Page 10 of The Bridges I've Burned

I’d been making a name for myself as a session guitarist for years. I liked the variety, bouncing around from one gig to the next. I’d filled in for some amazing bands and equally amazing venues. My last gig was crazy. Like life-goals kind of shit. The band—Manic at Midnight—was a household name. The US tour was insane, and I thought nothing could top it.

Until they asked me to come on full-time. Yep, that was right. A permanent member of one of the biggest bands on the planet. Most people would just say fuck yes and then roll around in the pile of cash that was thrown at them. But there was a reason I’d chosen this career path.

I liked being a ghost. I enjoyed the anonymity of showing up and playing the part and then disappearing. I got to enjoy the perks of the job with none of the pitfalls. Of course, the money wasn’t as good, but considering where I’d come from, I was doing pretty fucking well.

But this? This could set me up for life.

It could also be my downfall.

“Doesn’t mean I want to be out of town right before I possibly leave again for months,” I said, knowing I was full of shit. I was anything but a homebody. Last year, I’d seen the inside of a hotel room more than my own bedroom.

“What the fuck does it matter if you’re in North Carolina or LA? I’m pretty sure they have airports out there. Also, I feel no sympathy for a man who will be spending months traipsing across Europe with a rock god like Asher fucking Knight.”

I rolled my eyes. “Asshole.”

“No,” he countered. “I’ve just become an expert at recognizing Zander Green bullshit. I should be certified by now.” He thought he was fucking hilarious. “I could go with you,” he offered. “Maybe hook up with some cute bridesmaid. Or one of those hot tourists you used to talk about.”

I rolled my eyes, remembering the time I’d drunkenly told him about losing my virginity to a girl who had been driving a wayward golf cart. She’d nearly run me off the road. She made up for it by giving me a blow job on her parents’ boat. Pretty sure she was just using me to rebel a little, but I didn’t care. I was sixteen, and she was hot. I’d learned a whole lot from her that week.

“I tell you way too much when I’m inebriated.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of a lush.”

“You’re just not gonna let this go, are you?”

“He’s your brother, Z.”

“I don’t need a brother.” I have you.

I didn’t say it, but I didn’t need to. As much as I’d resisted them at first, the Creeds had dragged me into their crazy little family and adopted me as one of their own.

There was nothing for me back in Ocracoke.

“If you don’t want anything to do with Macon, at least go back and say your piece. You owe it to yourself, if nothing else. Give yourself that closure, and then you can finally say yes, make us all proud, and then promptly forget us all, like all famous people do.”

I purposely ignored that last part. “When I left, I promised myself that I’d never go back.”

He gave me a wry grin. “When I was eighteen, I promised my sisters I wouldn’t sleep with their friends.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Some promises are meant to be broken.”

I roared with laughter. Eventually, the room became silent again, and I looked over at him, my arms folded across my lap. “You think I’ll have regrets if I don’t go?”

“I think you’ll never be able to put your past truly behind you until you face it. You either need to forgive and make amends, or say what you came to say and walk away.”

I looked down at his messy handwriting. “So, shit or get off the pot?”

He chuckled at my choice of words. “And my parents wonder why I’m still single.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” The words came rushing out of my mouth the instant I stepped out of the Norfolk Airport.

It was sweltering.

I’d forgotten how suffocating the humidity here could get around the summer months. I could not fathom why anyone would willingly choose to have their wedding in this kind of weather. I couldn’t really fathom why anyone would choose to get married in the first place, but that was an entirely different conversation.

With my duffel bag in tow, I managed to locate my rental, and I was on the road in no time.

I already wanted to turn back and go home. But I knew I would never hear the end of it if I did. Hendrix was a glass-half-full kind of guy. He had two parents, a fuck ton of siblings, and thought the world began and ended with the word family.

He hadn’t lived the kind of life I had—with a poor, deadbeat dad throughout a childhood that could only be made worse with the death of a mother. I’d spent the first few months of my adult life trying to put as much distance as I could between me and my father.

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