Chapter 7 #2
God, I’m trying so hard. Giving every damn breath I have to survive and keep the people I love alive. And it’s still not enough. It’s never enough. I couldn’t save Elena, and now I’m watching Luke slip away right in front of me. Again!
I’m not enough for the band.
For the Label.
For the fans and the masses who expect me to be Luke, and hate that I’m not.
That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? Trying to hold the world together while being punished over and over for the choices of someone else.
And still, I love him. Still, I come back.
I scrub a hand over my hair, gripping the wet strands as I drive my head into the wall with slow, weak hits. A sickening beat forming the steady rhythm of my failures.
Salty drops mix with the streams of water down my cheeks. My quiet frustration mercifully drowned out.
I gasp in air, fighting to pull myself together. I don’t have a choice. I have to get back to Luke. There’s never time to worry about myself. I have to make sure…
Except, this time Callie’s there. She has him for now.
I pull in a lungful of air. Water pelts me from all sides, and I spend the next few minutes focusing on the physical sensation so my brain can relax.
The storm quiets.
The dizzying trauma reels fade.
I’m finally able to straighten from the wall and turn my face into the stream to let it cleanse me back to the man I want to be.
I remember an entire shower too late that I didn’t bring a clean change of clothes. I came right from my previous hotel, so all I have is the small carryon I packed that was supposed to be for a quick overnight trip.
Good thing Luke and I are about the same size.
After wrapping a towel around my waist, I head to his room to raid his wardrobe.
In the opposite direction, I hear the clatter of the main suite door, which means more people are leaving.
The riotous atmosphere has faded into the din of murmured conversation.
Hopefully, by the time I’m dressed, I’ll only have a few stragglers to deal with.
Callie looks up when I enter the room, and I manage a bright smile. I do feel a lot better than I did a few minutes ago.
“Man, you weren’t kidding!” I say, running a hand through my wet hair.
Her gaze locks on me, but she doesn’t speak. In complete silence, her eyes roam over my body in slow perusal like she’s mad at me again. Or confused. I don’t know, but it’s awkward as hell.
I break the weird staring contest by turning my attention to Luke’s dresser.
“Have you tried it? The wall one?” I call back in an effort to make conversation. “Completely ridiculous.”
“This morning, actually,” she says finally. “Well, I guess, technically, it was yesterday at this point.”
I find a pair of jeans that should fit and tug them on beneath the towel. Callie’s back to her silent treatment, and I face her again while using the towel on my hair. Her expression is still a mix of reactions I can’t interpret as she watches.
Intense hazel eyes scour my chest, down my stomach to my waist and…
Oh.
Hell.
Yes.
I suppress a grin and decide to torture her instead.
Just for fun, I adjust to a more relaxed position against the edge of the dresser, leaning back in an open invitation to look.
On cue, her gaze drops to the newly exposed skin along my hips.
It might be the first time in my life I’m grateful Luke is slightly bigger than I am, because these jeans are the perfect amount of loose right now.
“Who the hell needs a wall shower? What’s that about?” I say casually, as if I haven’t noticed the energy shift in the room.
She shrugs. I don’t even think she heard me.
This. Is. Amazing.
When she randomly climbs off the bed to leave, I can barely keep a straight face.
“Where are you going?” I ask innocently as she’s forced to stop where I’m standing.
Her gaze darts to every point in the room except me.
“ Nowhere. Just thought I’d take a break from this room for a while.
Luke is doing fine. He woke up a second ago and mumbled some stuff that made no sense, but at least proves he’s starting to work his way back to our world.
Is it safe yet?” I swear she said all that in one breath.
So freaking funny.
“Out there?” I point toward the door. You better believe I’ll drag this out as long as I can.
“Yeah, is everyone gone?”
I shrug and clench the edge of the dresser on either side of me. Her gaze lingers on the flex of my bicep. Down to my forearm. And back to some speck of invisible dirt in the ceiling.
“Got me,” I say. “Probably. I cut off bar service, so I doubt anyone will stick around much longer.”
“I’ll go check.”
Of course she will. But I can’t let her off the hook that easily.
I school my expression into concern. “You got weird all of a sudden. You okay?”
She blinks back a panicked response before forcing the worst fake smile I’ve ever seen.
“Fine, yeah, just need a change of scenery for a bit, that’s all.”
I return a grave nod, because that makes so much sense. “Okay, sure. Let me finish up here and I’ll meet you out front.”
She pauses for a moment, waiting for me to move out of her way.
I could.
But I don’t.
Her tiny dress means it’s easy for me to see her chest move in a sharp inhale when she has to squeeze past me.
Also, she one hundred percent just sniffed me with that quick inhale.
I’m still grinning as I turn back to the dresser to find a shirt.
Bright light streams into the hall from the main living space when I head back to check on things. The murmur of indistinct whining and muttered curses drifts through the air, making it pretty obvious what’s happening.
My grin becomes a straight up chuckle when I reach the end of the hall to see the blaring recessed lights igniting the room, and our girl manhandling a gathering of entitled A-Listers.
“Does anyone need a cab?” she calls in the perfect mix of sardonic sincerity.
No one bites, but she earns plenty of scowls as the irritated guests file past. For the record, from the look of it, she gives zero fucks. If writing doesn’t work out for her, she’d be great at concert security.
I could watch this all day.
“Thanks, everyone,” she hums. She even does the genteel courtesy wave she’s probably seen on TV. I hold back a snort. “Thanks for coming. Actually, if you ask for Mara Jacobson in the lobby, I’m sure she’ll be happy to book a room for you. Thank you.”
Her suggestion is even funnier considering almost all of these people are here because they already have rooms.
“Oops, your purse…” the ever-alert hostess points out when a guest drops something. “Yes, there… Thank you… Thank you… Thanks…”
She snaps a look in my direction and goes still when she sees me. Her expression is somewhere between relieved and annoyed, and I love that I have no idea if it’s because of me or her thankless task of crowd control.
I perform a slight bow, urging her to continue.
Her eye-roll is priceless, but she must want to clear this room more than banter with me, because she quickly regroups.
Thing is, she already kicked ass at kicking ass, and the place is empty.
Almost .
“You missed one,” I joke as I come up beside her.
We stare down at the passed-out media mogul on the couch.
The last time I saw this man, I was a starving artist and he was an opportunistic asshole shaking my hand with a toothy grin.
It was a disturbing look for a man who’d just demanded a shady photoshoot at his personal residence in exchange for a feature in something. I don’t even remember what.
I passed on the shoot.
“What do we do?” Callie asks, tilting her head like he’s a problem she can’t solve.
“That’s Orin Cantea.”
“Who?”
“Orin Cantea? Rhinehearst Media?”
Her irritated look stays glued to the snoring CEO. “Does that mean he freeloads on other people’s couches?”
“Freeloads?” I laugh. “The guy is a gazillionaire.”
She shrugs and turns back to him. “Good. So he has people that can come get him.”
I blink at her in awe before shaking my head. Unbelievable. “Nothing fazes you, does it? Or is it, no one ?”
“Probably both,” she replies in a flippant tone. “I’m beat, but not ready to sleep. Want to watch a movie or are you ready to crash?”
That’s an easy question. Only one answer involves spending more time with her.
Just one problem.
“What about him?” I say, staring back at Orin.
With an annoyed huff, she waves toward the loveseat against the far wall.
“Think we can move him over there so we can have the good couch?” she suggests.
I bite back another smile and nod. “Probably. You get his feet. I’ll get the top half.”