Chapter 25
“Stay” - The Kid LAROI + Justin Bieber
Rhett
Tonight’s show was by far my best one yet. I can feel it in the air, buzzing around like a downed wire. The fans loved it, they loved me, but they went ballistic over Saylor. Bringing her up to join me was the most inspired idea I’ve had since writing during rehab.
I don’t see Saylor backstage as I’m being escorted to the meet and greet, but she’s probably already headed to the club for the after-party.
All of the groupies waiting for me are clamoring for more details about our relationship, and I put them off as best I can.
It’s better for business to make them guess, keep them on the hook longer.
But there’s no denying that things shifted tonight. The excitement coursing through the crowd as I played felt different, more electric. I can’t wait to see how social media responds to this. They’re going to eat it up, and then Eddie will have to eat shit.
The meet and greet can’t end quickly enough for me.
I’m desperate to get back to my girl, to find a dark corner somewhere and recreate that incredible kiss.
Out of the dozens of women I’ve kissed in my lifetime, none of them have come close to being that incredible.
There’s something about Saylor that drives me to the edge.
And apparently I’m not the only one who feels that way.
When Bear ushers me inside the VIP room of the club the label rented for the party, my eyes immediately scan the space for her.
It’s dark, lit only by colored glow lights near the floor.
I make my way around the room, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, and signing autographs, all the while keeping my eyes peeled for her.
By the time I’ve circled the space, I’m confident she’s not here. Besides, if she were, she would have come up to me by now. You don’t kiss someone like that and not want to spend every second with them afterward.
Right?
The image of her on the bed talking to her fucking ex-husband, who had to go and have an honorable career like being in the bloody military, haunts me. What if she’s talking to him right now? What if the kiss wasn’t real for her the way it was for me?
I set my lowball glass down hard on the table next to me, and the girl who’s been chattering at me for the past five minutes jumps. She glances down at my hand, then back up at my face, worry now lurking in her eyes.
“Sorry,” I mutter, before draining the contents of the glass. I need to get out of here. Without excusing myself, I head over to Bear. “Where’s Saylor?”
He must have been prepared for this question, because he doesn’t even radio Leo. “They’re at the hotel.”
I snap my fingers, already halfway to the door. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The drive to the hotel is only a few minutes, thank fuck, because my mind is working against me full-time.
Is Saylor sick? Is she exhausted? Is she sick and exhausted of me?
Is she talking to him? Is she planning to get back together with him?
My brain generates every single disaster and fires it at me.
Every single fucked-up scenario but one.
I walk into our hotel suite and stop short. Saylor is a mad whirlwind, flying around the bedroom and throwing things into the open suitcase on the bed. My brain, which was overactive just seconds ago, decides that now is a great time to take a vacation.
“What the fuck is going on?”
I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until she whirls around, her eyes full of a crazed energy.
No, not energy—anger. I’ve never seen that look on her face before, and it scares me.
Not for myself, but for her. Even when she accused me of flirting, she just looked pissed. This is something different entirely.
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with those wide eyes, frozen with something akin to fear.
“Hey,” I say, and reach out a tentative hand, as though she’s an injured kitten. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” she repeats in a hysterical voice, tossing the shirt she’s holding into the bag. “Are you really asking me that?”
I wait several beats for a better answer to present itself, but when none comes, I say, “Yes?”
Her eyebrows drop lower, and she turns away. She picks the shirt back up and refolds it. “Unbelievable,” she says under her breath.
“Babe, tell me what’s going on.” I really want to be kissing you right now. I take a step closer, then stop, not wanting to frighten her off.
Her chest rises and falls with her breathing, which I note carries a hint of panic. Did something happen between the concert and now? Did someone try to hurt her? My imagination runs wild again. Did—
“Not all of us are obsessed with the spotlight.” She punctuates this sentence by slamming the lid on her bag and zipping it shut.
“Okay,” I say slowly. She’s told me this a million times. “But why are you packing?”
The look she throws my way could cut a vein. “If you really have to ask me that, you’re more stupid than I thought.”
I’ve never felt more like a Neanderthal than I do at this moment. “We don’t leave for Houston until tomorrow morning,” I offer. I feel her eye roll in my gut.
“I’m sleeping on the bus.” She yanks the suitcase off the bed and heads for the door.
Panic washes over me like a tidal flood. I’m still clueless as fuck, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the night away from this woman. “Saylor,” I say to her retreating back. “Wait.”
She doesn’t, just keeps walking. When I realize she has no intention of talking to me further, I move instinctively, running to reach the door before she can and blocking it with my body. Her eyes narrow as she takes me in, arms spread to prevent her from getting out.
“Talk to me,” I say, my voice an octave higher thanks to the desperation coating each syllable. “Please.”
Fire dances in those dark eyes, and I want nothing more than to reach out and grab her, to kiss away everything between us until she forgets why she’s mad and that this was all supposed to be fake.
“You promised.” Her words are watery, and a crack splinters through the center of my heart.
I slump against the door. “Promised what, baby?”
Her chin trembles, but at least she’s meeting my eyes. “You promised to keep me out of the limelight.”
“I said I’d try.”
The sadness evaporates from her face, chased away by anger. “Was that you trying tonight, then?”
Is that what this is about? I let out a sigh of relief and move away from the door. “Babe, it was bound to happen at some point.”
“Yeah, from a rogue camera that made it into an after-party or a crazed fan who happened to snap a picture as we were leaving. Not because you dragged me onstage.”
The venom in her words slaps me across the cheek. I blink away the sting of it. Is she . . . embarrassed to be with me?
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I just got caught up in the moment.”
She sniffs loudly, and I realize the anger is just a front to cover up the pain she’s actually feeling. Using the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she swipes at her nose.
Extending my hand, I take another step toward her, but she backs away just as quickly. My heart plummets off a cliff. “I’m sorry,” I say again.
She wipes away the trail of tears on her cheek, then tilts her chin upward, the picture of stoicism. “You don’t need to pretend to be in love with me to sell records, Rhett.”
Is that what she thinks? That this whole thing was a ploy to increase sales? “Oh, baby.” I move close enough to grab her waist and tug her against me. With my other hand, I tuck her hair behind her ear. “I haven’t been pretending for a long time.”