Gone for You (Sixth Street Band #1) (18 page)

“I’m not listening to the label anymore.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “It was stupid to take their advice in the first place. We need to hire local. Someone from Austin. I gotta go.”

He smiled. “Get out of here. Go find your balls.”

“Right here, buddy.” I grabbed my crotch. “Look on the bright side. If I’m off the market, you might actually get some quality pussy.”

I made a break for the door before he could chase me. Keeping my head down, I traipsed across the lobby and out the back door. Pulling out my key card, I waited for the green light to push the door open.

“Baby, I’m home,” I called. “I hope you’re naked.”

God, I really hoped she was naked. Or not. Stripping her down was almost as much fun.

Flipping the lights on, I looked around the room. The blanket she was under when I left her was folded neatly. A small twinge worked its way from my chest to my throat.

“Lily?” Pushing the door open to the bedroom, I stood at the threshold.

If I didn’t go in, it wouldn’t be real. But I knew it was. The room was pristine, the bed made with the coverlet pulled back and two chocolates on the pillow.

Lily’s clothes and any trace of her were gone. My shirt, the one she wore to bed, the one I stripped off her every time she did, was folded on the dresser. I walked across the room, flipping on the light in the dark bathroom. Not so much as a strand of her hair remained. Stumbling backward when I realized my knees were actually weak, I felt around for the edge of the bed. I missed it, landing on the floor with a thud.

She’ll be back.

I pulled out my phone with shaky hands, dragging my finger across the picture I had taken of her sleeping. Her phone rang once and went to voicemail. I tried again with the same result. Typing out a text, I hit send and stared at the screen.

Please
.

If Lily blocked my number, there would be no message that said “delivered” under the text. I waited for five minutes, knowing it took seconds for that little phrase to pop up. It never did.

Dropping my head against the side of the bed, I stared at the ceiling. From the beginning, the thought of hurting Lily had tormented me. The tug I felt in my chest taunted me from the start.

As the pain tore through my gut and the panic settled in my chest, I chuckled. The chuckle turned into a dry laugh when the ceiling went blurry from the moisture that formed in my eyes.

I should’ve listened to my gut. I was never really afraid of hurting Lily. All along, I was afraid that she would see what I had to offer and it wouldn’t be enough. And I guess it wasn’t.

I woke up on the sectional in Logan’s bungalow. After pillaging the mini bar in my own room, I had stumbled to Logan’s in the middle of the night in search of more alcohol. I told him everything. Although how much sense I made was anybody’s guess.

I was seated at the table when he emerged from the bedroom. Handing me a bottle of water and three aspirin, he patted me on the shoulder.

“I’m grabbing a shower.” He headed for the bedroom. “Limo is picking us up at eleven.”

“I’ll be there,” I mumbled, swallowing the pills and chugging the water.

Pausing at the door, he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Cam.”

“I’ll be fine.” Standing, I stretched. “You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Waggling my brows, I ambled to the door. “See you at eleven.”

The bright sunshine made my eyes water as I trudged toward my bungalow. Pushing open the door, I saw the evidence of last night’s debacle strewn about the room. Empty bottles from the mini bar were on the table and the floor. Lily petals from the centerpiece were everywhere.

Shaking my head, I went around the room and collected the bottles, throwing them in the stainless steel trashcan.

I stripped off my clothes and took the fastest shower in history, barely able to stomach standing in the same space where Lily and I had shared our first shower. And our last.

After packing all my clothes, I rolled the suitcases into the living room and strolled over to the desk to pack my laptop and call for a bellhop.

I sank in the chair when I saw the paper lying on the keyboard. The charcoal drawing of me sleeping that Lily started at her apartment after I spent the night there—she finished it. A message was scrawled in the corner under her signature.

I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

Dragging my fingers over her name and her farewell, I smudged them into the page until they were barely legible. I dropped the sketch into the wastebasket and watched it drift to the bottom.

After ringing the front desk, I packed up my laptop and hoisted my backpack on my shoulder. I waited by the front door for the bellhop, pulling the door open when he knocked.

“Mr. Knight, I hope you’ve had a pleasant stay,” he said, loading my suitcases onto the cart.

“Fine.”

Grabbing my sunglasses from the table, I looked around the room for any items I might have left behind. Only the memory of Lily in every corner of the room and in every object she touched remained. Closing the door, I left it all behind and trudged toward the lobby. The farther I walked, the stronger the ache in my chest became.

I turned and ran for the bungalow. Pushing open the door, I crossed the room and pulled the drawing from the trash.

I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

Folding the drawing in half, I stowed it in my backpack.

“I’ve got to make a stop.” Sliding into the limo seat, I looked at each of my bandmates.

Logan and Christian nodded while Sean looked out the window. He was the only one that left a girl behind when we started the band. Ally, his high school sweetheart. She was a really nice girl. Sean crawled into a bottle for a month when she married someone else. At the time, I thought it was weak. But if alcohol would make this ache go away, I’d bathe in it.

“Thanks. It won’t take too long.”

The silence was deafening. Logan scanned the local newspaper, quickly folding it in half and tucking it under his leg. He didn’t need to bother. My twitter was blowing up with the news of my “confession.” My declaration. My disaster. Downing my vodka and orange juice, I placed the glass in the cup holder, wiping my sweaty palm on my jeans when we pulled to a stop.

“I’ll be right back.” Swinging the door wide, I stepped out, searching for any landmarks to jar my memory.

I headed up the cement path, hooking a left at the first set of doors. Ducking into the alcove, I spotted the familiar mat in front of the door to Lily’s apartment.

I kneeled down and lifted the mat, pulling the small plastic bag that contained the necklace with the gold pick out of my pocket. Laying it next to the solitary key, I replaced the mat and pushed to my feet. I pressed my forehead to the door, cursing her under my breath even as I said a silent prayer for her to find me there. It took a good five minutes to tear myself away. Turning, I ignored the tug in my chest and walked back along the same path I had come on.

Chapter 23

W
e love you, Dallas! Goodnight!” Logan shouted into the mic as the audience went wild.

Pulling the strap off my neck, I handed the guitar to one of our roadies and headed toward the light at the side of the stage. The crew for the next band brushed past me in a frenzy to set up their equipment while ours was being torn down.

My t-shirt clung to my damp skin, chilling me in the night air as I pushed through the curtain. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy after our last number. The air was electric with excitement, and the ground shook beneath us.

“Fuck yeah!” Logan turned, pulling me in for a bear hug. “You were on fire!” He pulled back, taking my head between his hands.

“Fuck yeah, I was!” I yelled above the roar.

“That was amazing!” Sean crashed into my back, throwing an arm around my neck.

I turned and gave him a hearty pat on the back. The high of performing had me on top of a mountain. My head was in the clouds as we pushed our way to the dressing room. Christian ambled behind us, talking to one of the crew.

Grabbing a beer from the bucket filled with ice in the hallway, I twisted the cap and downed half in one gulp.

“Lookie-lookie.” Logan whistled, turning to me and raising a brow. Twenty or so girls lined the hallway in front of our dressing room. Blonds, brunettes, and redheads. It was a smorgasbord of perfect tits and firm asses in tight micro minis.

“Betty or Veronica?” he yelled over his shoulder at me as he waded into the adoring crowd.

Downing the last half of my beer, I slid between two girls, pulling them to my sides. They squealed their approval, running their hands over my chest, my stomach, and my ass.

Arching a brow at Logan, I slid my hand to Blondie’s ass and squeezed.

“Both.”

My head was pounding.

Pounding. Pounding.

Jerking up, I looked around the dark room. I ran my hand over my bare chest, my eyes adjusting to the single beam of light that cut through the blackout curtains.

Pounding. Pounding.

“Open the fucking door!” Logan’s voice and more pounding.

Shit. Sliding off the bed, I wobbled to my feet.

“I’m coming!” I stumbled toward the door. “Stop the fucking —” pulling the door open, I reeled back like a vampire against the harsh light in the hallway, “—pounding,” I groaned.

“It’s about fucking time. I’ve been out there for ten minutes.” Logan brushed past me, stalking to the window and throwing open the drapes. “Our plane leaves in two hours.”

“Oh, God,” I groaned, walking listlessly to the bed and falling on top of it. “I’m dying.”

He chuckled. “You’re not dying, you fucking pussy.”

I
was
dying. Or I was dead.

“What the fuck happened?” I buried my face in the pillow.

The very cool, soft pillow. It was the best fucking pillow I’d ever felt.

“To you?” Logan smiled, dropping onto the couch and planting his feet on the coffee table. “About a fifth of Jack.”

Lifting my head, I looked around. “Where is everyone?”

Bits and pieces of the night filtered through my foggy brain. Betty and Veronica. The limo. I tried to piece it together.