Chapter 20
today is going to be a disaster
HAYDEN
By some miracle, I remained cool and collected on the outside this morning while on the inside, I was obsessing over her. Over us. While I was physically in the kitchen with her, mentally, I was in my bedroom, tangled up with her in my sheets, surrounded by her scent, her taste, her sounds.
Just once…yeah, right. As if I don’t want to do it all over again and again and again.
But I agreed it could only happen once.
What’s going on in my head, I honestly have no clue.
After my shower, in my bedroom, all I see is Riley. Her blonde hair spilled over my pillow, her quiet breathing, her body pressed to mine like she belongs there.
“Pull yourself together. Stop thinking with your dick,” I hiss.
I slap my cheeks, willing myself to snap out of it and get dressed. Then, I force myself to leave my bedroom without looking back. Wyatt is already waiting for me downstairs.
The meeting is even more exhausting than I thought it would be. Glenn facilitates, discussing the details with the executives. Jimmy and Bo reminisce about Owen, how he joined the band right before our breakout, how much he meant to all of us, to Sabotage and our fans.
I sit with my fists clenched under the desk, my leg bouncing.
From time to time, I speak, adding context to their stories, because that’s what’s expected of me.
The label wants us to put out a tribute album with unreleased music we recorded before we lost Owen.
All I want is to fucking hide until I feel like myself again.
None of it will bring him back. Not the music, not the songs, not the album.
“What do you think?” Glenn fixes his gaze on me, one eyebrow arched. “Have time to go to the studio today?”
No. “Sure. Why not?”
Every person around the table looks relieved.
It’s like they thought I would say no. The break was my idea, after all.
At first, we kept going. I’d hoped I could find the cure to my grief in our music, but two months after Owen’s death, I went into the studio and broke down.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t even hear.
When I finally came back to reality, I smashed a guitar then ran to the restroom, where I put my fist through a mirror.
The small scar on my left hand is a constant reminder of that day.
Everyone was so understanding, but I was disgusted with myself.
Ashamed. I talked to Glenn, then to Jimmy and Bo.
I told them all I needed was a break. I couldn’t be in the studio, couldn’t continue playing.
Making music had lost its appeal. Every time I brushed my fingers over guitar strings or piano keys, all I could see was my friend in that hotel room.
That’s why I know today will be a disaster.
In the studio, I hide in a corner and listen to song after song. I close my eyes and imagine Owen standing on the other side of the glass, singing and playing his parts.
I’m dying on the inside. This is too much.
Bo swivels in his chair. “This one is particularly good, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it is,” I agree. “Though we’ll need to rerecord some of the guitar beats and maybe the last chorus.”
Lips pursed, he nods. “You’re right.”
When silence falls over us, I relish it.
But I only get a second of peace before Jimmy pipes up. “It feels good to be back in the studio. Therapeutic, even.” He glances between Bo and me. “I miss it.”
“Me too,” Bo says.
I don’t. I’m useless here. I can’t write music or lyrics. I’m just a voice, and I don’t even enjoy that anymore.
“What about you?” Jimmy asks me.
Irritation festers under my skin. Isn’t it clear I don’t want to talk about it?
“I need more time.” I look at my feet. “Music isn’t a cure for me anymore. I don’t feel anything when I play.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Jimmy rakes a hand through his hair, frowning. “Has anyone heard from Ines? I called her a few times to check on her and Santi, but the conversations were short. I don’t think she was all that happy to hear from me.”
“Same.” Bo shrugs. “She was never really fond of us, so I’m not surprised.”
“You’re wrong. She loves Sabotage, and she respects all of us.
” I clasp my hands together to hide the way they tremble.
“Ever think about showing up rather than just calling occasionally? Or dropping something off for Santi instead of halfheartedly asking what she needs? She lost her husband, her son’s father.
” My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry. “The person she loved. She’s all alone. She needs actions, not words.”
“I didn’t want to trouble her,” Bo says, his lips tugged down in a frown.
“And what do you mean she’s all alone? Owen’s parents suggested she move to LA to be closer to them. She could have their support if she wanted it.” Jimmy eyes me from under his furrowed brow.
I sigh. It’s not their fault they don’t understand Ines’ relationship with Owen’s mom, but it’s not my place to explain it to them either.
“New York is their home. Owen and Ines chose to build their life here, just like the rest of us did. Why would she want to leave?” I huff, standing. “I need a moment. Sorry.”
“Hade?” Glenn calls as I storm out.
I don’t turn around. I don’t reply. My mood is in fucking shambles.
We don’t talk about what caused my outburst, and no one brings up Ines again. For the next few hours, we focus on music. We even laugh a few times, reminiscing about the good old days.
Once the guys leave and I’m alone, I listen to the songs until I don’t hear music anymore, until I can’t make out a single word.
My head is filled with noise, memories imprinted in my brain.
Owen making me listen to “Need You Now,” the first track he wrote for Sabotage.
The four of us on stage in London the first time we played it for our fans.
Meeting Ines. His whispered confession that he thought she was the one.
Partying after shows. His gloomy moods toward the end. The morning I found him. His funeral.
The kaleidoscope of images makes my chest burn. I drop to the floor and sit with my back against the wall, one hand pressed over my heart, willing the pain to subside.
It doesn’t.
And I don’t know if it ever will.
Instead of heading home, I go to the bar below the studio. The owner, a guy with a bushy mustache named Emmett, recognizes me right away. He keeps the drinks coming, just like he used to when Owen and I would come in after recording sessions.
Not a day goes by that I don’t miss my friend.
Nothing is the same without him. The world is dull and colorless.
Years ago, when I struggled to write music, I still found joy in playing.
Losing myself in the guitar or the piano was the best medicine for my problems. Now? It feels like a fucking curse.
I down another drink. Alcohol does nothing to improve my mood, but it quiets the voices in my head.
“Been a while, Hade.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, my muscles lock up, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
I come face-to-face with my former dealer, the man I bought from back when I partied nonstop. Like a ghost from my past, ready to kick me when I’m down, when I’m too tired to resist, Kyle saunters over.
He slides onto the stool beside me. “How are you?”
Anger bubbles up inside me, making my gut churn. “What do you want?”
“Just wanted to see how my old friend is doing.”
I scowl. “I’m not your friend.”
His responding chuckle makes the hair on the back of my neck stand.
“Everyone who’s ever bought from me is my friend. Sorry about Owen, by the way. He was very talented.”
I ball my fists, my vision blurring. “Thanks.”
Head tilted, Kyle watches me. “Anything I can help you with? Maybe something to lighten your mood? Grief can be consuming.”
As drunk and despondent as I am, an escape is tempting, but I shake my head. “I’m done with all that.”
“Whatever you want, mate.” He pats me on the shoulder and wanders away.
As I watch him leave, I realize how packed the bar is. I’ve been so lost in my own head, I didn’t notice how many people had filtered in. I shouldn’t be here. The last thing I need is the paps catching me stumbling out of here.
I pay my tab and exit carefully, trying not to trip over myself. Wyatt spots me right away and hops out of the car so he can help me into the back seat. He never asks questions, never lectures me. He just lets me be and takes me where I need to go.
When I step out of the elevator at my penthouse, the whole place is dark. Good. It’s after one, and I don’t want her to see me like this.
Drunk. Broken. Useless.
I head to my bedroom, my hand on the wall for balance as the world swims. I pause at Riley’s partially open door and peer in.
When I find her fast asleep, a wave of memories from last night hits me.
Her lips. Her skin. Her voice.
Her sweet moans and my name spilling from her mouth.
My fingers in her hair.
Her nipples in my mouth.
The taste of her on my tongue.
Last night was perfect, raw and real.
I haven’t felt that good, that connected to myself and another person, in a very long time, if fucking ever. No woman has ever felt as good in my arms as Riley.
She fell asleep with her head slotted under my chin, her warmth comforting me as I drifted off. For the first time since Owen’s death, I didn’t want morning to come. I wanted to revel in the moment.
Now, she’s on her right side, blanket tucked between her thighs, hair in a braid.
She looks so damn peaceful. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to join her.
All I want is to step into her room, climb into her bed, and hold her until morning comes.
To soak in her warmth so I can feel alive again.
But that would be unfair to her. It would break the promise I made.
Last night was a fucking dream come true, but it can’t happen again.
So, I slowly pull her door closed and head to my room, hoping the quiet will seep into me and filter out the noise.