Chapter Twenty-Two #2
He shuts his eyes and slowly opens them with a pained expression. “Is that what you think?” His voice is barely a whisper.
“No, it’s what I know,” I reply with some emphasis, trying to wriggle from his grip.
Colt holds onto me tightly, and those persistent tears creep up on me again.
“Dee, you know that’s not true.”
I struggle against him on the ensuite floor, but I am too weak. He ends up holding me and rocking us back and forth. I don’t know when it started, but my tears are flowing freely, and I don’t know how I feel. I know I’m still nauseous, and it’s like a part of me is dying right here in his arms.
“No, Colt, I don’t know.” My voice shakes as the tears stream down my face.
“You’re never here. You barely touch me anymore.
I can’t even remember the last time you kissed me.
And you still can’t tell me you love me.
” I swallow hard, the weight of my own words crushing me.
“Maybe that’s because you don’t. Maybe you never have. Maybe you never will.”
He exhales slowly, his fingers threading gently through my hair.
“Dee… I won’t say it now. Not like this.
You’re drunk, and that’s on me.” His voice is quiet but firm, full of something unreadable.
“I never want you to feel the way you do right now. I’m sorry, baby.
” His lips press against my head, and I break, sobbing softly into his chest.
Time blurs. My body feels heavy, exhaustion dragging me under. When my tears finally dry, Colt shifts, loosening his hold on me. He stands, then bends down, slipping his arms beneath me.
I don’t fight it. I just cling to his neck as he lifts me, my head lolling back. I know he’s walking, carrying me somewhere, but the world tilts, and I drift in and out, lost somewhere between sleep, sorrow, and not caring anymore.
When I wake, I find I’m back in our private suite, and Colt isn’t next to me, as usual.
I lift my head and immediately regret it, gasping as a sharp, pounding pain sends stars bursting behind my eyes. Groaning, I roll onto my side, my body sluggish and heavy.
Colt is sitting in a chair, watching me intently. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, laced with something that looks an awful lot like anguish.
I exhale slowly, trying to piece together the night before. The memories are hazy—drinking with Anna until we passed out, laughter that turned messy, and then…
… the bathroom.
The vague sensation of cold tile against my skin, the burn of alcohol coming back up.
Yeah. That checks out.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
Colt exhales. “How are you feeling?” His tone is distant.
I push myself up, but the moment I do, my head spins. Gripping the bed for balance, I take a steadying breath before swinging my legs over the side.
Colt sits there, unmoving, his expression unreadable—but serious. Too serious.
A horrible feeling knots in my gut. Whatever he’s about to say, I already know I won’t like it. There’s anger in his eyes, barely restrained.
“Um… I’m okay. A little foggy, but I think I’ll live,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.
Colt stands abruptly. “I have to take care of a few things before we board the jet for France, but… I’ll see you there?”
It’s a question.
And that scares the hell out of me.
My throat tightens.
I can’t speak.
I. Can’t. Speak.
All I can do is nod.
He half-smiles—forced, strained—then leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head. He hesitates. I feel it! That moment when he wants to say something more. But then, just like that, he turns and walks out.
I watch him go, my stomach sinking with the unmistakable certainty that things between us are definitely not okay.
***
Anna sits beside me on the jet, silent, lost in her own world.
When I walked on board, I caught Colt watching me. For a split second, I thought I saw relief flicker in his eyes as I passed him to take my usual seat. But he didn’t say a word. No one did.
Tamara handed me my tablet, and the meds have taken the edge off, but my head still pounds from last night.
Colt and the guys have been locked in the jet’s office with Rob for nearly the entire two-hour flight to France, leaving the rest of us in an exhausted, uneasy quiet.
Anna isn’t talkative either, so we sit next to each other, zoning in and out for most of the flight, lost in our own thoughts.
Now, we’re heading straight from the airport to The Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy for tonight’s concert in the usual stretch Hummer.
The mood in the car is heavy. It is nothing like the electric buzz we had at the start of the tour.
Conversations are hushed, and no one seems particularly eager to break the silence.
Anna and I sit in the back, our hands finding each other in a quiet exchange of comfort. The guys are murmuring about the setlist, but even that feels subdued.
As we pull up to the venue, a sea of screaming fans swarms the entrance.
Their energy is intoxicating, but I can’t bring myself to feel it.
Instead, I mentally remind myself not to take my sunglasses off.
The last thing I need is for the cameras to catch my red, puffy eyes against my pale, exhausted face.
The car stops. Anna and I step out together, sunglasses firmly in place, and walk inside without waiting for anyone else. We push through the backstage doors marked Slayettes and head straight for the couch, flopping down in unison with a shared exhale.
The other girls rush in, buzzing with excitement, but I stay quiet, sinking into the cushions. Slowly, I remove my sunglasses and shove them on top of my head in an exaggerated movement that resembles someone who is waiting to face the inevitable.
Everyone around me is chatting, getting pumped for the show.
But I can’t shake it—that nagging, suffocating feeling clawing at my chest.
Something is coming.
Sia walks in, her gaze locking onto us.
She huffs, pushing her way between us. “Right, you two. You need to cheer the fuck up ’cause you’re bringing the boys down. Colt doesn’t even want to do the show tonight, and you both look like you’re dead and about to start decaying at any second,” Sia states, slapping us both on our knees.
“It’s okay for you… you get to see your husband every day, Mamma.
We miss our guys. I know this is part of it, but would one day, just for us, now and then, be such a bad thing?
They look like they’re running themselves ragged, and I’m worried that this will come crashing down on us all,” Anna says, and I nod in agreement.
“I know it’s hard having them gone for so long, but it’s only three and a half more months. Then we break, and you can have them all to yourselves. Stop being selfish and let the boys live their dream,” she replies.
For the first time since I met Sia, I want to bitch slap her.
Hard.
Into next fucking week.
I frown as Sia turns to leave, but just before stepping out, she throws one last parting shot over her shoulder.
“Oh, and girls? You’re supposed to be in the band’s dressing room, not hanging out with the groupies.
So, c’mon…” She points. “Go show your guys that you actually support them.” And with that, she walks out, leaving the words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.
I glance at Anna, and she simply shrugs.
We stand and head toward the band’s dressing room, but my stomach knots the closer we get. Why do I feel like I’m about to walk into a place I don’t belong?
As soon as we step inside, Johnny’s face lights up.
His eyes lock onto Anna, and within seconds, he’s across the room, sweeping her into his arms. He spins her around, making her laugh—really laugh—for the first time in days.
When he sets her down, he kisses her, deep and unrestrained, like he’s making up for lost time.
I smile at them, warmth flickering in my chest, but it fades as my gaze drifts around the room.
Colt’s not here.
A dull ache settles in my stomach. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around myself—a habit I thought I’d grown out of. The room suddenly feels too loud, too full, too not right.
Needing a distraction, I make my way to the back of the room, grabbing a Coke from the refrigerator. As I crack it open, Dingo pats my shoulder in a way that feels too much like sympathy. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and he swallows hard before turning away, heading straight for Sia.
And just like that, the uneasy feeling twisting in my gut gets even worse.
What the hell was that about?
Laughter echoes from the hallway, light and carefree, the kind that twists something sharp in my chest.
I turn toward the door just in time to see Colt walk in…
With Jessi hanging off his arm.
A lump lodges in my throat, stealing my breath as I struggle to swallow.
The second Colt sees me, he instantly pulls away from her, his expression shifting. But Jessi? She smirks—fucking smirks—before rising onto her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek, slow and deliberate. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Thanks, Colt, that was amazing,” she says, straightening out her top and tousling her hair like it has been messed up by a round of raunchy romping in the sack.