42. How Much More Can I Take?
42
HOW MUCH MORE CAN I TAKE?
ARCHER
Mal and Ian were watching. We were alone in the greenroom because Mal stood with his back to the door so no one could come in. It was academic. No one was trying to get in. Everyone else was probably glued to their phones to watch what O’Connor had to say.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch. But I could hear their phones.
I paced while being forced to listen. Best set of my entire life, and I’d been upstaged by that witch.
So typical. So unfair.
The number watching the podcast caught me up short. Eleven million? Had they all been watching Aftermath shred our gig?
Fuck if Phil wasn’t maybe right about this being good for us.
Of course, he didn’t know about Maggie and my untrue middle name and all the rest of the shit. The only time she’d been honest with me was when we talked about our moisturizers.
How could I have been so blindly fucking stupid as to trust her?
“Hey,” Mal said.
I looked up. I’d lost track of what she was blathering on about. “What? What lie now?”
“She’s being reasonable,” Mal said. “She just implied that maybe she didn’t find any scandals in your past. You should maybe listen.”
“Fuck her.” But I moved closer just the same.
God. She was putting on her “I’m so sincere, I never lie” voice, telling people I’d been through adolescent “indiscretions.” Telling them she thought I was ashamed of them.
Damn it. She was making it extremely hard to maintain my rage.
She told her audience—and mine—that she hadn’t been able to find a single groupie I’d fucked since I met her.
Which, of course, was because I hadn’t found a groupie who appealed to me as much as she did—not that I wanted that fact made public.
She hadn’t bought my act. She knew I wasn’t fucking around. That meant she knew she’d ruined me for everyone else.
I looked up. Ian pushed Mal away from the door. “We’ll run blocker for you,” he said.
Chilled air from the stage blew against my heated skin as they threw open the door and led me out into the crowd.
I didn’t need to ask for one of their phones. Everyone in the audience was watching. I saw O’Connor’s gorgeous face repeated everywhere I looked.
Mal and Ian broke through the crowd, and I tucked in behind them, Charlotte heeling like she was made to do it. Hands reached out to grab at us, but we were flying. No one got any purchase.
By the time O’Connor told the world that she’d spoken to Bella—that Bella and I weren’t sleeping together—we’d made it to the hallway.
When she announced that she wasn’t publishing, we were at the locked door to her suite.
When she told the world she was in love with me, I moved Mal and Ian aside and broke down the door myself.
She turned, astonished. “Archer!”
“I wrote it for you,” I gasped. “I wrote that song for you, O’Connor.” She met me halfway, and my arms came around her like a miracle. “I’m so in love with you. O’Connor, don’t go away again. Please?”
She was crying, and I was crying, and Ian pushed past me so he could focus the cameras on us.
“Story deserves a good ending,” he explained.
I didn’t care. I needed to hear her say . . . something. Say it. Say anything. “Did you really say you were in love with me?”
“That’s what I said.” She was gasping and laughing and crying at the same time. “Did you say you loved me?”
“I did. Say it again.”
“I love you. I love you, Archer. I’m not going to publish, and I’m so sorry.”
“Shush. No more talking. Time for kissing.”
I was shaking from the emotions swamping me, and when I could make sense of anything at all, I decided the two biggest emotions were gratitude and relief.
Plus kindness and sexiness.
“No teeth?” I asked her when we came up for air.
She dissolved into my arms, her laughter bubbling out of her. Christ, she was lovely. “No teeth. Perfect kiss.”
Charlotte leaped up on her back feet and added her own version of kisses to our embrace. We both laughed and kissed her back.
“No teeth, Charlotte,” I warned her. “I can keep practicing the perfect kiss anyway, though, right, O’Connor?”
“We’ll both practice. For the rest of our lives.”
That might not be long enough. But we’d give it a try.
THE END