Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Logan
I don’t remember half of where we went, and I couldn’t name a single band we saw. For the most part, I trailed behind the guys like a ghost.
Salem and Arya weren’t answering their phones, so after the music ended, we had dinner and checked out the booths. I smiled when I was supposed to, ate a burger even though it tasted like ash, and took a video of Taylor losing a hula-hoop contest to Christian.
It's not until the crowd begins to thin, leaving glittery trash in their wake, that we head back toward the RV.
Christian walks beside me while Tay and Huck hold hands ahead, happy and in love.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly jealous of how carefree they are, even though I know they had to fight to get there.
Is that how love is supposed to be? A bloody battle of good intentions, harsh words and misunderstanding? Is It ever easy? Maybe the kind of love you have to fight for isn’t the one I want in the end.
I don't want to slay dragons or vanquish evil like in all the stories; I just want my person.
Someone to choose me from day one and never stop, because I know damn well I never would.
That's it. No epic tale, no third-act breakup with a plot twist. Just your run-of-the-mill, boring, paying-taxes-til-we-die love story.
Maybe I’m asking too much.
“You okay, man?” Christian asks, startling me a bit. I whip my head toward him.
“Uh, yeah. I'm fine.”
His hazel eyes search my face intently, and I glance away with burning ears. Ever since the entire group found out about my history with Devon, it's been awkward as hell. Especially around Christian, given that he also has something going on with Dev, whatever that may be.
“So,” he says after a moment. “Devon's a real hijo de puta, huh?”
I don't really know what he said, but judging from his tone, I surmise that it's not good. “Guess so.”
Nodding, he types something out on his phone quickly. “Good talk, hermano.”
Then he claps me on the shoulder before speeding up to walk with Tay and Huck. I frown after him because what the fuck was that? Good talk?
“Found our girls,” he says, throwing an arm around Taylor's shoulder. Right on cue, Arya’s loud giggle reaches my ears.
I turn just in time to see her practically skip toward us, cheeks flushed. Her heels are in her hand, eyeliner smeared, and Salem walks beside her with that loose, floaty posture of someone who’s had too much to drink. When she sees us, her grey eyes light up like the Fourth of July.
But only for a second.
They land on me, and the spark winks out, leaving behind a cold indifference. I feel it like a sharp stab to the chest.
Arya doesn't seem to notice the shift as she throws her arms in the air. “We got tattoos, bitches!”
Taylor chokes on his spit, blue-green eyes bugging out. “You what? Without me?”
“Matching ones!”
“They’re not matching,” Salem sighs, rubbing her forehead like she's fed up with Arya’s shit.
“Okay, we coordinated.”
“Not even close.”
Arya ignores her and turns to Christian with a heated grin. “Guess where mine is.”
Huck closes his eyes in preparation. “Please don't say it's somewhere none of us want to see—”
Too late.
Arya yanks up her crop top, flashing not only us but everybody walking by as well.
“Called it,” Huck mutters just as Christian curses in Spanish.
“Salem!” he growls, grabbing both his girlfriend's tits. As much as I try to look away like the gentleman I am, I'm actually not. I'm totally staring at Arya’s huge rack. “Did you fucking brand my girl?”
We all crowd close to read the words "Salem’s Sugar Baby” inked above her left nipple.
Christian's face turns red. “Are you kidding me?”
Arya shrugs, entirely unbothered as she tugs her top back down. “She did pay for it, so.”
He makes a strangled sound and drags his hand down his face. I ignore them both, stepping closer to my wife instead. She eyes me warily, arm still out for Taylor to inspect her first tattoo.
“Looks pretty good,” he hums, turning it from side to side. “Lines are clean. I'm super pissed you did it without me, though.”
“You can choose my next one.” She rolls her eyes, and they land on me once more as I study the ink. It's a small camera, no bigger than the middle of my palm, flowing neatly into the curve of her arm. Delicate and beautiful.
“What does it mean?” I ask, reaching out to touch it before stopping myself.
Salem turns away with a shrug and follows the group back toward the RV. “It means nothing. Just a stencil on a piece of paper that Arya picked out for me.”
The waver in her voice clues me in on the lie, but I let it go, trailing behind with my hands in my pockets. She wouldn't tell me anyway, and if I'm being honest, I'm exhausted. Even when we dated, Salem always had her heart locked up tight. The key has long since vanished.
I keep my head down the entire trek back, listening to Christian bitch about writing his name over Salem’s once his girlfriend's tattoo heals. Taylor seems to think it's hilarious. The two get into a wrestling match, rolling around on the dirt as one tries to put the other in a headlock.
By the time we reach our spot, the grounds have cleared out, but the buses and vans are still alive with activity. People hang around, some of them bands and some of them vendors, drinking over coolers and passing around joints.
Salem walks ahead silently, her buzz clearly starting to fade. I watch the tension creep back into her shoulders from under my lashes, and if it weren't for the fact that my eyes were already on her, I would have tripped when she skids to a stop.
“No way.” Her spine snaps straight. “Cedar?”
Following her gaze, I take in the group of people sitting outside a bus next to our RV. A girl with long black hair looks over and waves a tattooed arm, grinning in surprise. “Hey! Camera girl and tit girl!”
The men surrounding her laugh. A band, I think, judging from the instruments a few of them are strumming. One drinks amber liquid from a tumbler as he talks to a curly-haired guy twirling drumsticks.
Huck sucks in a gasp before turning to Salem excitedly. “Tell me you know what band that is.”
“Am I dreaming, or is As Above parked right outside our shitty RV,” she whispers back. The two of them start to quietly freak out.
Taylor, however, wraps his arms around his boyfriend possessively and squints at the drummer.
“Oh my god, you're the girl that inked us,” Arya squeals, yanking herself out of Christian's grip.
“Guilty.” Cedar jerks a thumb at the guitarist next to her. “I moonlight as a stabby artist when I’m not babysitting this one.”
He smirks without looking up from his guitar. “I like it when you get stabby.”
Arya grips the bottom of her shirt. “Do you guys wanna see my new tattoo?”
All of us shout "No!” in unison, and Christian saves his girl from flashing the entire band. Salem can only shake her head in shame, but Cedar bursts into laughter.
Everyone gets chatty after that, except for me. Apparently, one of the band members saw the stunt show and wants to talk about dirt bikes. Two of them recognize Huck as a linebacker for the Ravens, and the girls are off on their own conversation about women in the tattoo industry.
I stand to the side, watching the conversation like an outsider.
An imposter. Every single person on this trip has something going for them, but I'm just here wasting space. I’m not even doing the job they brought me along to do.
Jesus, even Devon is pulling his weight around here, and I'm just doing exactly what Salem accused me of: eating all the food and coasting on her work.
My brows furrow when I realize that I actually haven't seen Dev all day, not since he complained about a headache and hung back in the RV.
After making sure my friends are occupied, I climb the rickety stairs and shut out all the noise.
Pitch black greets me. All the curtains are drawn, no ounce of light permeating the space. Marijuana smoke floods my nostrils.
“Seriously, Devon?” I growl, feeling around for a light switch. “We said no weed in the RV. And why are you smoking in the dark?”
I flick on the light above the stove to find him sitting on the floor against the bunks, a bottle of whiskey and my fishbowl sitting next to him.
“I have a concussion, asshole,” he grumbles around a joint, covering his eyes. “Turn that shit off. My head feels like it's cracking in two.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, I plunge us back into darkness.
Our breathing is the only sound in the RV for a beat, blocking out the chatter and laughter from beyond.
My eyes adjust to the dark when Dev takes a slow drag off his joint, its cherry red tip lighting the way for me to drop down across from him.
“Should you be doing all that on pain pills?”
He scoffs and lifts the bottle to his mouth. “Should you be in here bothering me instead of out there with your fake ass friends?”
I cross my arms with a glare. “This what we're doing now? Finding new ways to hurt each other?”
“You started it.”
Those words hook into my chest, burrowing deep. I study his busted-up face in the dark. “Yeah, I know.”
Devon's eyes meet mine, and something passes between us. When he offers me the bottle, I take it, gulping down a large swig. The whiskey burns my throat, but I take another drink before handing it back.
And that's how the conversation starts—with us passing the bottle back and forth in silence, over and over, until I've got a good buzz going. It’s Dev who finally breaks the silence.
“So,” he starts as he inhales another hit off his joint. “You had a crush on me.”
“Jesus. I'm not drunk enough for this conversation.”
“Was I your awakening?” He looks far too smug for someone with two black eyes and stitches on his cheek.
“My awakening was Darth Vader. Don't flatter yourself.”
Devon sputters on his mouthful of whiskey, wiping his chin. “Really? Why?”
“None ya bidniss.” I kick his leg and snatch the bottle back.