Chapter 14
Derek
“We should talk.” The words are out of my mouth the moment she opens her eyes and I mentally berate myself for being so desperate.
Shit, I’m acting like a damn chick. Like one of the groupies I used to blow off.
But the way things ended between Allegra and me last night—a blasé good night and flicking off the lights—left me unsettled. We have too much history, too much respect, to let things go as a causal sign-off.
Allegra scrubs the sleep from her eyes and presses herself up. She looks at me, her blonde hair a wild wave around her head. “About what?”
About what? I snicker. “Seriously?”
She shrugs and collapses back to her mattress. She stares up at the ceiling before glancing at me. “It was just sex, Derek. Relax. I know it was a mistake; you know it was a mistake. We can just move on…” She sighs. She checks her fucking phone. “We don’t have to overanalyze it.”
“A mistake?” I repeat, dumbfounded. She thinks last night was a mistake? “I mean, sure, it would’ve been better if we weren’t drinking or—”
“It’s no biggie.” Her eyes find mine again. Warm cocoa. Sincere. “Really.”
Her blasé outlook on us hooking up kicks me straight in the chest. “No biggie,” I repeat again.
“I gotta get moving,” Allegra says, dragging herself from bed. She stands, reaching her arms overhead to stretch, and my eyes snap to the round curve of her ass.
Last night, I had my hands all over her; this morning, I’m a no biggie mistake. Fuck, I’m not even significant enough to be an actual error in judgement.
I’m…nothing.
The realization sours my stomach. Frustration kicks up, rushing through my limbs like an adrenaline hit.
“Want coffee?” Allegra glances over her shoulder. Polite, civil, uninterested.
“Nah, I’m good.” I stand from the chair beside her bed and rub my palms over the thighs of my jeans. “I gotta get going.”
“‘Kay. Thanks for hanging last night.” She walks me to her door in her fucking silk panties and crop top.
She’s confident and brazen. Beautiful and bold.
Infuriating as hell.
I want to remind her about last night. About how good it was. About how I said sex would change things and she said okay.
But my pride holds me back. Instead, I grunt, unable to form words.
“Have a good day,” Allegra calls after me as I stride out of her apartment.
I lift a hand in farewell and hear the apartment door close.
Damn, her rejection stings. Her dismissal burns.
The fact that I don’t register as more than a casual fuck—a goddamn mistake—cuts.
Is this how I made countless women feel the morning after? Hell, I didn’t even offer consolation coffee.
Shaking my head, I dip into my car and drive home. Restless energy swims through my veins, electric and hyped up. Halfway to my house, I make a detour, swinging by one of my friend’s music studios instead.
I knock on the door, taking a chance that he spent the night recording. He’s a night owl like that, does his best work when the rest of the world is passed out.
“What’s good, Reign?” Hendrix asks when he opens the door. He doesn’t look surprised to see me, but then again, nothing catches him off guard.
He’s a guy who goes through life with his eyes wide open, taking things as they come, and not bothering to question them one way or the other.
“I need to…” I trail off, unsure what the fuck I need.
“Create,” he supplies, reading my expression. Hendrix holds the door open wider.
“Thanks, mate.” I step inside.
He yawns and picks up a to-go coffee cup. “I gotta sleep for a few hours. The space is yours. You good?” he wonders.
“Straight,” I say.
“Have at it,” Hendrix mutters, walking through the space to a back door that leads to his personal apartment.
I sit down in the booth and grab a notebook and pen. Tapping the pen against the edge of the paper, I stare into space, recalling the lyrics that haunted me all summer. The ones I put on hold during our tour because I could never get them right.
You vanished like daybreak,
Lost stars and forgotten night.
You haunt me like a shadow,
Clingy and relentless.
You haunt me like her.
My fingers itch as I jot down the lyrics. Then, my scrawl keeps going. My mind whirs, trying to keep up with the movement of my hand.
You faded like a photograph,
Broken memories and echoes of lost dreams.
You stalk me like my conscience,
Vile and futile.
You stalk me like pieces of her.
Stars die and places merge.
You turned my rebellion into a
Resentment that burns.
All consuming and exhausting,
You hate me like her.
No, you hate me like me.
I drop my pen and reach for a guitar. Straddling a banged-up barstool, I strum out a few chords before my fingers find the rhythm. My voice is all gravel, half wounds and half regret, as the song pours out of me.
It’s tortured me for the better part of this year, but I finally understand the desperation behind it.
It was Allegra all along.
Allegra and me and what was never meant to be.
I sing until my voice is hoarse and my fingertips are numb.
When I finally remove the strap of the guitar and look up, I note Hendrix in the sound booth.
He gives me a long, searching look before he slow claps a few times.
I shake my head. “It’s not done.”
“It is.” His voice comes through the speaker.
“It’s not polished,” I push back.
Hendrix shakes his head. “It’s not supposed to be. A song like that… It’s honest and that honesty is in the rawness. It’s achingly beautiful, Reign, because it’s so fucking sad.”
I grip the neck of the guitar for a long moment before I set it down.
“Who is she?” Hendrix asks knowingly.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he smirks, but it’s not condescending. It’s poignant.
“That’s why it’s done,” he advises. “Because she still fucking haunts you. And worse? She’s got you checking your own bullshit. Honest, man. Can’t mess with that.”
I blow out a sigh and scrub at my eyes.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“You’ve been here nearly four hours.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “I gotta go…”
“Crash?”
“Yeah. And eat.” My stomach grumbles.
Hendrix laughs. “But the music feeds your soul.”
I move into the booth and nod. “Yeah. It does that.” I hold out a hand and he shakes it. “Message you later?”
“Absolutely. You’ve got your next single right here.” He taps the top of the counter. “Whether you release it solo or with the Clovers, it’s a song that deserves to be heard.”
“We’ll see,” I say, uncomfortable with the thought of being so vulnerable.
I mean, I put myself in that position every time I write lyrics, or record, or perform on stage. But something about this song—something about Allegra Rousell—pulls me up short.
“Get some sleep, Reign.”
“Yeah. Thanks again, Henny.” I give him a wave before I cut out of his studio.
The sunlight assaults my eyes as I walk toward my car.
A few paps are hanging around and they scramble to snap my photo when they see me.
“Reign! Are you recording a new song?” one of them calls.
“Where are the guys? Does this mean you’re finally going solo?” another shouts.
“Is The Burnt Clovers breaking up?” a third chimes in.
Fucking hell. I dip my head and beeline for my car. When I slide behind the wheel and pull out into the morning traffic, I flip the paparazzi off. Don’t they have something better to do with their time?
I drive home in silence. The emotional high of bringing Allegra to climax, of wrapping her in my arms, of feeling her body move beneath mine has sunk in the reality of today.
A fucking mistake.
And yet, her words, her animosity, finally fueled the lyrics that have escaped me for months. Hendrix was right; that song is my next single. Do I bring the guys in? Do I go at it alone? Does it even matter anymore?
When I get to my place, I take a hot shower. Then, I close the blinds, pull on some sweats, and drift off into a deep sleep.
For the rest of the week, I avoid Allegra. I don’t seek her out. I don’t check up on her. Instead, I lose myself in the music and it helps reestablish my equilibrium.
It feeds my fucking soul.