Page 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Royal

The call rings once and goes straight to voicemail.

Again.

“Fuck,” I mutter and toss my phone onto the kitchen island.

The same island I sat at while fucking up my life and hurting a person I love.

Again .

I sigh, shove a hand through my hair, resisting the urge to tear it from my scalp. It’s the least I deserve.

But Jade likes my hair.

“Christ.” I exhale and push off the stool, trying to find something to occupy my mind. I can’t even brood properly—every thought goes to Jade, to that awful conversation and the fucked up things I said and the way they made her eyes change, her expression shift, her shoulders slump, the curse word to slip from her mouth.

I did that.

Hating myself, I grab a beer from the fridge, but when I go to take the bottle opener out of the drawer, I can’t help but think about Jade again.

She’d teased me about my bachelor kitchen as she looked for the right kind of measuring cup while baking me the best pumpkin bread I’ve had, hands down, in my life.

I slam the door shut, put the beer back.

But as I storm out into the hall, my eyes catch on the denim jacket hanging over the banister, bunched up at the bottom of the stairs and forgotten when Jade packed up her stuff and hauled ass out of here.

Not that I blame her.

I was— am —an asshole.

But I can’t apologize to her if she won’t talk to me.

I’ve been all the fuck over L.A. and haven’t been able to track her down.

She’s not in Nashville—that was one fucking expensive plane ride—and she’s not even in Tahoe.

I know she’s safe.

Maddie told me that much.

But the rest of it?

Like where she is, what she’s doing, if she’s okay—and how can she possibly be okay?

Maddie all but told me to fuck right off when I asked.

Same as Kate.

I stop by that jacket, lifting it from the railing and bringing it to my nose, inhaling deeply. I already know it still smells like her because I’ve been huffing it like an addict trying to get the last grain of coke off a mirror.

Flowers and vanilla and a hint of something that is unique to Jade hits my senses.

But when I inhale again, I know I have to put an end to my patheticness. I can’t keep avoiding the living room because we made a breakthrough there on the chorus of “Nobody’s Business”—one of the soulful ballads that’s supposed to go on her new album.

It’s good enough to be a single.

Not as good as “Midnight Snow,” though.

I don’t go into the living room—I can’t, even though I know I’m a pussy because of it. Instead, I start for my office, but stop a step in, grinding my teeth together so tightly that a bolt of pain shoots through my jaw.

“Dammit.” I growl, tossing the jacket back onto the banister, knowing that it won’t be long before I’m standing in this exact spot again, huffing at her jacket like a creep.

I can’t go into my office either.

Not when the memory of bending her over my desk and fucking her from behind until she came apart on my dick is burned into my mind.

Frankie!

I’ll go and play Connect Four with my niece until my eyes ache, teach her something new on her guitar. She’s ready for something harder.

“Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater only has three chords.

She can totally pull that off…and it’ll take an extra-long lesson with me focusing on something that isn’t Jade and my complete and total fuck-up.

Right.

Good plan.

So much better than standing here at the bottom of the stairs, thinking about how Jade smiled up at me as I carried her to bed, her eyes half-mast and sleepy, her expression full of…love.

That I stomped on.

“Enough,” I grit, spinning on my heel and heading for the garage. I snag my keys from the hook mounted by the door and get in my car.

But it’s not until I’m almost at Briar’s place that I remember what day it is.

Frankie has gymnastics today.

I’m close enough that I finish the drive, go to the door, and use my code to let myself in, hoping against hope that I’ll hear Frankie’s adorable little voice echoing down the hall.

Unfortunately, it’s silent.

I still make a circuit, anyway, and in the process, I help myself to a cookie cooling on a rack in the kitchen.

It’s delicious…until I remember Jade’s cookies.

Then it sits like lead in my stomach.

I’m pathetic and fully aware of it—and that point is driven home even harder when my phone buzzes as I’m walking out the front door.

I shove my hand in my pocket, practically tearing the fabric as I yank it free.

And I can’t hide my disappointment when I see that it’s not Jade texting me.

It’s Briar, who’s clearly spotted me on the security cameras.

She isn’t done either, considering that another text comes in right afterward.

brIAR: I don’t believe I gave assholes permission to enter my house.

brIAR: I’d almost feel sorry for that pathetic expression on your face, if you hadn’t been such a dick to Jade.

ROYAL: Never stopped you before.

I suck in a breath, hit the button to engage the lock to the front door, and turn for my car in the driveway. But as I’m walking, I can’t stop my fingers from moving on the keyboard, thumbing out another text to Briar before I tug open the driver’s side door.

ROYAL: She told you?

brIAR: We knew things weren’t great after the tape broke and Amber’s scene at The Sapphire Room. But Aspen and I took her for a spa day and pried it out of her. We thought you two were holed up together, trying to get a handle on everything. Never in a million years did I think you’d be dumb enough to hurt the woman you love, especially like that.

Love.

Love.

Jade had said it, and I hadn’t reacted. Because it felt right, just like every other moment with her has.

Because I knew even then that I love her too.

Of course, I do.

How can I not?

And I hurt her.

Pain ricochets through me, slicing deep and without quarter. I deserve it. Hell, I deserve so much fucking more than that.

But how do I fix it?

I insulted her music, her professionalism, and worst of all, I hurt her and pushed her away after I had promised—fucking promised —to deal with this shitstorm together.

Panic grips my insides, far more intensely than any of the episodes I’ve experienced since my accident. I can’t breathe, can’t see because the black has intruded so far in from the edges of my vision that it’s blinding.

And I can’t think.

Or can’t think of anything aside from the fact that I hurt her.

Sweat drips down my spine. My hands spasms on the steering wheel. Mind racing, lungs straining, I drop my forehead to the steering wheel and wait.

I need to fix this.

I need to find a way to make it right.

I need to find Jade.

That, thankfully, helps me crawl out of the panic. A first step unclenches the hand wrapped around my heart, finally loosens the tight shackles that prevent my lungs from drawing in enough air.

Eventually, I’m able to remember how to breathe, to get enough oxygen into my body that my mind begins to clear.

I yank a napkin from the glovebox, wipe my face, my hands.

My cell buzzes.

brIAR: It’s not too late to fix it.

I don’t respond to her message.

I should, considering that Briar is one of the most important people in my life and has been by my side through thick and thin.

But I don’t.

Because I owe Jade the first explanation. No, the first apology.

No , I owe the woman I love something that will prove to her exactly how much I know I fucked up, exactly how much she means to me, exactly the lengths I will go to make things right.

Jade deserves the world.

Not a washed-up rock star too miserable for his own good.

So, no. I don’t respond to Briar.

And I don’t try to text or call Jade again.

Instead, I back out of the driveway and go to the one person I know has his finger on the pulse of exactly where Jade is.

Dash.

Or Dash’s office .

He scowls at me as he tugs open the door, and I’m not dumb enough to miss that he doesn’t invite me in.

“Is she here?” I rasp.

His hazel eyes are molten with rage. “She’s not here,” he growls. “Not that I would tell you if she was, asshole.”

I don’t bother getting mad back.

I deserve that rage.

And it doesn’t help me make this right.

“I fucked up,” I admit. “I know that, man. I just…” I grind my teeth together, every instinct hating that I need to lay it on the line, even as every instinct is telling me I need to lay it on the line. “I fucked up bad. But she blocked me and she isn’t home and…”

Dash’s face has gone blank and I sigh.

“I can’t fix it if I don’t know where she is. I’ve been to Nashville, to Tahoe. I’ve called Kate and Maddie and even her fucking record company. No one is talking to me.” He snorts and I ignore it, pushing on. “I’m begging you, man. I’m begging you to tell me where she is.”

There’s a long pause.

Long enough that the panic begins to edge in again.

Then he says, “I can’t.”

Just I can’t.

Panic is replaced by frustration. “You can but you won’t.”

Another pause, but this one isn’t nearly as long. “You’re right.” He steps out of the opening, begins to close the door, but it’s not shut all the way when he strikes the final blow.

“You fucked up. It’s up to you to fix it.”