Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ELENA
“ I t’s your fucking wedding day!” I hollered, jumping on the bed at the ass crack of morning.
Marin groaned.
“Get up, loser!” I plopped down, tucking my feet underneath me as I poked her with my finger.
“Jesus, what time is it?” She rolled over to check her phone, and her groan turned into more of a screech. “You woke me up at six thirty in the goddamn morning? Why?”
“’Cause it’s your wedding day and we have a whole day planned.”
“We do?” She eyed me curiously.
“Yep.” I grinned. “Come on.” I ripped the covers off her. “I’ll tell you all about it over a big cup of coffee.”
She sat straight up. “Coffee?” Her hair was wild, frizzy curls scattered everywhere. There were pillow marks on her face, and her breath smelled rancid.
Yikes, we have work to do.
“Decaf coffee,” I amended.
She grimaced, making me laugh, but she got up all the same. We headed into the kitchen, and I spent the next hour or so plying her with decaf coffee and pastries while we talked about the day.
Her day.
“Your mom and sister want to come over while we get ready,” I told her.
“That will be fun.”
“And—”
Marin’s phone began to ring.
I looked down at it and rolled my eyes. “Seriously. You can’t even make it all morning without talking.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response and instead answered. “Hello, husband-to-be!”
I nearly gagged. She continued to nibble on a doughnut while listening to Macon, and then I heard her respond.
“Really?” She turned to me. “Macon said the reporters in front of the inn are gone.”
“Gone?”
She put Macon on speaker so she wouldn’t have to play telephone between us.
“No one has seen them since they left last night.”
When they had all left before the end of the rehearsal dinner, we’d just assumed they had gotten tired and gone to bed.
I mean, even evil monsters had to sleep, right?
“And they’re not anywhere else in town? Maybe they’re just late sleepers. Have Zander ask his manager. I’m sure he knows a thing or two about this particular species and their nocturnal habits.”
Marin laughed.
“Zander’s not here,” Macon said matter-of-factly.
“What?” A prickle of unease worked its way up my spine.
“He left the rehearsal dinner early last night ’cause he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t he tell you?”
The prickle was turning into full-blown panic. “No, because he told me he was leaving early to go pack a bag to stay at Eli and Billy’s house with you.”
“Shit,” Macon and I said at the same time.
I tried to think back to that exact moment at the rehearsal dinner. I’d been caught up in a rather passionate discussion with Millie about our love for fashion. He’d pulled me aside and said he was headed out, and because of our earlier conversation, I’d sort of hurried him along and?—
The look in his eyes right before he kissed me good-bye…
“He wouldn’t.” I shook my head back and forth, racing to the bedroom to grab my phone where I’d left it on the nightstand, charging.
I walked back out into the kitchen as Macon said, “I’ll go check the rental.”
“Don’t bother,” I told him, looking down at the text he’d sent me.
Zander
Enjoy the wedding.
“He’s gone.”
ZANDER
Lance
First article went live overnight. You did good, kid.
me
No more reporters showed up in Ocracoke?
Lance
Several photos of you at the airport popped up on gossip rags, so I think we’re good.
me
Good.
Lance
You okay?
me
Yeah, just ready to get out of here.
Lance
Are you saying the hotel I booked you isn’t good enough? The view is gorgeous. You should really try the eggs Benedict.
me
What? No. I just want to get to New York.
I looked out toward the water as I sat on the patio of the luxury suite Lance had booked for my overnight stay in Virginia Beach.
By the time I’d caught the last ferry and driven up the coast, it was too late to catch a flight to New York.
So, he’d sent me here.
It was the most expensive hotel in the city—because, according to Lance, rock stars didn’t stay at just any hotel.
No, they stayed at the best.
I’d nearly shit myself when I saw the cost per night.
Eggs Benedict?
Wait, what the fuck?
My brain suddenly skidded to a halt as I remembered the last part of his text. How the hell did he know ? —
Someone knocked on my door, and I found myself grinning instantly.
Getting up from the chaise, I padded toward the front of the suite and pulled open the door, not even bothering to check who it was.
I already knew.
“I was kind of hoping to antagonize you a little longer, but then you stopped answering my texts, and we’re kind of on a schedule.”
Lance Creed stood in the hallway in his typical reformed rock-star style. Jeans, a fitted tee, and a blazer. His gray beard and tats meant he always stood out in a roomful of suits, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, pulling him in for a tight hug.
“You think we were going to let you go to your first big-boy concert alone?”
“We?”
“Hendrix is downstairs, getting coffee,” he explained, pointing toward the elevator before he swung his head back to me. “Jesus, are you going to cry?”
“What?” I scoffed, blinking several times. “No, I have allergies.”
You guys came all the way here for me?
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, come on, crybaby. Let’s go make you famous.”
ELENA
Enjoy the wedding.
Enjoy the wedding?
Like that was fucking possible.
To say the day was a bit of a blur was an understatement.
I did my best to be wholly present for Marin, but I knew she could see the devastation written all over my face.
“We’re not saying good-bye, Elena.”
Then, why did you leave?
Why does everyone always leave?
Marin was the perfect bride. When she walked down that aisle and looked into Macon’s eyes, they defined love. Her lace gown fit her petite frame perfectly, accentuating her subtle curves and her tiny baby bump.
Billy effortlessly stepped back up to the role of best man, and Eli had no qualms, walking two McIntyre sisters down the aisle instead of one. If anyone wondered where Zander had gone, no one asked.
Maybe they all just chalked it up to the unpredictable life of a rock star.
By the reception, Macon had begun forcing Marin to take regular breaks, worried the excitement of the day would cause a repeat of the day before. As she was sitting with her feet up, sipping on a glass of sparking apple cider, she pointed to the dance floor.
“Go take my husband for a spin,” she demanded.
“I don’t want to,” I began to argue, not wanting her pity dance.
She nudged Macon out of his seat. “Go on,” she said. “If I can’t dance with him, someone else should. It’s hilarious.”
He rolled his eyes but shot Marin one last grin before we headed to the dance floor.
“Don’t step on my feet.”
“No promises,” he warned as he stiffly took my waist like it was on fire.
I snickered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
I nodded a bit too quickly, making him smirk.
I let out a sigh. “Are you?”
“I’m sad that he wasn’t here,” he said. “But I understand why he left.”
“You do?”
“He knew the only way those reporters would leave was if he did,” he said without a shadow of a doubt. “He did it for us.”
I’d already thought of that, but in my own self-loathing, I’d brushed it aside and cast him as the villain. It was easier that way.
“Why not tell us that then?” I asked. “Why leave in the middle of the rehearsal dinner without even bothering to say good-bye?”
“Would you have let him go?”
The question nearly halted me completely, and I almost stepped on his feet.
No.
I would have barricaded the door and tried to find any other solution that didn’t involve him missing his brother’s wedding.
Mostly, I would have done anything to keep him from leaving me.
“So, what now?” I asked.
He gave me an incredulous stare. “Fuck, I don’t know, Elena. Do I look like a relationship guru? You two need to figure your own shit out. Leave me the hell out of it.”
And then he tried to spin me, and my laughs drowned out my sorrow—for at least a short while.
Since I didn’t need to be back at work for another few days, I hadn’t planned on leaving Ocracoke until Monday. But when I woke up the day after the wedding, with Marin and Macon already on their way to the airport for their honeymoon and Zander…
Nothing about being in that town felt right anymore.
Even so, I still offered to stay and help with the cleanup. Molly, however, just waved me off, sending me home with a bunch of cake and a sad smile.
Yet another reason I was leaving.
Billy, Eli…even fucking Millie. They had all spent the whole wedding giving me the look . The one that said, Gosh, Elena, I’m sorry your crazy-hot rock-star boyfriend dropped you like a hot potato the second he became famous.
Did I even get to call him that? My boyfriend?
Ugh.
Macon had told me not to worry about cleaning the rental before I left since they had a management company for that. So, I took him for his word and packed up my stuff, all of which was mostly in Zander’s room—a place I had avoided since he’d left. That was where I found it.
His leather jacket.
It was spread across the neatly made bed, obviously left behind on purpose.
The fucking asshole.
I pulled the leather to my nose, breathing in his scent until I finally gave in and wrapped it around me. And then I got the hell out of there.
See you the fuck later, Ocracoke.
ZANDER
As soon as we landed in New York, I was whisked off to do sound checks, wardrobe fittings, makeup, photographs, and interviews.
Being a session guitarist, I had only been ever given a glimpse of what bands did during the tour. It was the gritty and intense part, but it barely encompassed a fraction of what was expected of them.
Now, I felt like I was getting a peek behind the curtain and seeing what really went on, and it was mind-boggling.
And exhausting.
“You’ll get used to it,” Evans—Manic’s bass guitarist—assured me as we stood backstage, waiting to go on.
Lance was off with Ridge, doing whatever managers did, while Hendrix got to know the guys better. He’d met them before, when he visited me on tour, and as expected, he fit right in.
“And it’s not always like this. We don’t do a lot of TV appearances.”
“Or group performances,” Asher added. “We probably could have eased you in a bit more.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” I grinned.
“You seem to be doing all right. You handled those reporters at your brother’s wedding like a pro.”
I shrugged. “That was all Lance and Ridge. I just did what they told me to.”
“And that’s the point,” Darius, interjected right before his head turned and zeroed in on some girl’s ass, his drumsticks twirling between his fingers. That guy had the attention span of a mosquito.
Evans just shook his head and finished Darius’s thought. “You handled it like a professional. You listened to your manager, aced your first interviews, and managed to get those tossers away from your brother’s wedding.”
“Manic, you’re up in two minutes,” someone announced.
We all nodded as hair and makeup people swarmed us one last time. Asher handed over his drink to his assistant. It looked gross as fuck, but I’d seen him with it before every single performance. He swore it helped his voice.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and my heart spiked.
I pulled it out immediately, hoping it was?—
It wasn’t.
“Oh, good, they got it,” Asher said over my shoulder as he looked at the photo my brother had sent.
I looked at him in confusion. Macon and Marin had sent a photo of them in a giant infinity pool overlooking the ocean.
Macon
Thank you so much for the gift. We missed you.
“What gift?” I asked him.
“I upgraded them to the presidential suite at their resort.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Why? How did you even know?—”
“People can be very forthcoming when my name is mentioned,” he said. “And we’re family now, Tate. It’s not an easy life, but we take care of each other. Mitch forgot about that. We won’t.”
And then Darius grinned and said, “Let’s go make some girls scream.”
I turned back to Hendrix, who was watching from the wings.
“Go make me proud, brother.”
“I’m sorry, who are you again?” I laughed.
“That’s the spirit.”
I walked out on that stage without a backward glance and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my life would never be the same.
ELENA
Since the majority of vacation rentals were booked from Saturday to Saturday in the Outer Banks, the drive back was relatively tame. I still hit the annoying back-to-back traffic in Virginia Beach but managed to sail right past Williamsburg.
Small miracles.
By the time I was hauling my suitcase into my apartment, I was bone-tired and in need of food.
I checked my phone for the hundredth time.
It had been over twenty-four hours since the wedding, and he still hadn’t texted me.
If Macon was right and Zander had, in fact, left to save the day, why hadn’t he reached out?
He’d asked me to go on tour with him. Had he changed his mind? Had my reaction—my reluctance—made him reconsider?
What if Macon was wrong and he’d used the reporters as an excuse to just get away from me?
I checked the time, wondering if I’d made it home in time for his concert. You know, the one he’d asked me to come to, but I’d been to chickenshit to say yes to?
Yeah, that one.
I had to do a quick Google search to figure out what channel it was on. Thankfully, it hadn’t started yet, so I flipped on my TV, and while I waited for it to start, I ordered some dinner.
I let out a deep breath.
Being in Ocracoke hadn’t felt right, but being here didn’t either. The empty apartment felt claustrophobic, and I suddenly remembered the weight of responsibilities I had to face at work.
Deciding I had nothing better to do, I opened my work email for the first time in over two weeks.
“Jesus,” I breathed out as I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled .
Usually, something like this would push me into overdrive, and I’d pull an overnighter just to see that inbox cleared. But looking at it now, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of dread.
Because I knew once I got back into that routine, there would be nothing else. Work would become my whole life again.
And for once, I wanted more.
I thought about what Zander had told me in that restaurant.
“Do something for you.”
It didn’t sound any less scary now than it had then. It sounded even scarier when I added a six-month tour with a man I’d only known for three weeks into the mix.
That’s if he even wants you …
Luckily, I didn’t need to think about that train of thought anymore.
The concert was starting.
Some annoying, overly enthusiastic MC started off by introducing himself—a young actor I’d never heard of. The crowd went crazy, and he preened like a goddamn peacock from their praise. He talked about the charity the bands were supporting, and then each band was listed off while a giant screen ran B-roll footage behind them. The moment Manic at Midnight was announced, the crowd erupted.
The screams were so loud that I had to turn the volume down.
The camera zoomed in on a huge group of girls, all wearing custom Knight Rider shirts with two strategically placed hearts with a picture of Asher’s face.
I’ll give you two guesses where those hearts were placed.
My attention drifted in and out after that. Some of the bands I liked, so I’d turn it up and listen. Others I was less enthusiastic about, and I’d find myself scrolling social media. At some point, my food arrived, and soon, they announced the second-to-last band. I poked my mandarin chicken, all while an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies looped-the-loops in my belly.
Finally, after what felt like the longest commercial break of all time, Manic at Midnight took the stage.
And I forgot how to breathe.
I leaned forward, my legs tucked underneath me as I watched the front man, Asher, take the mic. He was gorgeous. Tight, lean muscle all on display with only a black vest and low-slung jeans to cover him. There was a reason he had legions of fans.
But all of my attention was on the man to his right.
If I had any doubts he might be nervous, they were washed away in that instant.
He looked like he owned that stage.
This is really happening.
His hair had been given the just fucked treatment, and the black jeans and ripped tank he wore made his body look ridiculous.
Mine.
The thought was so intense that I wanted to reach through the screen just so I could lick him in front of all those skanky women to prove my point.
But then Asher stepped up to the mic, his blue eyes blazing. “Hello.”
One word, and chaos ensued. Girls were screaming and calling out his name.
Finally, after what felt like five fucking minutes later, he said, “If you haven’t heard, we added a new member to our motley crew. You might have seen him lurking around onstage if you happened to join us on tour this year. He’s an American, but we won’t hold that against him. ” Asher grinned, that Scottish brogue working its magic over the crowd. He turned, his mouth still pressed to the mic. “Meet our new lead guitarist and backup vocalist, Zander Tate. Isn’t he lovely, ladies?”
Zander did a little medley on his guitar before the camera panned the audience. There were women everywhere, waving signs in the air, screaming his name.
Marry me, Zander!
Asher and Zander, you be the bread. I’ll be the jam.
Zander! Remember me from Tucson? Call me!
The last one actually had a phone number the camera had to blur out, but it was enough to make me nauseous. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known he had a past. But I also didn’t want to be reminded about it on live television.
I pulled the jacket I still wore tightly around my body.
The camera was back on the band. Specifically Zander. He was looking at Asher, shaking his head, laughing.
He looked happy, and I found myself swimming in doubt.
He’d spent his entire life chasing this dream, and he’d found it.
He didn’t need me riding his coattails.