Page 156 of Rebel

“Sorry, you blinded me for a minute,” I tell her without shame. “I know you’re struggling.” Her smile slowly fades. “I won’t ask you to talk if you don’t want to, but between your mom, your sister, and what happened, I think you are trying to move forward without really dealing with everything. I know, I did the same thing, and it only bit me in the ass. I want you to be happy, Beck. That’s all I want, and if you say you are, I’ll let it go, but I have a therapist’s number if you want to talk to someone. If not, we are all here and will do anything you need.”

“I am dealing,” she admits slowly, “in my own way. I don’t want to talk to a therapist. It’s just not who I am. It works for some people, but that isn’t for me.” I nod. I didn’t know if it would be, but I had to try. “But I hear you, Trav. I do.” She sighs, leaning into me. “Some days it’s just so hard. I miss her so much that I feel guilty about being happy, you know? But I’m trying. It’s going to take time, but it’s enough, and having all of you here with me helps. Just be here for me.”

“Always,” I promise as I kiss her softly. “In whatever way you need. You have us, Beck. You had us from the first moment you stepped on that stage, and you will have us forever.”

“Good.” She kisses me back before a wicked grin curves her lips. I groan because it means trouble, but it also makes my cock jerk with desire. “Now, about that dye . . . It was actually me.” She turns and runs.

Laughing, I chase after her, and her giggles fill the house with warmth and love—a love I didn’t know I was missing until her.

CHASE

I send Beck a text after I leave my meeting. I’m not struggling today, but I felt the need to go and remind myself how far I have come. I’ll always be an addict, but I’m learning that doesn’t define me.

I’m still an addict, only now I’m addicted to Beck Danvers—Summer.

Pretty Girl: Come back soon, I have news.

That gets me moving, and I tug down my hat as I climb into the waiting car and direct them to the house. It’s been quiet these last few weeks. The paparazzi were crazy for a few days, but our label has worked miracles to get them to back off and give us the space we need. They are eager to be better, and that’s all we can ask for.

After all, every single one of us knows people make mistakes. It’s how they act afterwards that matters.

An addict, a healing child, a trauma-filled drummer, and a grieving singer.

We all know the importance of forgiveness, and we are living it every day.

We make it home in record time, and once inside, I frown at the empty hallway. It’s too quiet. “Guys? Baby?” I call.

“In the game room!” she calls back, giggling after her words.

I grin at the sound. Her laughter has been sparse recently, so I drink down each and every one. Heading that way, I drop my bag on the side table and open the closed doors.

“Surprise!” they scream in unison as I blink.

They wear music-decorated party hats, and above them is a banner with the words, “We are back!”

I frown, unsure what’s happening as Beck hands over a black Solo cup with a skull on the side and guides me over to the pool table where a big box sits on the top. “We are going back on tour,” she gushes excitedly. “I’m ready, and I miss it. We are going back during the weekend. We will make up for the missed dates at the end, but I’m excited. To celebrate, we thought we would give you a gift. You are our founder, the original Dead Ringer, so it’s your tour present you never got.”

“Beck—” She covers my mouth.

“This is a good thing. I’m happy, I swear. I’m ready to go back. I want to tour. So enjoy this.” She grins, clapping. “Open it, open it.”

I share a look with Trav and Kolton, who just smile secretly at me. I bite my lip, since I’ve never had a gift before, as I gently pull off the bow, knowing we like to save the ribbon, and then open the lid, blinking at what’s inside.

Nestled in the big box is a single key with a skull key ring. I lift it, confused.

“It’s a Harley Davidson Cosmic Starship.” She smiles. “Every time you are stressed or worried or feel the need to get high, I figured you could escape on it and feel the adrenaline and get a high without drugs.” When I just stare, she wilts. “I’m sorry. Is that insensitive? I just wanted to help.” I swallow her words as I kiss her hard enough that our teeth clash.

“I fucking love you, pretty girl,” I whisper. “How can you be so perfect?”

How can she understand the itch that never leaves me and offer me a solution without judgment?

“I’m glad you like it because before we get utterly drunk and you fuck my brains out, we’re going for a spin.” She grins and grabs my hands, yanking me outside to see my new bike, but all I can see is her.

My Beck, my Summer, my love.

The woman who saved me.

Who saved us all.

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