Chapter 14
Joz
Do not do it. DO NOT DO IT.
Cool autumn air hit me as I stumbled through the stage door and into the street. Drawing in a lungful of air, I fought to steady my breathing, one hand braced on the cool brick exterior of The Crimson Vault.
You’re going to destroy me.
Five words that hauled me back to a night I’ve done my damndest to forget.
The meaning in them couldn’t have been further apart, but my brain didn’t know the difference.
They weren’t exactly the last words Caroline uttered before I hung up on her, but they were close enough.
A cool layer of sweat coated my body, and nausea churned in my stomach.
The door behind me clanged open, and I turned, expecting Aspen to have followed me, demanding answers I owed her but didn’t know how to begin explaining. Except it wasn’t her. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that she’d let me walk out. Probably a little of both.
A yellow cab slowed to a stop right in front of me, and a young guy got out. He did a double take, but before he could engage brain to mouth, I threw myself into the cab and gave the driver my hotel address.
The driver didn’t seem eager to talk any more than I did, thank Christ. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the cool glass. Kissing Aspen had been everything I knew it would be, and if she hadn’t inadvertently triggered me, I’d probably have been balls deep in her already.
Caroline.
That woman would haunt me until my last days on Earth, and I deserved it. I deserved to live in purgatory. Because of me, her son lost his mother, and Caroline’s mother lost her only child.
That fear of wrecking another life was the reason I’d spent the last eight years sticking to casual hookups, but the second I’d kissed Aspen, I’d seen the future.
She’d never be a casual hookup, which meant going down that road with her was a bad fucking idea.
Funny how a simple kiss had woken me the fuck up to the dangerous path I’d set foot on the second I’d set my sights on her.
She deserved more than a broken, aging rocker who’d take her beauty and goodness and sully them.
The cab stopped in the drop-off area outside Kingcaid Midtown.
I fumbled in my pocket and thrust a bunch of notes at him.
Paying by credit card only alerted people to who I was, so I preferred cash wherever I could get away with it, which was proving more and more difficult in an ever-increasing cashless society—further evidence my time in the spotlight was rapidly coming to an end, and I was glad.
I’d give my all these next three years, then I was out.
There would be no two-year extension with Kingcaid Music.
I knew that already, but allowing it as an option hurt no-one.
Pushing that agenda too hard would have raised questions, and not even Mike knew I’d set an expiration date on this career.
I was so fucking tired.
Plenty of rockers were still going in their seventies, but the thought of that made me want to puke. I wanted more. I wanted different. I wanted to be a regular guy with a normal life who could go to the supermarket or take a walk by the river on a warm summer’s day without getting hassled.
Maybe I’d made a mistake signing another contract. After my last contract expired, and I’d refused to sign another with my previous label, I’d been free. Yet there’d been this niggling voice at the back of my mind that persuaded me I wasn’t done yet.
Signing with Aspen’s much smaller label had been the answer I’d sought. I was only having second thoughts because of Caroline, and my relationship with her had already ruined so much. I refused to bail on Aspen and destroy her, too.
Keep it professional. That was how I’d get through the next three years with what little was left of my sanity intact. Next time I saw Aspen, I’d apologize for pursuing her and leading her on, and tell her it wouldn’t happen again.
The air conditioner was on full blast when I walked into my hotel suite. I turned it down and flopped onto the couch, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw Aspen’s confusion, her hurt, the flash of anger when I’d backed away.
Fuck.
My gaze was drawn to the mini bar.
No. Not going there.
I’d worked too fucking hard to quit drugs and alcohol to give in to temptation now.
One wouldn’t hurt, though. I could handle one drink.
Pushing to my feet, I crossed the room and opened the fridge. Miniature bottles of every possible alcoholic option were lined up like perfect tempting soldiers. The voice I’d spent years quietening roared to life.
Go on.
Do it.
You’ll sleep better.
You need something to take the edge off.
I snared a Macallan. Gotta hand it to the Kingcaid brand, even their mini bars had the best. I twisted the cap off and brought the tiny bottle to my lips. The familiar smell wound its way up my nostrils, and my taste buds cried out for one little drop.
“Fuck!”
I threw the bottle at the wall. It shattered, droplets of whiskey dripping down the plush wallpaper. Gathering every bottle from the fridge, I unscrewed each one and poured them down the sink.
Jesus Christ. So close. Too fucking close. I should call my sponsor, but it wasn’t him I wanted to talk to. It wasn’t him I needed to talk to. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and called Aspen. It rang and rang, and I was about to hang up when she answered.
“Are you okay?”
My chest hurt. I’d readied myself for a volley of rage, and I could cope with that. But this soft, caring tone was my undoing.
“Can we talk?”
“On the phone or in person?”
“In person… if that’s not too much trouble.”
“Are you at the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“I can come to you if it’s easier.”
“No. Stay where you are. I’ll be there soon.”
She hung up, and I stared at the ‘Call Ended’ message on my phone screen for a few minutes. I had no idea what I planned to say when she arrived. I only knew that I yearned to see her, to apologize in person.
Sitting would give me too much time to ponder, so I paced the length of my suite and tried to organize my thoughts into some semblance of order. Thirty-five minutes later, a firm rap of knuckles on my door had me taking a deep breath.
I opened the door, and my stomach hollowed out. She was so fucking beautiful, so intelligent and kind and funny. And I… I was a screw up who, if I had a shred of morals left, would leave her alone.
“Come in.”
Nodding, she sidled past, careful, I noticed, not to touch me. Her gaze immediately went to the empty alcohol bottles lined up to the right of the sink, then shifted to the broken glass on the floor.
“It’s not what you think.”
Pivoting, her eyes locked on mine. “What do I think?”
“I didn’t drink them. I thought about it, but I didn’t.”
She rubbed her lips together. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Yes, I do.” I motioned to the couch. “Please sit.”
“I’m glad you called.” Choosing the chair, she crossed her legs. It took every ounce of resistance not to stare at them and to keep my eyes on her face. “Would you like me to inform housekeeping not to replenish your mini bar?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m flying home tomorrow.”
“Oh, I see.” She glanced down, then back up at me. “What’s going on, Joz? What did I say or do that made you take off like that?”
Tell her. Tell her about what you did to Caroline.
I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
The shame of that night slithered over me like an oil slick.
Caroline’s pleading voice, begging me to reconsider breaking up with her.
The truth was, I’d been trying to tell her for a while that our relationship was over, but she’d been so fragile, so needy, that I’d let it go on for far longer than I should have.
You destroyed me, you know that?
High on heroin, I’d hung up without responding. The next morning, the news reached me that Caroline had OD’d.
I’d never told a soul what really happened that night.
Straight after Caroline’s funeral, I’d checked myself into rehab and poured my innermost thoughts out into a notebook that became more of a therapist to me than those at the facility.
In my one-on-one sessions, I’d focused on my need to get clean for me, never sharing that the catalyst had been the death of a woman I blamed myself for.
I wasn’t the one to push that drug into her arm, but I might as well have been.
If I told Aspen, though, she’d look at me differently, and, selfish fucker that I was, I didn’t want that. I couldn’t do it.
“I wanted to say sorry.”
“What for?”
I hitched a shoulder. “I shouldn’t have pursued you. I had no business flirting with you and kissing you. It was disrespectful and wrong. I think you were right all along. It’s best if we keep things between us on a professional footing.”
She gaped at me in obvious shock. A jagged crack worked its way down the middle of my heart. I didn’t want a professional relationship. I wanted so much more than that, but I’d backed myself into a corner. Better Aspen thought of me as a cunt than finding out the truth.
“So, it was all in the chase.” Hurt weaved through her every word. I winced. I fucking hated myself right now.
“No. I wanted you. None of that was fake. But when we crossed that line and kissed, I realized my mistake. Starting up a physical relationship will interfere with our professional one, and for me, music will always come first. I hope you understand.”
Her expression shifted from confused, then hurt, to utterly closed off. Squaring her shoulders, she leveled me with a stare that was every ounce the CEO.
“Don’t worry. I won’t make things awkward.
You signed with the label, not me.” She rose to her feet, her smile brittle.
“You’re free to pretend it never happened.
I already have.” Striding to the door, she gripped the handle and paused.
“Have a safe flight back to London. My people will be in touch.”
After slipping into the hallway, the door clicked shut behind her.
My people will be in touch.
Until now, I’d dealt solely with Aspen. Not any longer. It was for the best.
Yet if that were true, why did I feel as though I’d made a horrible mistake?