Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
But I know he’s in there.
I pause and place my ear against the door.
It’s bad to eavesdrop, but when I heard Cole’s voice, I couldn’t stop myself. Something about Michael and the party and that he did something horrible. I hold my breath and wait for him to tell his friends. After all, they’re the only ones keeping his band together. Without them, he’s alone. Lost.
And I am the catalyst to it all.
His band members will believe him if he tells them the truth of exactly what Michael did to me.
But he doesn’t.
He refuses, and it twists my heart into knots.
Someone grasps the door handle, and I quickly move away, clutching my bag close. Tristan and Benjamin march out and stare at me as though I’m the world’s worst vixen. As if I single-handedly destroyed their band.
Maybe they’re right. What if I did?
Michael got kicked out now because of what happened to me. And now they can’t play anymore.
And Cole still chose to protect me instead of saving his band. He’s now carrying the full brunt of the attack because of me.
I frown and walk toward the room, clutching the door handle.
Can I? Should I?
When he told me to leave, I was heartbroken.
And when I found out about the picture being out there, I was shattered.
But maybe he was mean for a reason. And maybe he didn’t share that picture at all.
He kept the fact that Michael tried something on me a secret.
He didn’t tell his best friends because it was my story to tell, not his.
Which means he does care about me, no matter how much he tries to deny it. And I won’t let him push me away anymore. I need to know the truth. So I go inside and lock the door behind me.
He’s sitting on the stage with a brand-new guitar lying right next to him, untouched. His hands are in his hair as he leans over, desperate to hide from the world … from me. Because I know he saw me come in. I’m standing in the middle of the fucking room, waiting for him to talk. The pause feels eternal.
“Did you come to see me at my lowest?” he asks.
Why would he ask that question? Does he really think I hate him that much?
“You’re in luck,” he scoffs. “I’m down and out. Defeated. Beaten. Take a picture while you’re here and post it. I don’t fucking care anymore.”
I put my bag down on the floor. “Why would I do that?”
He looks up at me, his eyes full of hurt. “Because it’s the easier thing to do.”
I fold my arms as a tiny smile tugs at my lips. “I don’t like easy.”
He shakes his head and snorts. “I’ve noticed …”
It’s quiet for some time, and I don’t know what to say to make this all okay again. Even though he treated me like shit, I don’t think he deserved this.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “About your band.”
He looks up at me with a dark frown on his face. “No. Don’t fucking say that.”
I shrug. “Why not? It’s my fault you guys fell apart.”
“Don’t.”
I raise a brow. “Really? So first you treat me like shit and then you won’t even accept my apology?”
“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” he growls. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t need your sorry.”
“Then what do you need?” I ask, opening my arms. “Because I don’t understand anymore. You keep pulling and pushing, wanting me and pushing me away at the same time.”
“I need something I can’t fucking have,” he retorts, clenching his fist while looking up at me.
I gulp.
Does he mean me or his band?
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I say. “I know I ruined things for you.”
“Stop saying that!” he growls. Getting up from the stage, he marches toward me, stopping a few inches away. “You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing. Michael hurt you. You don’t fucking apologize. He does,” he says through gritted teeth.
His chest rises and falls with every agitated breath.
I’m amazed. All this time I thought he was mad at me for ruining things, but he’s mad at me for apologizing?
“I thought you were mad at me,” I say. “When you told me to leave, I—”
“You fucking thanked me,” he interjects, looking down at me from underneath his lashes. “In the shower.”
“I thought… You wanted …” I suck in a breath.
“I don’t want a thank-you fuck. I don’t need you to give me what I want just because I did the right thing,” he says, his voice strained with emotions.
I let go of the breath I was holding. I finally understand. After all this time, I finally realize what he was doing … Protecting me.
From him.
“But you used to bully me. Why did you suddenly start caring?” I ask.