15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Ace
B y the time we arrive in the green room, the afterparty is already in full swing. The hungry looks from the groupies are impossible to miss, each one eager for the chance to satisfy us. Their shrill screams pierce through the noise, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling them to shut the fuck up. Instead, I make my way to the back of the room, with Xander following closely behind. I brace myself, anticipating his question about what the hell happened with Scarlet back there. I’ve been scrambling for some bullshit excuse, but the truth is, I do not know what the fuck came over me. All I saw was that prick lifting his shirt, while his buddies laughed and egged him on, and that’s when I snapped. Seeing them treat Scarlet like she was just some quick score pissed me off in ways I can’t even explain.
A few of the groupies make their way toward us. I grab a couple of ice-cold beers from the bucket, placing one into Xander’s hand as I casually lean against the table. Xander mirrors my posture, and the girls flock toward us, their shrill giggles getting on my nerves as they press in closer.
Even though everyone knows Xander’s married—thanks to the headlines that hit a few days after the wedding—that doesn’t stop these girls from crowding around him. I glance over and see the irritation flicker across Xander’s face as one girl moves in, her tits practically spilling out as she presses up against him.
“I want to fuck you, Xander,” she purrs, as she sensually traces her finger along his chest. “Let us show you a good time.” The other two girls around him nod enthusiastically, their eyes gleaming with excitement, showing they’re up for anything.
I’m doing my best to ignore the two chicks, their hands eagerly exploring my body. If it means I can lose myself in this bullshit for the night, I’ll let them touch. But right now, all I really want to see is Xander completely lose his shit over these no-boundaries groupies.
“And I want you all to back the fuck off before I kick your skanky asses out of here,” Xander growls, slapping her hand away. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”
The girls instantly step back at his harsh tone, and I can’t help but laugh, lifting my bottle in a mock toast. Xander’s head snaps around to glare at me.
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like me,” I say, wrapping my arm around the one groupie who didn’t bolt when Xander went off. I hold her close; she’s the one I’m planning to have tonight —already staking my claim.
“Never,” Xander replies with a smirk, taking a swig of his beer. But then his face goes serious. “What the hell happened earlier between you and Scarlet?”
Fuck. I take a long sip of my beer, stalling while I try to come up with some sort of answer. “Some dickheads were hitting on her, making her the punchline or some shit.” I avoid making eye contact with him, knowing he’ll see right through my bullshit.
“So? Groupies always hit on us, you know that. You can’t expect it to be any different for her.”
“Yeah, but we’ve never had a female member before. I just didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable,” I say, downing the rest of my beer. I glance over at Theo, who’s now surrounded by eight groupies, basking in their attention like the attention-seeking asshole he is.
Off to one side, I see Scarlet talking to three guys. Neil stands beside her, sticking to my orders to throw out anyone who tries anything with her tonight.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, man,” Xander says, patting my shoulder, his eyes flicking down to the groupie under my arm.
He pushes off the table and makes his way across the room. I wonder what he’ll do now to pass the time. Back in the day, Xander would’ve jumped right into this scene, picking out any girl in the room to help him drown out all the shit in his head. But now, as a happily married family man, he doesn’t even glance at anyone. His whole world is Poppy and Alex.
I never thought Xander would ever be the relationship type, but he’s turned into a mellow version of himself when he’s at home. He’s content with the life he’s built, and I know he’d give up everything he’s worked for in a heartbeat for his family. It’s something I’ll never understand. I’d never give this shit up for anyone. Especially when I can get a meaningless fuck any time I want.
I watch him walk over to Kit and strike up a conversation. Now that Xander’s gone, a few girls come my way. Some of them are the same ones he told to fuck off earlier, so it’s no surprise they’re making their rounds from band member to band member. With only Theo and me left, they know they have to work hard to stand out.
The girl with the big mouth and even bigger tits catches my eye, and I give her a nod to come over. When she steps in front of me, her starry eyes light up, clearly thrilled to be chosen. I know I can ask her to indulge in any of my wild fantasies tonight. As she moves closer, I set my empty beer on the table. I don’t bother with names—this is just a one-night thing.
“You wanna have a good time?” I ask, keeping my tone relaxed. She grins and nods eagerly. I glance back at the girl under my arm, but something across the room catches my attention.
Scarlet’s eyes lock with mine, and a sharp jolt hits me right in the chest. Her gaze shifts to the groupie under my arm, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of hurt that passes over her face. When our eyes meet again, it stings like hell.
I push those thoughts aside, feeling the weight of guilt settle in my chest. That’s what I do—I’m fucked up, and I hurt people. Ignoring the sharp ache in my chest, I make my way across the room, the girls still clinging to me. I need to escape, to find solace away from Scarlet’s piercing stare.
In the back seat on the way to the hotel, with a girl on each side of me. One leans in to suck on my neck while the other rubs my cock through my jeans, eager to get me going. Normally, this would be all I need, but tonight something’s off. I close my eyes, trying to lose myself in the moment, but even as I get hard, all I can think about is the hurt in Scarlet’s eyes. That look. The way it cut deep, hangs heavy. It’s impossible to shake the fact that I made her feel that way.
My mother’s voice echoes in my head, just like it always does when I’m on the edge of losing my shit. Her words—how the world would be better off without me, how fucked up and worthless I am—play on a relentless loop. The memory of her wishing I’d fucking died instead of taking my first breath still stings. It’s hard to shake off the weight of all the shit she used to say; even though they’re just words, they feel like they’ve seeped into my skin. Maybe that’s why everyone ends up leaving. I’m no good for anyone, just a burden dragging people down. Every dark thought gets amplified by her cruel taunts, as if she’s inside my head, pulling me back into the darkness she’s always excelled at creating.
As we pull up to the back of the hotel—a spot hidden from the media's prying eyes—I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean forward.
“Get the girls back to the stadium or drop them off at home,” I say, not even glancing at either of them as I shove past to get out.
“Wait… What the hell?” one of them pipes up as I step out of the car.
“Are you fucking serious?” the one with the big tits yells.
I continue walking, not giving a damn that I ruined their night. Whatever. They only want me for who I am. They do not know how hard it is to breathe sometimes. So fuck them and fuck the entire world that puts me on a pedestal. No way I can let them see the fucked-up version I am.
Despite the chill of the night air, my mind remains cluttered and chaotic.
I hit the elevator button, watching the illuminated numbers slowly count down. When the doors finally slide open, relief washes over me as I step inside, grateful that no one else is around at this hour. I’m too fucked up to fake a smile or pretend everything’s fine. The elevator dings as it reaches the top floor, and I step out, desperate to reach my room. All that matters right now is raiding the mini-bar, lighting up a joint, and drowning out the chaos in my head. It’s strange how just an hour ago, I was riding high—on top of the world with our new label, the tour, and fans going wild. Now, though, I’m spiraling downward, demons from my childhood rushing back, threatening to drown me in their darkness.
After wiping out the mini-bar and stumbling out of my room, the late hour feels suffocating. The bar downstairs is supposed to stay open all night—at least that’s what the damn sign said. I’ve already finished a joint and ten tiny bottles of alcohol, but it’s still not enough to drown out the chaos in my head. When these dark thoughts take hold, sleep feels impossible. Jabbing the elevator button, I stand, head down, waiting for it to drag its ass up here. Thank fuck it doesn’t take too long.
Stepping back into the elevator, I slump against the back wall, closing my eyes to try to block everything out. When the chime signals I’ve hit the lobby, I head straight to the bar to find it mostly empty—just a few lost souls nursing their own troubles. I slide onto a stool and signal the bartender, who nods and starts pouring. As the first few shots hit the counter, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. Pulling it out, I see Xander’s name flash on the screen. I wonder what the hell he wants at this hour.
“Hey man,” I say, trying to keep it casual.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Xander asks.
“Just grabbing a drink. What about you?”
“Monsters fucking up your head again,” he says, and I can hear the sympathy in his voice.
I crack a smile. No one gets me like Xander does. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Turn around.”
Spinning in my seat, I spot him in a booth along the back wall. A bottle of whiskey sits on the table, with a half-full glass beside it. I hang up the phone, and down four of the five shots in quick succession, relishing the familiar burn in my throat before grabbing the last one. With the shot in hand, I make my way over to Xander.
He watches me as I approach, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s doing here at this hour. Setting my shot glass down on the table, I slide into the seat across from him.
“What triggered it this time?” he asks. He knows better than anyone how easily I can get pulled back into the shit from my past.
“I don’t know,” I say, downing my shot, not wanting to admit it was because of how I hurt Scarlet. Someone so shiny and bright, getting fucked over by someone like me. One minute, I was ready to dive into some pussy, and the next, the look on her face—the pain I caused—sent me spiraling back down like a wave pulling me under. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t sleep,” Xander says, lifting his glass and taking a long sip. “I talked to Poppy not too long ago, then figured I’d swing by here for a drink.”
“It’s different now on tour for you, I guess,” I say.
“Yeah, it is,” he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I wouldn’t change it. I’d never survive if I lost them.”
“How the hell did you do it, man? How’d you let someone in?” I grab Xander's bottle and pour myself another shot, glancing up at him with a mix of curiosity and envy before setting the bottle back down on the table.
“You mean letting Poppy in?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I reply, eager to avoid diving into the details too much.
“I don’t know. It just kind of happened,” he replies, shrugging it off. “It snuck up on me, I guess you could say. Why?”
I don’t answer. While I respect his honesty, it’s a far cry from the old what-if bullshit we used to ramble on about as kids. But now it’s different between us; now Xander lays bare his heart on the table, and it feels like a whole new level of realness.
“Hey, I thought you’d left earlier with two groupies,” he says, giving me a look. He knows I usually get out of my head by fucking my feelings away.
“Yeah, I did. Just didn’t feel like it once we got here.”
Xander smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Guess even your cock's got standards now. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I chuckle and down the shot. “Yeah, well, I guess it turns out even my cock’s got a conscience. Who knew?” I grin at Xander, appreciating the rare light moment, feeling grateful to have my best friend sitting with me. “Glad you’re here, man. This shit’s easier to handle with you around.”
There’s a relentless pounding at the door, or maybe it’s just the thumping in my head from a late night with Xander. The knocking comes again, louder this time. I roll over in bed and shout, “Whoever the hell that is, better fuck off!” But the knocking continues, each thud amplifying my headache and fueling my irritation. If it’s Theo, he’s really going to get it.
I push the covers aside and, with my head pounding and eyes still half-closed from barely a few hours of sleep, drag myself to the door.
“For fuck sake, stop the damn pounding!” I yell, yanking the door open. “What the fuck do you want?” Through my half-closed eyes, I see Kit standing there. She just brushes past me, not giving a shit that I’m fuming.
“Don’t you ever check your phone?” she snaps.
I turn slightly, keeping the door open as I watch her step further into the room. With a resigned sigh, I close the door, realizing she isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.
She grabs my scrunched-up jeans from the floor, and tosses them at me, hitting me square in the chest.
“Put these on. As manly as you are, I’m not having a serious conversation with your dick out.”
I bend over, shove a leg through, and almost lose my balance. Fuck, if I had to guess, I’m still hungover as hell. Xander and I finished that whisky bottle and didn’t drag our sorry asses out of the bar until around four this morning. When I finally manage to get dressed, I look up and see Kit in the kitchen, making coffee.
“What time is it?” I ask, scanning the room for a clock. Not spotting one, I make a beeline for my phone.
“Eight,” she says, just before I grab it.
“What the fuck, Kit?” I growl, stumbling over to the couch and flopping down, my palms rubbing at my sleepy eyes. “What’s so fucking important that you had to drag me out of bed at this hour?” I check my phone and see eight missed calls, all from Kit. She comes back with a cup of coffee and hands it to me. The fact she’s bringing me coffee tells me something is seriously wrong. I take the cup from her as she sits down on the couch beside me.
Taking a sip, I keep my eyes on her. This isn't the usual Kit. She’s usually a no-bullshit, take-no-prisoners type, but the look on her face and the fact she’s been bombarding me with calls this morning has me on edge.
“Just fucking say it, Kit,” I tell her. “If it’s about those girls from last night, nothing fucking happened, no matter what they say.”
“It’s not about that, Ace.”
“Then just fucking tell me.”
“How’s your relationship with your mother?” she asks, her gaze steady. No one but Xander knows about the shit that went down with my mother—I've kept that locked up tight all these years, buried deep where no one can reach it.
“Why the fuck are you asking?” I snap. I fight to keep my anger in check, every muscle in my body tensing. It takes all my willpower not to hurl the coffee cup across the room, but my mind’s racing, trying to figure out why she's digging into this now, after all this time. What the hell has happened to make her think this is okay?
“There’s never been a relationship with her. She’s not someone I fucking talk about.” I push off the couch, shoving the coffee cup back into her hands. No way in hell am I having a therapy session with Kit about this shit.
As I move across the room, I can feel her eyes drilling into me, and it’s fucking infuriating. It’s like she’s peeling back my layers, exposing the little kid inside who was never loved—the little boy who used to cry when one of his mother’s asshole boyfriends thought it was fun to put out a cigarette on his arm. If she keeps looking at me like that and pushing this shit, I’m about to fucking snap.
“Ace,” she says, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
“No, Kit, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?” I snap, grabbing a shirt from the floor and yanking it over my head. When I turn around, she’s not on the couch anymore—now she’s standing at the end of the bed, giving me that intense look that makes my skin crawl.
“You might not have a choice about that,” she says, her tone steady. “The press has been digging around ever since that incident with the paparazzi, and my sources just told me that your mother and her husband are doing a sit-down interview with Jerry Goldman.”
Just hearing Goldman’s name sends a chill down my spine. The guy’s known for his brutal interviews, cutting right to the heart of the matter and exposing everything. He’s a fucking master at pulling in ratings, and now my past is about to be dragged out for everyone to see, like dirty laundry hung out for the world to scrutinize.
She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me. “Do you know this man?”
The photo on the screen displays a guy I know all too well—the wannabe biker who almost took my head off back in the day, but he’s slightly older. He had me pinned against the wall, swinging at me, barely missing my face.
“Judging by your expression, I take it you do,” she says.
The fury in my eyes must say it all. “What’s she saying?” I ask, dropping onto the edge of the bed, struggling to make sense of this mess. I haven’t seen her in years, and the last thing I need is for her to stir up shit now. Kit takes a seat beside me, her expression serious.
“She’s painting you as a ticking time bomb,” Kit replies. “She claims you’ve always acted out, that your temper’s completely out of control. According to her, you attacked her husband in a violent rage, and he had to throw you out to protect her.”
I lift my head, locking eyes with Kit, my heart racing. “That’s bullshit. The fucker attacked me. I was just a seventeen-year-old kid trying to defend myself. Xander was there—he’ll back me up.”
“Xander’s not on the call sheet for today’s interview, and you should know this topic might come up,” she says, her expression grave. “He won’t be there to back you up if they bring it up.”
Shit. Xander mentioned last night that I have an interview with Scarlet scheduled for today. I stand up from the bed, restless, and begin pacing back and forth, running my hands through my hair. The thought of unearthing the past, the memories I’ve fought so hard to suppress, is messing with my head.
Kit rises from the bed, her eyes fixed on me. “If they bring up Goldman or anything about your mother, just redirect the conversation back to the tour and Scarlet. That’s why she’s with you—to squash all those rumors about her landing the gig just because she’s Nate’s sister. After she killed it last night, we need to make her the main focus.” She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this, Ace. You’re the spokesperson for the band. This is what you do.”
Her words hang in the air, but they don’t do much to calm the storm raging inside me. I nod, fully aware of how relentless the media can be, always on the hunt for a story to boost their ratings. Why didn’t I listen to Xander in that damn car? What the fuck made me throw that camera?
“If you need me, Ace, just give me a call,” Kit says, making her way to the door.
I don’t respond, still lost in my thoughts. It isn’t until I hear the door click shut behind Kit that I snap back to reality. Grabbing my phone, I dial Anita’s number, praying like hell she has some legal bullshit that might be able to shut down this interview with my mother before it even starts.
Sitting in the car next to Scarlet, for once my thoughts are not filled with the usual fantasies I have about her. I’m still fuming over what Kit dropped on me this morning, and the anger only grew when Anita told me there’s nothing she can do to stop that damn interview. No matter how deep the media digs, they won’t uncover the full extent of my messed-up past because I’m not bringing that into the light. It’s better left buried where it belongs.
So lost in my thoughts I don’t notice we’ve stopped at the studio until the door swings open for me to get out. I climb out of the car, and as Scarlet slides across the seat, I instinctively reach out to help her. She looks up and smiles, and I can see the tension from last night melting away between us. Once the car door slams shut behind us, we start moving forward, but Scarlet doesn’t let go of my hand, and for some damn reason, neither do I. In this moment, her touch feels like a lifeline, grounding me and pulling me out of my head.
As we’re led into the studio by a young guy with a clipboard and an earbud, we navigate a long, bright hallway. Scarlet’s thumb gently brushes the back of my hand, and when I turn to look at her, I find her gaze already fixed on mine.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sensing something is off. “Kit didn’t say much about what’s going on, but she mentioned that if anything comes up, just steer it back to the tour. I’m guessing that’s what’s got you down.”
“Yeah. You could say that,” I reply, not really in the mood to spill the details.
She takes the hint and redirects her attention to the guy leading us, who’s taking us through a maze of doors. He eventually stops and swings one open, gesturing for us to step inside.
“Someone will be in soon to set up your mics,” he says before walking out and leaving us alone.
The moment he departs, Scarlet swiftly releases my hand and strides towards a nearby table. She snatches a paper cup and fills it with water. I watch her for a moment; her calm presence feels like an anchor right now.
The door swings open, and in walks a guy with big front teeth and a man bun, holding two portable mic packs. He sets them on the small counter to the side, then turns to us, grinning wide. "Hey, great concert last night," he says, his gaze fixed on Scarlet. "You really rocked it out there."
“Thanks,” she replies, tossing her empty paper cup into the trash.
“Now, you’ll both be seated at the far right end of the set. The interview will last about eight minutes,” he says, pulling out one of the microphone packs and heading over to Scarlet first. “There will be three people asking you questions.” He hands her the pack. “I’ll let you clip this onto the waistband of your jeans.” I can’t help but appreciate how he shows her respect by letting her handle it herself. Most guys would be itching to touch her, but he keeps it professional.
Once Scarlet’s all set up, he moves over to help with my mic.
“Do you mind if I get a photo with you guys? I’m a huge fan,” he asks as he finishes setting up my mic.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply.
He pulls his phone from his back pocket and holds it out, grinning like a kid on Christmas. Scarlet and I lean in, our faces lining up behind him for the shot.
After he snaps the photo, he turns to us, still beaming. “Thanks for that! My wife is gonna flip when she sees this. I’m definitely framing it and rubbing it in. She’s just as big a fan as I am.”
He heads toward the door but stops right before he leaves. “Someone will come get you in a few minutes,” he says, with a quick nod. “Nice meeting you both.” And just like that, he’s out the door, leaving us alone again.
Scarlet lets out a deep breath, her fingers twisting nervously like they did before we hit the stage yesterday. I can see she’s on edge, and honestly, I am too, but it’s not the usual pre-show jitters. I’ve been through this a thousand times. It’s the thought of what might come up about my mother that’s really messing with my head.
I sink into the chair as I nervously wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. A few seconds later, the door swings open, and a middle-aged lady enters, smiling as she tells us to follow her. After we make our way down the corridor, we pause off to the side while they cut to a commercial break. When they wave us on, we step out onto the set. Scarlet takes the seat at the end, and I settle into the chair between her and one of the hosts.
We exchange quick hellos, but their words barely register. My mind’s elsewhere, as I struggle to steady my breathing. As someone starts the countdown for the show to go live again, I block out all distractions and channel my focus solely on the task at hand.
The primary host next to me looks straight into the camera and introduces us. I catch Scarlet fidgeting out of the corner of my eye, her nervousness still evident despite her attempts to hide it. The host flashes a smile, then turns slightly in his chair to address us, ready to dive into whatever questions they’ve got lined up.
“Well, let me kick things off by saying your fans are absolutely buzzing online about the show you put on last night,” the host says, his tone dripping with that polished enthusiasm that comes with the territory.
I flash a tight smile, just enough to look genuine without going overboard. I know how I can look when I push it too far, and the last thing I need is to come off like a deranged clown auditioning for a horror film. “Yeah, it was a great night,” I reply, keeping it brief.
Then he pivots to Scarlet. “You're the hot topic on social media, stepping in for your brother. Fans are saying it felt like Nate was right there on stage.”
Scarlet smiles, keeping it cool like she’s been in the spotlight forever. “Oh really?” she laughs, the sound light and effortless. “Wow, that’s a compliment in itself.”
The guy in the middle leans in, directing his question at me. “Your album has hit the number one spot worldwide,” he says, a glint in his eyes. “That must be a relief after everything that’s happened.”
I flash a tight, controlled smile, already sensing the ulterior motive behind this idiot’s words. Despite a powerful urge to tell him to fuck off, I keep my answer smooth and casual. “Yeah, the album’s something we’re really proud of. We’ve all worked hard to get back our original sound. Going out on our own, handling our music the way we want, and doing tours on our terms—I think the fans have shown they like where this is headed.”
“How has the camera incident impacted the tour?” he asks, that eager glint in his eye making it obvious he’s just itching for some drama to chew on for his ratings.
My jaw tightens for a second, but I don’t let it show. “The tour’s been going great. Fans are showing up in droves, and that’s what really matters. We’re focused on the music and making sure our fans get the best damn show possible every night.”
“Now that you’re in one of the biggest bands on the planet, how does your family feel about that?” He stares at me, smirking like he’s just unearthed a juicy secret.
I shoot a glance at Scarlet, then back at this jackass, my patience barely holding. "What are we doing here? This is about the band, the tour, and how Scarlet stepped up for Nate, giving the fans exactly what they wanted."
He leans in, his smirk widening. “Yes, but those fans also want to know if there’s any truth to the rumors and accusations made by your mother.”
Is this fucking asshole serious? I shift in my chair, fighting to keep my cool. “As I said, this is about the band and the tour. We’re here to talk music, not about the past.”
He leans in closer, the smugness practically radiating off him. “So, you don’t deny the accusations, then.”
I bite back the urge to punch the fucker in the face. “I’m not here to say anything about that. Let’s focus on the music and the tour—what the fans actually care about.”
“They say...” He glances down at his notes, and all I want to do is jump up, rip them out of his hands, and shove them down his fucking throat. How dare he treat my pain like it’s some spectacle for the masses? “I think your mother called you a ticking bomb. Said she was scared to live with you. It was her husband who had to throw you out—fearing for her life.”
My blood boils as he crosses that line, digging up shit that has nothing to do with why we’re here. The rage bubbling inside me threatens to spill over, but I force myself to breathe, gripping the edges of my chair to stop me from losing it. I’m ten seconds away from walking out of this fucking circus.
“These are serious allegations. Don’t you think your fans deserve to hear your side of the story?”
I’ve had enough. I push my chair back and stand up. “You know what? I’m done with this bullshit. I came here to talk about the band, not to relive my personal hell to boost your ratings.” I tear off my microphone and fling it onto the chair.
As I storm off the set, I can hear the host stumbling over his words, desperately trying to salvage the wreck of an interview. But I couldn’t give a shit. As I push through the door and step into the corridor, a sudden realization hits me—I just left Scarlet in there all alone. Great fucking move, Ace.
Leaning against the wall, I can feel the anger boiling inside me as I berate myself for bailing. That prick’s insistence on dragging up the past was eating me alive. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, trying to keep the demons from clawing their way back to the surface.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I can feel the weight of the world pressing down, and it takes everything I have not to lash out at the walls around me.
As I try to zone out, I feel a hand on my arm—her touch unmistakable. I snap my eyes open and meet the worry in her gaze. My eyes roam over her face, taking in every detail before settling on her lips. Without a second thought, I grab her face and pull her in, slamming my lips against hers. The kiss is raw, desperate, and intense. She meets my urgency with equal fire, and I feel it burning through me.
I’ve never felt this intense desire for anyone before, and at this moment, I crave her more than ever. Amid the chaos in my head, I long for her to calm me and help me find my breath. I don’t care about it being right or wrong. I just need her light to push back the darkness threatening to consume me.
“I fucking want you,” I whisper against her lips. “I fucking need you.”
She nods, and then gently intertwines her fingers with mine. Without a word, she guides me down the hall. We head straight out of the studio and towards the town car parked in the lot. Everything’s a blur, but I’m focused on one thing and one thing only—her.