Chapter Thirteen
I get to the gig, but my heart’s not in this tonight.
It’s the first time we’ve been apart and I’m out of my fucking head. Someone may as well have scooped my soul out of my goddamn body and left it back at the house, wrapped around my beautiful girl. I can’t feel anything except her absence. There’s an invisible cord wrapped tightly around my heart, pulling me back to her. It’s painful. Even more painful is the other invisible string, wrapped even more tightly around my goddamn cock, which—and this sounds fucking ridiculous—is lonely as fuck.
Is she okay? Is she missing me? Does she need me?
My problem isn’t that I’m this whipped. My problem is that I don’t care about anything else. Nothing. I don’t give a fuck about the fans or the end-of-tour hoopla. The screaming, crying people are faceless. Their energy doesn’t touch me at all. The club feels confined and empty of her and entirely not where I want to be.
Even the music doesn’t flow. The chords sound hollow. The lyrics don’t jive because she can’t hear them .
I’m going mad because she has become my entire reason to live.
I need to get a grip.
I can’t breathe.
I feel manic. Restless as fuck.
All I want to do is get back to her and be near her. Get inside her. Protect her. Love her with everything I’ve got.
I’m in love and I’m addicted and there’s just no point doing any of this without her.
I decide to do one more song, then I’ll cut this short tonight.
The place is packed, as always. People are everywhere, trying to get close.
Fuck off, I feel like yelling. Leave me alone. You’re not her. I’m hers. She’s mine.
She’s the only thing I can feel.
Is she thinking about me? Is she craving me as much as I’m going fucking insane because she’s not here?
What I realize is that I don’t have Stella’s phone number. I can’t even call her to check on her.
Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? We’ve never been apart so I’ve never needed to call her. But I fucking need to now.
I finish the last song of my first set. The screams are deafening but I don’t even acknowledge them. I leave the stage and go back to the tiny dressing room. I chug some Jack straight out of a bottle to try to take the smallest edge off.
Something’s not right, I can feel it.
I’m leaving.
There’s a knock on the door.
I open it, and it’s one of the bartenders. He hands me a small white envelope. “This was delivered for you, Mr. Tucker.”
I grab the envelope and rip it open.
It’s a letter, written in small, neat handwriting.
Dear Kade,
I’m so glad we got to spend this time together. I’ll always treasure what we shared. But it’s still so new and everything has happened so fast. I’m not sure the rock star lifestyle is for me and I’m feeling very overwhelmed. I’m so sorry about that.
And I’m sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I need to go home for a while and reconnect with my life and my family. Lately I’ve been feeling that I’m way out of my depth and I need some time to think everything through.
Please don’t follow me. Please give me some time. I’ll contact you when my head is clearer and we can talk about everything then. Please just let me figure things out for myself. I’ll get in touch with you soon.
Thank you for everything, Kade.
Love,
Stella
I stand there staring at the letter for a few seconds, my heart hammering in my chest.
What the fuck?
This can’t be real.
This isn’t her.
This isn’t my Stella.
My eyes trace the small, neat letters. The S of her name. I remember thinking it as I read the other letter she wrote—to the guy who proposed to her—even though I was pissed off at the time, I still noticed that her handwriting was unique, with its whimsical loops. It had struck me at the time that it was the handwriting of a romantic. It made me fall for her even more, despite the cloud of jealousy I’d been mired in.
This isn’t the handwriting of a romantic.
A cold wash of something that hits somewhere between terror and a focused, resolute rage ices through my veins.
Stella wouldn’t write this letter. Stella didn’t write this letter.
And there’s only one person who would be twisted enough to pretend to be her.
I storm toward the door, seriously wondering if my sanity is about to shatter. But I hold onto it. I need it in place.
I find an exit, completely oblivious to everyone around me. I get out onto the street and I start fucking running toward my house, which is only six or seven blocks from the club. People stare at me but I don’t give a fuck about anything except finding her.
I get to the door of my apartment and I’m fishing the key card out of my wallet when I notice someone’s here. Standing behind me.
I’m in such a state it takes me a few seconds to recognize her.
It’s her. It’s fucking Carmen.
I have never felt so feral or so furious in my life as I do right now, but my mind is working on several levels. There’s a calmness behind my fury that’s all about finding Stella. If I lose my cool I’ll lose my mind.
I stare at Carmen.
Would she really be evil enough to do this?
Yes, is the answer to that question. Evil or desperate, in this case they’re one and the same.
Of course she’s trying to steal my joy. She always has.
And if she does have something to do with it, which I’d bet my life on, then I need her close. I need to know what she knows.
First, I need to see if Stella is here. It’s possible this was a fucked-up misunderstanding or a communication breakdown.
“Can we talk?” She’s wearing jeans and a non-descript shirt under a long white coat, and cowboy boots. Her make-up is more subtle than usual, without those spidery eyelashes. It’s what she knows I used to like: less of a fake, try-hard, staged look and more of something real. “Kade?” Her voice is soft, without that hysterical edge she’ll no doubt eventually work her way up to. I know, in a single glance, that she’s pulled out all the stops tonight. She’s trying to be what I always wanted her to be.
I say nothing, but I allow her to follow me inside, and into the elevator. She picks up on the vibe that if she gets too close to me, I’ll react badly. And she’s right. She keeps her distance.
It would be easy if my nemesis was a man. I could beat him to a fucking bloody pulp until I got the information and the bloodthirsty revenge I needed, if this is what I think it is.
With her, I could crush her skull with my fist. I could throttle her scrawny little neck so very easily. My fingers twitch with the violent urge to do exactly that.
“Kade, I want to tell you that I’m so sorry. I’m sorry if I was pushy or needy or scared. Please forgive me. I can do so much better. I can love you just the way you need, I promise I can. You’re everything to me, Kade. You’re my whole life. I just want to be with you and love you. I can’t live without you, baby. I love you so much. I want so much for us to be together again. Can I please show you how much I love you? Will you please give me another chance?”
The elevator slides open and I walk into my apartment. I can hear voices, outside on the balcony. Roxie. Travis. Ruby. They’re back from their trip. They’re laughing.
I can’t hear Stella.
I walk to the open doors of the balcony in ground-eating strides, looking for her.
She’s not here.
“Kade,” says Travis, looking up. “You’re back early.” He stands up and starts walking over to me.
“Is Stella here?” I say, not to him directly. To Roxie. To anyone. My voice sounds cold. In the husk of it I can hear my own anguish.
She’s not here.
“Isn’t she with you?” Roxie seems surprised. My tone has upset her. She’s even more surprised when Carmen walks up beside me. “Carmen.”
I rush back into the apartment, looking for clues.
To the bedroom.
All her things are still here.
Her clothes.
Her laptop.
She would never leave her laptop behind if she was going home.
Another wave of cold terror pulses through my veins.
She’s in danger.
I can feel it.
Blind with my own dread, I’m back in the kitchen. On the counter are her car keys, where Jared left them after moving her car to my garage.
Her car is still here.
Carmen’s eyes are wide. She wasn’t expecting me to react this way.
I hold up the letter that’s crumpled in my fist. “I know you wrote this.” Slowly, willing myself not to ease my hands around her neck, I grab the front of Carmen’s coat with my fist. In her eyes, I can read her guilt. “You’re going to tell me where the fuck she is. And if even one hair on her head is out of place, I’m going to fucking kill you with my bare hands. Tell. Me. Where. She. Is.”
Carmen’s eyes fill with tears.
“ WHERE IS SHE?” I yell in her face. My voice doesn’t even sound like me. It sounds like someone capable of doing terrible things. The kind of things that’ll get a person locked up for life.
Roxie hears it. So does Travis.
So does Carmen.
“Hey.” Travis is worried as fuck. He eases my fist loose, smoothing Carmen’s coat back into place, putting his hand on my chest as though to calm me. “What the fuck’s going on?”
I shrug him off.
Carmen is crying hard now. “She’s completely safe, Kade. Of course she is. I wouldn’t do that. She’s at Amber’s. Having a spa weekend.”
“A what?” Amber’s? I vaguely remember that Amber is one of Carmen’s friends.
“I just wanted some time with you, Kade. To talk things through. Everything was so abrupt and you’ve been with her the whole time and—”
“You fucking kidnapped her?”
“No. Of course not. Amber invited her and it just means you and me can have some time to—”
I grab a fistful of my hair. I can’t believe this. “Where the fuck is Amber’s? Tell me where it is. ”
“It’s in Forest Hills,” she sobs. “I’m sorry. I just so much wanted to—"
“I know where it is,” says Travis. “I went to a party there with Vaughn once. My car’s right out front.”
I’m already in the elevator.
“Why didn’t you ever love me like that, Kade?” Carmen whines.
“Because you’re capable of doing things like this. And because you’re not the one and you never fucking could have been.” To Roxie, I growl, “Don’t let her leave. And if anything happens to me, make sure she gets locked the fuck up.”