Miami and load into a group of vans to head to the house. When I awoke from my catnap and couldn’t find Lyric, Derrick told me she’d already deplaned and stuffed herself into a loaded van with Melanie. The next time I’ll see her will be at the house. That doesn’t sit right with me at all, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
I’m watching her van drive off when Hedge slaps a hand on my back and nudges me toward our ride. “Get in, Romeo. You two will work it out.”
Shaking him off with a huff, I climb into the van and take a seat in the back row to stew. I didn’t think this far in advance when I was angry as hell last night. One entire week of pushing Lyric away is going to get old fast.
Then again, so will her secrets.
Thirty minutes later, our driver pulls through the gold-accented wrought iron gate of our vacation home, I take in the badass setup. The Mediterranean mansion is insane. Tucked away in a high-end residential neighborhood of Coral Gables in Miami-Dade County, every inch of it is secure and private. The pad is big enough to house the entire 30-person crew. Not everyone decided to come, but the core group is here or arriving soon: the band, my merch team, and some of the techs and roadies.
Just the sight of the place gives everyone a second wind. It’s chaos as everyone explores the house and calls dibs on their rooms. Derrick and I have already claimed ours—a master bedroom and guest bedroom on the main floor.
The kitchen has been stocked with food and drinks, and the guys waste no time distributing shots as everyone funnels back downstairs. I join in for a couple of drinks but then sneak away the first opportunity I get to find Lyric. I haven’t seen her since before I fell asleep on the plane, and now I’m beginning to worry. Not that I think she’s in trouble, but because maybe I played the asshole card a little too strong.
After searching every floor of the damn house, I stop in the kitchen where Melanie is cutting limes. She looks up, recognizes my frustrations, and then looks back down with an expectant half-smile on her face. Suddenly, I have a sick feeling in my stomach.
“Where is she?”
Her eyebrows raise. “Come again?”
My jaw tenses and I can feel my face flinching with annoyance as heat bubbles in my chest. “Tell me, Mel, or you’ll find yourself without a fucking bed tonight.”
Melanie rolls her eyes. “Calm down, Wolfman. Lyric’s a big girl. I’m sure you’ll see her later.”
“Where is she?” I try again, somehow containing the pending explosion that’s brewing in my chest. Time stretches, and when she’s silent for a second too long, my eyes search the room for Terese. My last hope. I step around the island and close the distance between us.
Derrick is on my tail and steps between Terese and me like he’s afraid I’m going to lunge at her or something. “Dude,” he says before I can speak, “it’s been a long night. You’ll see Lyric later. Just get some rest.”
Fuck that. I let out a breath through my nose and twist my neck until it releases a satisfy
ing crack. Maybe I should just let this go tonight, but I can’t. I need her, and I know I’m not going to get what I want by throwing around my rage. “Just tell me where she is. Is she okay?”
Terese frowns, her brows bent toward the center. I know she can see the plea in my eyes, as if the desperation in my voice wasn’t enough. “I can’t. But she’s okay, Wolf.”
Everyone in the room is silent, staring at me like I couldn’t fire them all. The pit in my stomach widens, and I realize I’m all alone in this. How did this happen? How the fuck did I become the bad guy?
With a flippant wave of my hand, I turn from my crew. I’m already walking out the door when Terese calls after me, but I don’t stop to listen. I fly outside and stomp toward the minivan that held Lyric earlier. We’ve hired a company to have transportation on standby at the mansion for our use. I wanted everyone to be comfortable and free to roam about safely. There are sedans, vans, and SUVs at the ready.
“Where to, sir?” asks the driver.
Rex climbs in beside me, shutting the door while I reach for my phone. “You tell me.”
The Bellmonte is a completely renovated 1920’s hotel in downtown Miami. It’s quaint with its ivory pillars and miniature gardens placed strategically around the indoor-outdoor lobby. I’m staying in a standard room with a queen size bed on the sixth floor. Nothing too fancy, but I can’t complain. I chose it because it’s walking distance from the recording studio and far enough away from Wolf to avoid any distractions.
I’ve done my best to convince myself that this isn’t me being overly dramatic or a ploy to get Wolf’s attention. But the truth is, it’s both. Wolf is the one set on being angry with me, so I’m more than willing to give him the space he says he wants. But it’s not just that.
When he rented out the mansion, he did it without saying a word to me about it. I can’t exactly invite myself to live with him and the band. Maybe he assumed I would just show up. That I would take a guest room and endure another week of torture, suffering in the silence that has become our new normal.