Chapter twenty-four #2
I don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me react.
“I’ve gotta work,” I mutter, lifting my camera and stepping closer to the stage.
As I pass Liam, his head snaps around. He clocks Cindy, then looks at me, eyebrows lifting.
“Is that—”
“Yep,” I cut in, not letting him finish.
Autopilot takes over. I shoot. Frame. Shoot again. I don’t register what I’m capturing, but my hands know their job. I’m trying to stop my heart from slowly rebuilding its walls, one brick at a time.
The encore ends in a tidal wave of noise. The band bolts offstage, laughing and sweating. Theo, Xander, Kai—big grins and pumped, ready to tear up the after-party.
Carter slows when he reaches me.
He’s smiling, too, eyes finding mine like they always do. There’s nothing but warmth in them, and it makes me insane, because my head is a fucking mess.
He wants to touch me. I see it in the flex of his hand at his side. But he knows he can’t.
He passes.
I don’t turn to follow. I keep my face toward the stage and close my eyes.
Professional. Breathe. Don’t do this here.
The anger I’d finally put a leash on comes back with twice the force. She’s big, old, and hungry. And she doesn’t give a shit who she takes out, including me.
“Violet?” Megan calls from behind me. “You okay?”
I open my eyes. “All good,” I respond, not even trying for a smile.
“Everyone’s heading to VIP. We should go.”
The stadium lights are up. Most of the crowd has filtered out—only a few hundred stragglers are lingering. The crew are already in pack-down mode. I blink and realize I’ve been standing still for who knows how long.
I turn and follow Megan down the corridor and into the VIP room.
Music thumps. Drinks are out. The room is filled with perspiration and perfume.
Liam’s deep in conversation with Carter, who’s laughing hard in a pure post-show high. The band is scattered with girls, staff, and hangers-on. Mika and Dave are trying to get in on the action with the groupies, too.
And there she is. With a drink in her hand, Cindy walks up to Liam and Carter with all the confidence in the world.
Liam gives her a cold, polite smile. Carter’s eyes flick up—searching the room for me.
I turn away before he can catch me gawking.
“You want a drink?” I ask Megan, because if I don’t put something in my hands, I’m going to do something reckless with them.
“Make it a double,” she says, not missing a beat.
“That kind of night?” I pour her whiskey neat and hand it over.
She leans an elbow on the makeshift bar. “That kind of tour.”
I pour myself one as well. I tip it back fast, and heat floods my throat.
Megan watches me over the rim of her glass. “What’s going on with you?”
I snort. “Nothing. Just living my best nightmare.”
She sniggers, followed by a sigh. “With only three cities left, I thought I’d have hooked up with Carter by now.”
I choke out a sound.
Pouring myself a triple this time, I toss it back, gulping it down in three big mouthfuls.
She doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t. If she knew, she wouldn’t be saying this to my face or confiding in me. Would she?
She looks over my shoulder and I follow her gaze. Cindy’s thrown her head back, laughing too loud at something Carter’s said, her hand on his chest, eyes doing all the work.
I guarantee that whatever he said wasn’t that fucking funny.
“Looks like she’s gotten her claws into him for the night.”
I clench my teeth hard, half expecting a molar to crack. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“He shot me down after the first interview, you know?” Megan continues, a little bitter.
I turn back to her, one eyebrow lifted.
“I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but I kept thinking that maybe toward the end of the tour, he’d warm to me. But honestly, he just tolerates my presence. He’s not interested.”
“What about Kai, or Theo, or Xander? There’s plenty of band cock to go around.”
“No, I’m no groupie. It’s Carter for me or no one at all.”
Ugh . . . feels.
I grab the bottle and pour us another round.
Megan tips her glass toward the other side of the room. “Mika and Dave never seem to strike out.”
I glance over. One girl is wedged between them, hands everywhere.
“They’re like heat-seeking missiles,” I joke.
“Good for them.” Megan finishes her drink and sets the glass down. “I’m going to crash early. I want my brain intact tomorrow.” She pauses, studying me. “You sure you’re okay? You seem off.”
Megan doesn’t need to know I’m about to claw Cindy’s eyes out of her head. I don’t want to be fired over Cindy Winters of all fucking people. She’s not ruining this gig for me.
“Nah. I’m good. Just tired.”
“Okay, night. See you tomorrow.”
I nod in farewell and finish my drink.
This is the most I’ve ever drunk on tour. The room softens at the edges, everything going slightly hazy. The sharpest points of my rage seems to dull.
I set my glass down and walk straight toward Liam, Carter, and Cindy.
“What’s up, party peoplllle,” I announce, and immediately want to bite my own tongue off. No idea why a nineties catchphrase just possessed me, but here we are.
Carter twists his mouth to hide a grin. Liam’s crease between his eyes deepens, assessing me in the way he did when we were teenagers—deciding whether I’m about to vomit or start a fight.
Cindy just stares at me, confused by my existence.
“Are you drunk, Vi?” Liam asks.
“Maybe a little.” I pinch my fingers together to indicate a smidge.
Cindy’s gaze flicks over me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working? How unprofessional. I mean, I know your brother got you the job, but still . . .”
It shouldn’t sting, but it does.
She has no idea who I am in this industry. No idea that the name Vega Wolfe carries weight, that my work speaks for itself. Anyone else saying it wouldn’t even register.
But it’s her.
Cindy has always known exactly where to press—how to find the soft spot and lean in until it bruises. She’s been doing it since we were kids, and part of me hates that it still works.
I always thought if I ever saw her again, I’d show her exactly who Violet Henderson became.
Thought it might end ugly, but I’d finally get that violent release I’d imagined for years.
The picture flashes—me on top of her, slapping the filler from her lips—but then something in me . . . skews sideways.
I start laughing.
Real, hysterical laughter bubbles up and keeps coming.
Carter’s grinning, completely delighted. Liam, on the other hand, looks concerned. I don’t think he’s ever seen me like this. Fair. I don’t laugh. Not like this.
I always thought alcohol was meant to make you meaner, push you further into the red—especially if you’re already halfway there. Instead, it’s taken the sharpness off my beast, settled her. Maybe I should’ve started drinking sooner.
Cindy’s genuinely unsettled, totally lost. “What is wrong with you?” she snaps.
I can’t stop laughing. It’s . . . honestly, fucking hilarious. This is some full-circle shit, right here.
I swipe under one eye. “You’re just—” I snort. “You’re still doing it. Same lines, same little routine. It’s almost impressive.”
Cindy turns to Carter like she expects him to translate. She slides closer and plants her hand on his arm, staking a claim.
“Abso-fucking-lutely nothing is wrong with her. She’s perfect,” Carter says. His eyes are soft and mellow, and a warmth spreads through my chest like honey, thick and sweet.
Liam’s eyes narrow, swinging back and forth between us.
Carter’s smile disappears. “In fact,” he says, “you can get your hands off me.”
He takes Cindy’s wrist and flicks it from his arm.
“I’m spoken for,” he adds, voice firm. “One-woman man.”
Liam’s head jerks. “What? Since when? Who?”
Cindy’s face drains, then flushes. She tries to laugh it off. “Carter, you can’t be serious.”
“I didn’t invite you here for me,” Carter says. “I invited you here for Vi.”
He nods toward me.
My laughter trails off, leaving behind a weird clean space in my chest.
I look at Cindy and realize with sharp clarity: she doesn’t scare me anymore.