Текст книги "Beat"
Автор книги: Vi Keeland
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Thirty
Lucky
Not since I was fifteen and Avery and I snuck out to meet up with the Raven brothers at eleven on a school night have I felt so nervous creaking open a door to a place I’m supposed to already be inside of. I swallow a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. It almost works, but then I remember what happened when I returned from that decade-ago dalliance. Avery got her first real kiss with Kyle that night. I, on the other hand, walked straight into the angry glare of my father the minute the door opened. It was a solid two weeks before I saw the outside of our apartment again, aside from school.
Dylan isn’t supposed to return until early this afternoon, but plans can change. Finally mustering enough courage to slip the key into the door, I brace myself for the consequences of my actions.
The room is dark.
I heave a sigh of relief when I flick on the lights and find the bed hasn’t been slept in. Thankfully, I have a few hours to clear my head.
I’m in the middle of drying my hair in the bathroom when I hear Dylan call out my name. He’s back early.
“Hey. I didn’t think you’d be back for a few more hours.” I force a smile as I step from the master bath to greet him, but my knees are actually trembling.
“Neither did I,” Dylan bites out. Uh oh.
“Did the meeting not go well?”
He turns and stares at me, a very unhappy look on his face. “The meeting was fine. I felt guilty leaving you alone all night, so I came back early.”
“Oh.” I get the feeling he’s angry with me, but I’m almost afraid to ask. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
His jaw flexes and he turns away, emptying his pockets on top of the tall dresser. “So I’ve heard.”
What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t respond, but I’m sure more is coming.
“What did you do last night, Lucky?” His tone tells me he’s not making small talk. It’s an interrogation, and I have the sickening feeling he already knows all the answers.
It would be the perfect time to come clean. I’ve dragged this out way too long already. Yet I can’t seem to get the words out. Lies seem to flow from my lips with ease these days. “I gambled for a bit at one of the casinos.”
His unrelenting stare makes me squirm, so I pretend to focus my attention on packing the blow dryer in my hand into my suitcase.
“At the Wynn?”
I freeze. I hate myself. What I’ve done is loathsome and vile. It was never meant to happen. I didn’t mean to fall for another man. I wasn’t looking, we just sort of found each other. And after last night, I finally realize that nothing can stop what is going on between Flynn and me. What we have is real, not a fantasy I’d spent years imagining.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” I bow my head repentantly.
Dylan forks his fingers through his hair and edges over to me. He sighs loudly when I don’t look up. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I fucked up.”
Not what I was expecting.
My eyes jump to his, finding a pain that is familiar. Guilt? He places his hands on my shoulders and I wait for him to continue.
“I’ve been so preoccupied with the tour, how things are changing for Easy Ryder, I haven’t given you the attention you deserve.” He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, remorse looms in the forefront. “I shouldn’t have gone last night. It was a mistake.” As if I didn’t already feel like a horrible human being, he’s apologizing for having to go to a business dinner, when I was with another man.
“You had a business dinner. I understand that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I won’t be going to any more business dinners. I promise.” The declaration is so heartfelt, it feels like he’s promising something much bigger. “You’re what’s important and I won’t let you slip through my fingers. I’m going to fix things between us.”
“Dylan. I…I need to tell you something.” I steel myself with a deep breath and wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans discreetly.
A knock at the door interrupts what is about to be my confession.
He ignores it. “It can wait. Go on.”
Like a coward, I cling to the interruption for a minute of reprieve. “It’s fine, why don’t you get it?”
Dylan lumbers to the door as the second knock comes. Just as I’m beginning to steady again, I hear the voice from the hall.
“Brett said you wanted to see me?” Flynn.
“I’m making some changes to the show,” Dylan replies curtly and then looks back at me. Not a single muscle in my body has moved, I’m so tense. “But I’m busy right now. Lucky and I are”—the sneer on his lips grows to a full-blown self-satisfied smile as he adds—”going to enjoy our last few hours in a hotel room before we have to get back on the bus. I’ll meet you in the lobby at three to talk.”
If Flynn responds, it isn’t audible, but the slam of the door makes me jump.
I convinced myself it was a bad idea to break things off with Dylan before he was going to have a sit-down with Flynn. Although the truth of the matter is, I’m just buying more time. I’m afraid that when I end things, Dylan will see right through whatever I say and know I’ve fallen for Flynn. And that won’t be good. Dylan is already clearly bothered by the attention that Flynn’s receiving. If he finds out we’re together, it’s Flynn who will pay the price.
The last show in Vegas is uneventful, and I’m anxious to speak to Flynn when they finish playing, but backstage is crammed with people and Dylan keeps me tight against his side. “Change of plans. Lydia flew in to tell Mick she got the all-clear from her doctor to try to get pregnant again.” A few months ago she miscarried; I remember Dylan telling me she was really upset. “They want to go out to dinner to celebrate before the bus rolls tonight.”
“Wow. That would be three, right?”
“Yep. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Dylan nuzzles into my neck and I blanch, finding Flynn’s eyes trained on me, watching us together from the other side of the room.
I down three glasses of wine at dinner, well aware that two is my max. Lydia and I spend most of the night talking about her two boys and plans to try to have a girl. But my mind keeps wandering back to Flynn. Before we leave, while Mick and Dylan are busy signing a few autographs, I take the opportunity to throw out a random question to Lydia.
“How did you know Mick was the one?”
“Wow, you get deep when you’re inebriated.” She smiles. “We dated casually for a while, both seeing other people. The band was taking off and we were young. When I was with Mick, I never thought about another man. But when I was with someone else and something funny happened, the first thought was always to call Mick and tell him. A nice guy could take me on a great date, yet I’d want to call Mick and tell him about something I saw.” She sips her water. “My advice. Go to a comedy show or a place you’ve never been. If you don’t have the urge to call him and tell him all the funny jokes you remember or something you saw, he’s not the one.”
The helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon immediately comes to mind. I was sitting next to Dylan, but couldn’t wait to tell Flynn all about the things I saw when I got back.
It’s almost two in the morning when we board the bus. The driver starts the engine as soon as the door closes behind us. “You want a few minutes to get settled before we get on the road, Mr. Ryder?”
Dylan looks at me. My stumbling will have nothing to do with the sway of the bus tonight. I shrug and head to the bathroom. The curtain on Flynn’s sleeping berth is drawn, but I imagine snuggling up to him as I pass by. It physically hurts to know he’s only feet away while I’m sleeping beside another man.
The next morning, I wake to an ache in my chest and throb in my head. It’s as if someone ripped out my beating heart and reinserted it under my eyes so I can feel every painful heartbeat. Water. I need water. The alcohol left me severely dehydrated.
I make my way through the bus in the dark to the galley, hoping to find Flynn in his normal position, anxiously awaiting the coffee pot. Discovering the living area empty, I slump with disappointment. The clock on the microwave reads almost six—perhaps I’m a little earlier than usual.
Ignoring the nausea of a wicked hangover, I force down two bottles of water with a couple Tylenol. After an hour of staring at the door that leads to the sleeping area, I grab a blanket, curl up on the couch, and eventually the vibration of the bus lulls me back to sleep.
A soft kiss on my cheek wakes me. Groggy, I smile with my eyes still shut. “It’s about time.”
“Come back to bed.”
My eyes spring open. Not the voice I was expecting. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Pushing up with one elbow, my other hand rubs my eye. “I fell back asleep for almost four hours?”
“I guess so. I don’t get why you jump out of bed so early anyway.”
I look past Dylan toward the rear of the bus. It’s quiet. “Is everyone still sleeping?”
He shrugs. “Come back to bed.”
“Actually. I have something I wanted to work on before the bus gets loud.” I hold up the notebook that must have fallen from my hands when I nodded off. “Do you mind?”
The muscles in Dylan’s face tighten. “Whatever.” Letting out a frustrated sigh, he retreats to the bedroom and slams the door.
My second cup of coffee does the trick, and with the aide of the Tylenol and water earlier, I feel human again sitting at the dining table in the galley. I’d hoped Flynn and I could have a few hours to talk this morning. Think about how we’re going to handle things once I break up with Dylan. I reach up to the cabinet where Flynn seems to have a never-ending stock of Hershey’s Special Dark for me, and find he’s replenished my bars with bags full of Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate kisses. My heart melts faster than the chocolate in my mouth.
Around noon, Duff stumbles from the back. “You still writing in that notebook?”
“I am.”
“Why don’t you write us some songs instead?” He pours himself a cup of coffee and collapses in the seat across from me, one hand fighting back his unruly morning hair.
“I’m not good with finding the music in my head.”
“Me either. You need a partner, then. Someone who can put your lyrics to music.”
“That’s how my dad and mom actually met. He was a drummer but played a little of all instruments. They wrote my mom’s bestselling song during an all-nighter the week that they met.” I smile, thinking of how many times I heard Dad proudly tell that story.
“Maybe you and Dylan will become the next Simon and Garfunkel.”
The truth is, music is the biggest thing we have in common, yet after all this time, we’ve never even thought of working together in any way. Unlike Flynn and I, who naturally gravitated to music to bring us closer. Maybe it’s because Dylan’s older and more experienced, but he and I have our roles—roles he defined for us. He’s the rockstar, I’m his girlfriend. The picture he paints for our future becomes clearer and clearer the more time we spend together. The thing is…I want to paint too.
“I think Dylan’s more of a soloist.”
Duff snickers. “That’s one way of describing the fame-hog bastard.”
“He doesn’t really share the limelight well, does he?”
“We’ve been friends since we’re six years old. Fucker didn’t even share his toys. Linc is the only one he never seemed to mind stepping aside from the stoplight for. Probably because the poor bastard is homely looking and there’s no real competition there.” Duff downs half his mug of coffee and makes a loud ahhh sound.
“How is Linc? Probably be tough to leave the babies in a few weeks and rejoin the tour.”
“In a few weeks? You mean in a few nights.”
“It’s only the thirteenth. Flynn’s filling in through the thirty-first.”
“Guess boss man forgot to give you the memo.”
“What memo?”
“Beckham’s gone. Bus left him behind last night when we pulled out of Vegas.”
Nausea threatens as I stand in front of Flynn’s sleeping berth, curtain still tightly drawn. With a hollow feeling in my stomach that tells me Duff isn’t just screwing with me, I slowly pull back the thick, dark fabric.
Chapter Thirty-One
Flynn—
Yesterday
Dylan Ryder strides from the elevator to the lobby with purpose, ignoring the heads that turn as he passes. The guy’s had an issue with me before anything even started with Lucky, but today the scowl on his face is more hateful than most.
Coming directly to where I’m sitting, he tosses an envelope down on the table in front of me, eyes narrowing to crinkled slits. “Here’s the change to the show.”
I wait for an explanation, but he isn’t offering one. Nor does he look like he plans to sit down. Unsealing the envelope, I shake the contents into my hand.
A plane ticket.
One way, back to New York.
Swallowing, I look back up and our eyes meet. His voice is stony, words spoken through gritted teeth. “I’m not fucking blind. The way you look at her.”
I say nothing. Whether I like the guy or not, the least I can do is not play games and pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. Plus, I have no idea how much he actually knows, and there’s no reason to make it any more difficult for Lucky than it needs to be. She works at the record label he’s been with for the last decade.
“Did you think I would put up with you sniffing around, trying to get into her fucking pants? Keeping her company while I’m taking care of business?”
I stand to meet him eye to eye. “Taking care of business? Is that what you call Jamie these days? You paying for her services, so it’s considered a business transaction?”
“What I do is none of your damn business.” An evil smile twists his lips. “But if want the best blow job you’ll ever get in your life, stop by 3225 Honeycomb on your way to the airport to catch your flight tonight.”
“You don’t deserve a woman like Lucky.”
“And you do?”
We glare at each other.
“Go back to New York. Now that Easy Ryder has made your pretty-boy face famous, there will be a line of women to suck your cock.” He turns to walk away. “If you try to contact Lucky, your little band won’t be opening for Easy Ryder, and the only gig you’ll be able to book will be in a garage. And if she’s stupid enough to be interested in you, you won’t be the only one on the unemployment line.”
“Fuck you.”
He takes a few steps and turns back, a sadistic smile on his face. “Flight leaves at midnight after the show tonight. Be on it.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lucky
“Where’s Flynn?” Reaching over where Dylan’s soundly sleeping, I tug the bottom of the blackout shade so it rolls up with a loud snap, revealing the large rectangular back window of the bus.
“Good morning to you too.” He squints from the flood of light.
“Did you kick Flynn off the tour?”
He pulls the cover over his head and tries to ignore me.
“Answer me.”
Nothing.
I tug at the cover. “Answer me.”
“What the fuck, Lucky?” he shouts, springing upright.
“Did you or did you not kick Flynn off the tour?”
The muscles in his face tighten. “Linc is coming back.”
“So sending him home had nothing to do with me?”
He glares through angry eyes. “You tell me, Lucky. Does it?”
My irritation flickers while I hold his indignant stare. A silent standoff ensues until Dylan finally rips the covers back in a huff and rises, ramming his bare feet into his jeans before storming out of the bedroom.
An hour later, I’m still sitting in the bedroom when he comes back in. He rakes his fingers through his hair and I wait through another lengthy silence. My mind is a whirl of questions, most of which I probably shouldn’t ask.
Finally, he sits. His voice is low. “We’re going to be at the next stop in an hour.”
I nod.
He blows out a loud stream of air. “I asked Linc to come back early.”
“Why?”
“Because.” I’m still not looking at him, so he moves from beside me to kneeling in front of me, leaving me no choice but to face him. When I look up, he continues. “I want to be with you, Lucky. I want to settle down, have a couple of kids and plant roots somewhere.”
“I’m…I’m not ready for that.”
“You’re just nervous. That’s all.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s more than that.”
He searches my eyes. “Then what is it?”
“I’m not sure about us, Dylan.”
“You were sure last month.”
“Things change.”
“What changed?”
Dawning realization hits and his eyes narrow to accusing slits. “You have feelings for Beckham?”
I lower my head and nod.
“He’s a snake. Slithering in and giving you attention when I’m too busy running a fucking tour.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I saw the way he followed you around. He wanted in your pants. That’s why I sent him packing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Let’s just move past this. He’s gone. We both have baggage. It’s time for a fresh start. To build our future on a clean slate.”
I don’t respond. With two fingers under my chin, Dylan gently lifts until our eyes meet again. “I love you, Lucky.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You’re sorry? What the fuck does that mean?”
I remain silent, but words aren’t necessary.
“You have got to be fucking shitting me.” He stands. “Think long and hard about what you’re doing, Lucky. You can walk away from me if you want. But just try to walk to Flynn fucking Beckham, and not only will his band not be opening for Easy Ryder, but I’ll be damn sure he doesn’t play anywhere for a long, long time.”
Seething, he slams the door behind him so hard, the walls of the bus shake from the force.
I stay in the back after the bus pulls into California. It’s so quiet without the hum of the engine and radio blaring, it makes me wonder if I’m the only one left on board.
Wheeling my bag out into the lounge, I discover I’m not the last one on the bus. Dylan lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Give me tonight?” There’s a vulnerable tone to his voice that I’ve never heard before. “I have to do an interview this afternoon, but let’s have dinner afterward. Let’s talk.”
As much as I’d rather get on a plane this afternoon, run away from my guilt, the right thing to do is to end things like adults. I nod.
The car ride is uncomfortably quiet on the way to the restaurant. Dylan stares out the window, tugging at the collar of his shirt, seemingly as lost in thought as I am. It surprised me when he told me to dress for dinner, surprised me even more when he slipped on a jacket and tie.
The driver pulls up outside Chateau La Roque and Dylan tells him not to get out. Instead, he opens the door at the curb and offers me his hand.
“Thank you.”
“You look beautiful.” Lacing our fingers together, he walks us into the trendy French restaurant. I’m shocked he picked such a public place for us to talk, knowing the topic we will be ultimately discussing.
“Mr. Ryder,” a man with a thick French accent says. “Right this way.”
After we’re seated, the first ten minutes are filled with awkward small talk. It reminds me of a bad blind date.
“Dylan,” I say at the same moment he says, “Lucky.”
“You go first,” he offers with an appeasing smile.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened along the way, but I’m sorry. You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” I truly mean it. I hate myself for what I’ve done.
He takes my hand into his. “Me too. I’m sorry for a lot of things. First and foremost, for not giving you the attention you deserve. But that’s going to change. This afternoon, the thought of losing you made me realize how stupid I’ve been—”
“You didn’t—”
“Let me finish, I need to get this out. I waited too long already.” He stands. And I must be the most clueless person on the planet…because I’m watching the entire thing unfold right before me, and yet I still don’t see it coming.
He takes something from his pocket.
The next thing I know…he’s bending down on one knee.
Oh my god. No. This cannot be happening.
I hear gasps around the crowded restaurant, and then his words through a fog. “Lucky.” He clears his throat. “I’ve written hundreds of songs, yet I don’t know the right words to tell you how much you mean to me. I was planning on doing this once we got down to LA, but today I realized I’ve already waited too long. I know you aren’t ready for marriage and kids tomorrow, but I’m willing to wait. Until then, I want you to have my ring on your finger to remind you every day how much I love you.”
I don’t even notice tears are falling from my cheek until his thumb wipes them away. “Don’t cry.” He smiles at me, mistaking my angst for tears of joy. “I know what I want. Be my wife, Lucky. Not today or tomorrow. But promise me, someday?”
“Dylan.” My wary voice cracks as I pull him up from his knee to stand. I can’t do this to him publicly. Two minutes later, the entire restaurant is clapping and snapping pictures.
