Chapter 31
“Doomed” - Bring Me The Horizon
Rhett
The after-party sucks. To be fair, the glamour of them wore off after the first few weeks. I consider myself a party animal, but there’s only so much schmoozing a guy can do before becoming exhausted. I miss my friends. If they were here, it would liven things up for sure.
I nurse my drink as I listen to a guy whose name I’ve already forgotten drone on about his plans to become a rock star. I want to tell him that he needs to hit the gym if he wants to make it on the big stage, but letting him talk frees up my mind so it can drift to better things.
Things like Saylor’s huge fucking secret.
I still can’t believe it. All this time, she let me think she was into me.
If she had just told me she was still married, I would’ve walked away.
At least I think I would have. Maybe, if I’m being completely honest, even that wouldn’t have deterred me.
She got under my skin, and now it’s going to take fucking surgery to remove her.
I set my empty glass down on a nearby table and wish the guy in the black-and-white-checkered shirt who is telling me about his millionth song, which I don’t give a flying fuck about, would shut the hell up. On instinct, I glance around the room for Saylor, hoping I can get her to distract me.
But then I remember that she’s not here and why that is. Fuck me.
I pick my glass up and slam it back down, hard enough for the guy to startle and stop midsentence, giving me the perfect opportunity to escape. I wave two fingers at him and head for the door, Bear right behind me.
I’m dreading the confrontation with Saylor. It got ugly before, and I have no desire to relive that, but part of me is still eager to see her. Mostly the part below my belt.
Maybe I overreacted before, but she fucking lied to me. About being married, for god’s sake. What else has she lied about?
I’m not delusional enough to think this won’t affect my reputation. The label will likely drop me, unless they can find a way to spin it to their advantage. They’ll throw me under the tour bus if it means more album sales.
My name’s already been dragged through the mud, and it’s only going to get worse from here.
At best, I’ll look like a bloody fool, at worst, a cheating bastard.
All because she couldn’t just tell me the truth.
Maybe there was some mix-up with the paperwork, but she could’ve at least warned me, couldn’t she?
The hotel suite is quiet when I step inside, and I assume Saylor’s already gone to sleep. Good thing there are two bedrooms, because I’m going to need some space to process everything. There’s only a week left on the tour. We can figure shit out after that.
As I’m grabbing my stuff from the room we shared last night, I realize the bed is empty. Maybe she’s in the other one? Curiosity won’t let me hop in the shower without finding out, so I walk across the hall and quietly open the door to the second bedroom.
It’s empty as well. Well, fuck. Is she in the bathroom? I check, but the lights are off. Then I notice the vanilla-scented lotion she’s always using is missing from the nightstand. She doesn’t go anywhere without that stuff, which can only mean one thing.
She’s not here.
I sink onto the bed and bury my face in my hands. Where the fuck did she go? I replay our last conversation in my head, when I told her I didn’t want her here anymore. It wasn’t exactly the truth, because now that she’s not, there’s an ache in my chest that’s making it hard to breathe.
She must have moved to the bus for the night, which is probably for the best. We both need a little space to figure things out and calm down. We’ll talk tomorrow and work something out.
* * *
In the morning, I grab a coffee from the hotel restaurant and walk with Bear to the bus. The roadies loaded the equipment last night, so the only thing we still need is the band’s luggage.
I’m wearing Ray-Bans, partly to hide my identity from the other hotel guests and partly to cover the fact that I only got a couple of hours of sleep last night. Apparently, I’ve become dependent on holding someone who smells like vanilla in my arms in order to fall asleep. Stupid fucking wanker.
I hang out beside the bus, not exactly eager to face Saylor yet.
The rest of the band staggers out of the hotel, appearing to have gotten no more sleep than I did, but for entirely different reasons.
Jentry and Diego were going strong at the party last night, and Jamal had no less than three girls in his lap when I left.
Finally, everyone else has boarded, and I have no choice but to climb on as well. I’ve got shit to put in the bedroom, so I reluctantly make my way to the back of the bus. I hesitate with my hand on the knob, then remind myself that Saylor and I are both adults and can work through this.
I enter, expecting to find her still in bed, but it’s empty.
Not only that, but it doesn’t even look slept in.
My brow furrows as I step inside. The bathroom door is open, so I know she’s not in there.
A trickle of unease flits down my spine.
I reach for the nearest closet, the one Saylor uses, and open it. It’s empty.
I drop the bag in my hand, and it hits the floor with a dull thud. If she’s not on the bus—
I run back to the front, not caring if I look like an idiot. The driver is already pulling out of the car park. “Wait,” I say, breathless. “Saylor’s not on yet.” Before he can respond, I unlock the door and hop off.
The hotel receptionist looks up in surprise when I come to a halt in front of the desk. I give her my most dazzling grin. If Saylor didn’t sleep on the bus, she must have gotten another room.
“Good morning, Brittany,” I say after a quick glance at her name tag. “I’m wondering if my girlfriend got a room here last night. Saylor Jones?”
She gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we can’t give out that information.”
Something occurs to me. “It might be under Saylor Seegmiller. If you could just check?”
Brittany shakes her head, small smile still on her lips. I’m amusing her. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”
I place both hands on the counter and lean forward. “Brittany.” I insert as much charm into my voice as I can. “Please. I’m begging you. I just need to know if she stayed here last night.”
A flicker of hesitation crosses her face, but then it vanishes as she offers me another weak smile. “I’m really sorry. There’s—”
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
She blushes. “Yes.”
“Listen, I’ll give you free tickets to my next show if you’ll just—”
“Rhett.”
I turn to see Leo crossing the lobby toward me. My brows knit together as he comes closer. Why isn’t he with Saylor? The nausea that’s been churning in my stomach all morning rises until I can taste bile in the back of my throat.
“Where is she?” It comes out with more venom than I intended.
Leo doesn’t even flinch. “I took her to the airport last night. You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t fucking know. Why the hell did she leave?” I say, even as the truth of it hits me between the eyes. Because you’re a grade-A asshole.
“She said there was a family emergency. I thought you knew.”
I stand there, like the idiot that I am, as the reality of my situation sinks in. There is no family emergency. Her parents aren’t even at home, and she doesn’t have any siblings. I drove her away with my anger and disbelief. God, I thought she just needed space. I didn’t realize she’d left.
Leo looks at me, concern in his eyes, but I ignore him and head for the door. If he took her to the airport last night, it’s too late to stop her. She’s probably already back in Wesbourne by now, my heart tucked into her carry-on.
* * *
We spend a grueling day on the bus. The guys seem to know better than to bother me, but eventually I can’t handle their chatter and retreat to the bedroom.
I pull out my phone and stare at Saylor’s picture.
She’s so goddamn beautiful it hurts to look at her.
Before I can change my mind, I send her a text.
Why did you leave without saying goodbye?
After five minutes, there’s no response, but I don’t really expect anything else. I’m the one who fucked up. Falling back onto the bed, I gaze up at the ceiling and run last night’s argument through my head again. No matter how you spin it, I was a shithead to her.
She still hasn’t replied to my message, so I send another one.
I’m sorry for the way I acted. Forgive me?
What I really mean is Come back? but I know better than to expect that. We’re nearly to the end of the tour now. The best I can hope for is that she agrees to let me make it up to her when I get home.
When we get to New Orleans, the concert bombs. It’s the worst show we’ve ever played. I forget my own lyrics—the ones I spent weeks perfecting. I miss no less than three intros to my own goddamn songs. When I screw up the timing during “What We Never Said,” there are several boos from the crowd.
I’m on a fucking roll.
And like the twat I’ve become, I take it out on the band. “What the hell was that?” I ask them as we all dry off backstage.
Jamal drapes a towel around his shoulders and looks me dead in the eye. “You mean you screwing up every single song? We were wondering the same thing, mate.”
I clench my hands into fists to keep from pounding him. “It was a complete shitshow. Every single one of you is to blame.”
“Mate, maybe you need to calm down,” Jentry says.
“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down.” I don’t give a shit if he’s right. Tonight sucked, and it was not all my fault.
Chase tosses me a water bottle. “Hey, so the show bombed. It happens.”
“Not less than a week from closing.” I unscrew the cap, then guzzle the water without stopping. When it’s empty, I throw it at the nearest rubbish bin and miss. “We’re practicing all day tomorrow.”
A disbelieving laugh comes from one of the guys, but I don’t bother seeing who. I pick up the water bottle and crush it in my hands before throwing it away.
“Dude, that’s insane,” Jamal says.
I whirl around on him. “Is it? Good thing you’re not calling the shots, then.”
“What’s going on?” Noah approaches, goody-two-shoes face on and ready for action.
“Mind your own business,” I snap.
He doesn’t even flinch. “I am.”
“I think Rhett needs to get laid,” Jamal says, causing someone behind me to snicker.
“The girlfriend suddenly makes sense,” Diego says.
My jaw is clenched so tight, something pops. “What did you say?” I ask, turning to him.
Diego laughs nervously and holds up his hands. “Nothing, mate. Just understand why you brought her, is all.”
“Where is Saylor, anyway?” Chase asks. He normally doesn’t say much, and I wish he’d keep it that way. I don’t like the sound of her name on his lips.
“Yeah, man. I haven’t seen her all day,” Jentry says.
“Fuck off,” I tell him. “That’s none of your business.”
“Rhett, you need to chill,” Noah says.
I flip him off.
“Seriously.” His face doesn’t show an ounce of humor or fear. “Go outside and clear your head. You can’t do the meet and greet until you’ve calmed down.”
My nostrils flare as I glare at him, but he doesn’t back down. As I head toward the back door, one of the guys mutters, “God, I sure hope Saylor comes back.”