Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (50 page)

At last, his dark eyes roamed her face, before stopping dead on her gaze. “Go back to life. Back to what you do.”

One of the horses in the pastures might as well have been sitting on her chest. It became impossible to breathe, but she croaked out a confused, “What?”

“I’m not capable of a relationship right now.”

“What are you saying? Did that come out in therapy?”

“No!” His eyes widened a fraction, visibly shocked at the question and then a resigned look glazed them. “Look.” For a second he seemed on the verge of pulling her to him, and his next words were gentle. “Can we just end this for now, without a lot of talking? Just put everything on hold, and then do our talking when we’re not hiding out in a barn?”

Holding his gaze, she stood as if in a trance. “Fine. My flight tomorrow is not until six. Call me and―”

“I won’t. I won’t call. Change it for an earlier one. Go ahead back to the house and go about your life like there’s no me rotting away back here.”

She’d been on the verge of slapping him or breaking down in tears. Which, she wasn’t sure. Now, she worried and sank to his level again. “Do they have you on some meds?”

His eyes had strayed, but they snapped to hers. “No. This is me. All me. Telling you we’re done for now.”

“Fine.” She wanted to scream every hateful curse in her vocabulary at him. More so, she wanted to scream them at herself. He was a fucking rock star. They were all nuts, and she’d known that going in. What an idiot she’d been to convince herself the boy who’d once been her ally against the world and against her mother, was still inside the man who had just fucked her both physically and emotionally. “I don’t want to talk about it either. So don’t worry.” She hated messy split ups.
God. Is that what we’re doing? Breaking up?
“I’ll talk to you when I talk to you, I guess.” She stood as she talked and clenched her phone as if it were a lifeline. “I’m going to see if I can get a red-eye out. Maybe I can get back before Colt goes to bed.” She moved toward the stairs. And suddenly he was there, in her face.

“Fuck you, Scarlette.”

“No. Fuck you!”

His lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, you did. And I’m the best you’ll ever have. You know it.”

“Asshole. Let me go!”

He looked down and seemed startled to see his hands curled around her upper arms. Immediately, he released and she shot down the stairs so fast, she hit her head on the wall as she rounded the corner.

T
he warmth of the shower raining down over her skin relaxed her enough that her tears finally poured. She’d been dry eyed for almost twenty-four hours, through the overnight hotel stay—she hadn’t made good on her threat to take an earlier flight. Through the flight home, she’d dozed—exhausted from tossing and turning, expecting him to give in and call. She’d let herself into the house and played a few minutes with Rascal before going upstairs to wash the travel-grime feel from her body.

The dam of emotion might have remained intact longer had she not been reading the lyrics on the tile as she lathered her hair.

‘Forever Scarred’ broke her. There were only six verses in Gage’s distinctive scrawl. But his feelings and intentions at that time of their relationship shone through.

After drying off, she carelessly let the towel fall, pulled on one of his tee shirts and a pair of black Diesel boxers, and climbed into the bed with Rascal. Still sniffling, she dialed Ivy.

Voicemail greeted her and she spoke. “Hi. I just got back. Call me when you can.” Hesitating, she combed through Rascal’s fur. “Gage broke it off.”

The phone rang the second she pressed ‘end.’ Ivy’s number and smiling face blinked. Managing a hello through the lump in her throat, she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let the waterworks begin again.

“Are you okay, honey?”

She nodded and then realized her friend couldn’t see the gesture. “Yeah. Just sad.” Sad was such an understatement that her eyes betrayed her with more tears.

“He’s an idiot.” The three words were so vehemently spit through the speakers of the phone that Scarlette almost raised her fingers to her face to wipe it. “What happened? Tell me everything, hon.”

“We were…”
What had happened?
She cuddled closer to Rascal and shouldered the phone. “I went to visit. And we…” Letting her head fall back to the headboard, she watched the wall sconce on the wall over it blur. Now she did lift her finger and wipe a stray tear. “We had a good visit. And then he just went ballistic and turned on me. I was showing him a video of the stuff Seth is teaching me.”

“Why’d he lose his mind over Seth?”

“Because he assumed it was Colt teaching me the new stuff.”

“And when you told him it wasn’t?”

“Fuck him, just fuck him.”

“You didn’t tell him Colt has been on tour over a month?”

“If he doesn’t trust me then―”

“I know. Fuck him!”

Her eyes burned and brimmed again, and when they flooded over and spilled down her face, she hiccupped out a “Fuck it all.” Through fresh sniffles, she croaked, “Want to come over tomorrow? Get drunk by the pool?”

Rascal edged close and rested his head across her leg. She cast her eyes about, looking for a tee shirt or anything near she could use on her dripping nose. Finally, she drew the edge of the sheet up and was too depressed to feel repulsed by the action. Forcing a deep breath through her mouth, she tried to calm herself, and wondered if her call had dropped.

Ivy’s words dripped with empathy. “Scarlette, I’m not in town. But I’ll be home Tuesday morning. Do you want to do something after your class? Are you going to class?”

“Where are you?” Another swipe at her nose while she tried to remember if Ivy had mentioned Bradley on location.

Again the seconds seemed long before Ivy chirped, “Auditioning. I’ll tell you all about it Tuesday. But you can call me anytime. In fact, call me when you wake up in the morning?”

Scarlette agreed. After hanging up, she placed the phone on the giant pillow next to her. The one with Rascal’s head on the corner instead of Gage’s. She reached for the lamp and then changed her mind. The house seemed emptier than it had since his leaving, and she was glad, not for the first time, of the bodyguard who was less than a minute and a panic button away.

K
icked back in the desk chair, feet propped on an open drawer, Gage assaulted the guitar strings. When the high E snapped, he welcomed the sting to his hand. Ignoring the hanging string, he continued, the beat battering his eardrums through the headphones.

The blinking of his phone caught his eye. He couldn’t deal with Scar. Worry, however, had him setting aside the instrument and swinging his legs to the floor. He didn’t want to disregard her reaching out in an emergency situation.

Instead of a text from Scar, he found one from Colt. Two words. Call. Me.

And he was just mad enough to do that. Carrying the phone, he marched down the hall since there was little or no signal in the ‘guest’ rooms as they were called.

Pacing just outside the common room, he glared at the twinkling stars and placed the call.

Mid ring, Colt answered with a “What the hell is going on?”

So Scarlette
had
gone running to Colt, either literally or with a phone call. The knowledge cut like a knife and twisted in his gut. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what? Have you lost your fucking mind? Why the hell would you do this shit to Scarlette?”

“The second I’m out of here you better watch yourself. I’m coming for you! I will fuck you up, motherfucker!”

“You know I’m not even home, right? There was a cancellation in the metal tour that passed on us during your last rehab stint and we’re on it.”

Fuck. Fuck so many things
.

“Fire Flight?” Immediately after kicking him out, they’d gone on tour?

“Are you hearing what I’m saying? Seth is teaching her guitar.
Seth
! Not fucking me! Scarlette is a fucking mess. You need to fix this shit now!”

His relief upon knowing the truth was as great as his guilt. The jealousy didn’t completely subside. How did Colt know there was a mess? Obviously because she called him. And that, right there, was something he couldn’t seem to get past. The freaky friendship she and Colt had. The hate-one-minute-and-best-friends-next-minute rapport they had.

Inhaling a calming breath of night air, he ended the call. Fuck Colt. Fuck Scarlette. Fuck this shit that was his life. If he walked out now, he could… But no. He was learning to handle his shit. To not let his emotions fuck up his life. And walking out of here would screw up everything.

S
he was drifting into an exhausted doze when the pillow next to her vibrated, and Rascal picked up his head. Her heart pounded as she pulled up the message.

Almost immediately, he called. Continuing to hold the phone, she watched his face flash on the screen until the call routed automatically to voicemail. When a chime indicated a message left, she hastily put the speaker to her ear.

‘I’m sorry. So, so sorry. If you’re awake, call me.’

Holding the phone to her chest, she watched Rascal settle back down and debated dialing. It was late. From what she understood, his phone wouldn’t take or receive calls inside his room. So was he waiting about somewhere to see if she would call back? For this, she felt a niggling tug of guilt. As badly as she had wanted to hear from him, now she realized it made no difference.

It was early when he called the next morning. This time, the rings woke her from a dead sleep, and she didn’t think it through. She answered. His sincere apology and the sexy timbre of his voice in her ear further blended her mixed emotions.

“I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry.” And when she remained quiet, he whispered, “I fucked up, Scar. I feel like shit. Hell, I am shit. I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“I know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, just below the tear ducts, which had begun weeping again.

“I wish I was there. I wish I could hold you.”

Pushing aside the covers, she sat up, drawing her legs up and curling an arm around them. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah. It does. I was wrong. Way wrong.”

“I know.”

The seconds stretched into a minute. Her phone shook with an incoming text, and she ignored it while listening to his quiet breaths.

“Talk to me, Scar. Yell at me. Something.”

“It doesn’t matter. Because there’s something so screwed up about you even thinking that.” Somehow, she forced the next words out. “This isn’t going to work. We’re not going to work.”

“Don’t think like that. Okay?” His voice was raspy. As if his throat was as closed up as hers. “What you’re saying is true. And you know I know that. I told you. I fucked up. But
we’re
going to work. I promise you that. I
promise
you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can.”

She had no doubts Gage would fluctuate back and forth until she gave in. He was stubborn, but stubbornness didn’t make what he was saying true. A piece of her was afraid he would walk out of rehab. He’d done it before for much less. Right?