Chapter 17
CRAWL
“He’s half your size,” Michael tears into me. “What the hell were you thinking? Look at what’s happened!”
I can't breathe. White spots flash in my vision, my Ma’s cries ring as my dad’s blows echo.
“We’ve lost everything.” His voice cracks. Reality crashes down on him, but I don’t care—can’t care.
I fucking snapped. I lost it. Hurt someone just like my dad.
Pathetic whimpers slip past my lips as I drop my head between my knees.
You really did it this time, Devon. Just like your Pa.
It’s just my life that I have two good-for-nothing, abusive men leeching from me.
I don’t know what I did to deserve it, either.
I’m a good woman. I do what I’m supposed to.
I can hear her like she’s right beside me, telling me how horrible I am. Genetically flawed because of him.
It’s been years since I lost control—and of all people, I chose Lex.
Our fucking manager.
On a video set.
Without him, we’d be nobodies. How could I do this? Why couldn’t I just walk away? Deep down, I know why.
He came for Michael—my best friend, my anchor, the only thing keeping me from darkness.
“They’re going to drop us. It’s going to happen. I’m going to have to go crawling back to my dad and tell him how I failed.”
“Lex will fix it,” Kelly says, her voice wary but hopeful. “He always does.”
“You can’t fix this, Kel!” Michael booms. “We fought on company property! Destroyed half the damn set!”
At least two lights, some sound equipment, and who knows what else got trashed in the fight.
“And not to mention, in case any of you failed to notice, Devon nearly strangled Lex!”
“They’re going to call the cops,” Phoenix says. “I already went to jail once this year.”
“Oh fuck off, Fe,” Michael growls.
“Stop it,” I whisper. “Stop it.”
“Shut up,” Michael scolds me. “You don’t get to talk right now.”
He’s gone off the rails now, losing his temper with everyone watching. Normally, only I see this side of him.
I tuck deeper into myself. “And who died and made you his dad?” Jorge defends me. “This is all so fucked up! I can’t handle this shit!” I can hear the tears even though I’m not looking. “Since when do we beat up each other? We’re family. Fucking family!”
“This family has been dysfunctional for a while now,” Michael says. “Too much has happened.”
“I don’t know that I want to be mixed up in all of this,” Oli says, his voice low and nervous.
“Don’t say that,” Phoenix begs. “We’ll get it figured out.”
“No, the fuck we won’t because our band manager just got choked out by our bassist, and the director is currently screaming to our label! God, you are all so clueless! It’s over! It’s fucking done.” Michael storms off.
We really are fucking dreadful.
Lex is perched on the bed, listening quietly to Nils on the phone.
For the past hour, they’ve been discussing today’s earlier events. I can’t stomach looking at him for too long without reliving how I nearly killed him with my bare hands.
Everything he said to Michael wasn’t wrong. I just didn’t like it. Michael hasn’t come to the hotel at all. He’s not responding to texts or calls, either. I’m worried sick he’s going to do something stupid.
All he’s ever wanted since he was a kid is to be a guitar player.
He promised his mom that he’d never stop playing.
Music is his entire world, and if Kingsport drops us, we’ll never get signed by another label.
We’ll be stuck as some B-grade indie band forever.
Word spreads fast in this industry. We will be blacklisted, and other bands won’t want to work with us either.
If I’ve destroyed Michael’s dream, I don’t know what he’ll do.
“I understand, sir,” Lex says, but his tone has shifted.
He sounds content. “Of course. Absolutely.” A light chuckle.
“I know it’s not the first time, but it’s unacceptable even if you’re Motley Crue.
” There’s a long silence, and the soft voice on the other end doesn’t send any warning bells that we’re being fired.
A surge of potent relief fills me. “You can count on it. And they will understand. After the tour, we can reschedule.”
He mumbles a few uh-huhs and yes, sirs. “Sounds good. Thank you again for being so understanding. I’ll update you once we’re back in the studio. Take care.” He hangs up and blows out a breath.
I hold mine. I don’t dare move; the silence hangs heavily in the hotel room.
The man doesn’t talk for a long time—so long that I don’t think he ever will. Eventually, though, he reaches up to his throat and gently rubs the bruises. “I should press charges,” he says softly.
“Lex—”
“I won’t because the band needs you. But let me make something perfectly clear, Devon.
” He pauses for dramatic effect or perhaps just to make me fucking sweat bullets.
When he flicks his eyes in my direction, my stomach drops.
“If you thought I hated you before, you are wrong. I wanted you to hear me out—let me explain why I lied to you. But you never wanted to hear me out. You wanted a villain to blame, so I wore the costume just to appease you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I cut him off. “I never meant to hurt you.”
He holds up his hand. “I hate you, Devon. No one has made me feel as low or as fucking evil as you have.”
The words die in my throat.
“Every good thing I have done, you make sure to point out is never enough. And I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I don’t want to be enough for you. In any way.”
“That’s not fucking fair,” I say against my better judgment. “This,” I gesture between us, “goes both ways. It’s not all me.”
He glares at me. “I hit you once.”
“You fucking throat punched me after kissing me!” I throw my hands in the air. “Yes, I took it too far, and I know that. It’s eating me alive knowing that I hurt you. But you’ve hurt me too! How is that fair? You get to hate me for real now, and I have to just accept it? You almost ruined my life!”
“How!” he roars, leaping to his feet. “We were alone, Devon! No one would’ve known anything, and I certainly wasn’t going to run home to my parents and say an older man groomed me. Come the fuck on!”
“Literally anyone could have found out! Fuck, Lex. Michael was there! He was at that show! He could have seen—said something. Had I known you were a god damned teenager, I would’ve never—ever—”
“But you did!” He cries, tears quickly building. “You did, and for eight years I haven’t been able to forget it! Do you understand how fucked up that is? To be treated so horribly mere minutes after being treated like literal gold?”
I’m caught completely off guard. He…he still thinks about that?
“I had a crush, but you turned it into a whole ass obsession! I tried to move on, I really did. I tried to be professional and polite. I was nice! So fucking nice and you tortured me! Years of verbal abuse, only to be deflected or flat-out denied! And now, because I said something you didn’t like, you choked me!
I’m done! Fuck you! Fuck you for treating me like trash when all I wanted was a chance to be yours! ”
He gathers his things, tears streaming, lips trembling.
I can’t defend myself. No excuse can justify how badly I’ve hurt him.
He’s right; his kindness was poisoned by my actions.
He was sweet when we first brought him on, smiling, hoping for friends.
But I ruined it. Mocked him, ridiculed him, turned cruelty into our ritual.
I lost sight of who he was and made him who I thought he should be. A fucking monster.
The final straw was putting my hands on him. Lashing out with violence.
He slams his elbow onto his suitcase, struggling with the zipper. A low sob escapes him. Watching him wrestle with his bag, my heart seizes. Those bruises on his neck are proof of my brutality, a pain I can’t let him leave with. Even if he never forgives me, I owe him better than this.
I walk over to him, and he growls. “Get the fuck away from me.”
As gently as I can, fully prepared to get slapped again, I take his wrists and ease them away from the zipper. He doesn’t hit me or move, just quietly cries. Keeping my hold loose, I guide him away from the overstuffed suitcase. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I really am.”
“No, you’re not,” he hiccups.
“There’s nothing I can say to make it right.” I release one of his wrists and brush my knuckles over the side of his neck. “This…I should have never touched you.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to press charges. Just drop it.”
“You should press charges,” I tell him, feeling something settle within me. I’ll take any and all punishment if it means stopping this pain. “I’ll go sit in jail with an assault charge on my record if that’s what it takes.”
He looks up at me, those amber eyes are so unbelievably vibrant behind glistening tears. His orange lashes flutter in surprise. “You’re just saying that.”
I shake my head, turning my hand over to gently massage the bruises. “I’m not. Call the cops. I’ll own it and go with them.”
He nibbles his lip. “I mean…I hit you first. I kicked you and slapped you, and I think I even punched you.”
“I deserved it.”
“No one deserves to be hit.”
Those words bring up memories of my childhood—my dad claiming sometimes women need to be hit, just like sometimes kids need to be hit. And if some asshole says something you don’t like, they deserve to be hit, too.
“You’re right. No one does. Especially not you, though.”
“I’m an asshole. A tiny tyrant from hell,” he mocks himself. “Don’t think I’m not fully aware of how I behave. I am.”
I brush some of his hair out of his eyes, letting my fingers linger. “I’m sorry,” I say again because it feels like I’ll puke if I don’t. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lex.”
“Why are you doing this?” he whispers, absently leaning into my touch. “I still hate you.” His cute frown and the wrinkles on his nose pull a tiny smirk out of me.
“I know,” I whisper back. “But no one should be left alone when they’re this upset.”
I drag the pad of my index finger down his cheek, tracing the black mascara trails. “If you still want to leave, that’s fine. I only want you to calm down first.” I mean it too. Even if a giant part of me wants to kiss him until he stops crying.
“Who did you see back there?” Lex asks carefully.
It takes me a moment to understand. When I do, it’s a relief. While I can’t excuse or justify it, he understands. Other than Michael, no one knows about my dad. No one knows that I fall into these lapses when I see only him and no one else.
Swallowing hard, I admit, “My dad. He…he used to hit my ma a lot.”
“That’s—”
“It’s not an excuse. But yes. I did see him in that moment.”
He nods, regarding me fully now. “Does that happen often?”
“Not often. But when I’m…when I get like that, it’s more likely to. I’ve been working on it for a long time.”
Like it’s got a mind of its own, my hand keeps moving, my thumb now brushing the corner of his mouth.
Lex’s lips are perfect. Just the right amount of firm and plump.
Even an emotional wreck like this, he’s beautiful.
He wiggles the wrist I’m still holding, so I let him go.
I have every intention of stepping away and giving him space, but he mirrors my motions, gently brushing the pad of his finger over my split lip.
“It’s swollen.”
“Yeah,” I say on an exhale. “He got me fuckin’ good.”
“Do you think you’d ever forgive me? From back then?” he asks shyly, feeling the scruff on my chin.
I’d like to say yes, but I’m not sure it’d be the truth. I don’t want to lie to him, especially not after how I’ve behaved.
These feelings I have are so complex. And unfortunately, they aren't solely because of him. But this feels like an opening, one he's never given me before. I've fucked up all the other opportunities to get things right between us, and I’d be an idiot not to try right now.
Bracing for rejection, I ask, “Do you think you’d forgive me if I kissed you?”
His eyes go wide as he slowly gulps. “I don’t know if I want you to kiss me anymore.”
“But you did?” I pry.
Nodding, he slides his hand to the side of my neck, gently urging me to dip down. “I did.”
We are eye to eye, our breaths mingling and too close. His soft fingers dig into my skin while I cup the back of his head. “I always want to kiss you,” I admit. “That’s never changed.”
Lifting on his tiptoes to get even closer, he dips his head to the side. “Maybe I could try it. Just to be sure that’s something I’d be interested in.”
“Exactly,” I rumble. “Test the water.”
His lips brush hesitantly over mine. It’s so subtle, I barely feel it. Then he does it again, firmer this time, but still not quite a kiss. “I’m scared,” he breathes.
“Of what?” My eyes flutter shut. Our noses bump together.
“That I’ll want it too much.”
“Your move,” I tell him, pecking his cheek.
His free hand fists the neck of my tank top. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I’ll try not to.”