Page 8 of Veiled

“Why?”

“Good to see you too. I’m totally fine, by the way. Thanks for asking,” I deadpan, crossing my arms and feeling completely out of place with my expensive dress shoes and suit. But this is what I wear.

I wouldn’t be caught out and about in anything else, not even in the hills of Tennessee. His eyes drift over me, and I hate that my entire body heats and not from the summer weather. “Go home.”

“You can’t be seriously living here,” I say, looking around the deserted area. There’s nothing out here. I’ve known Justin for a long time. He likes the finer things in life. He likes his food delivered and doesn’t know how to cook. He likes his assistants to pick up his dry cleaning and groceries.

I cannot believe he can survive out here.

“I’m doing just fine. Go home. You don’t work for me anymore.”

“This is how you tell me I’m fired?” I ask him, moving a little closer, now that I know it was Justin in the truck and not some Deliverance type of shit. I didn’t make it through that movie, but I saw enough to be scared as fuck out here.

“I told you I was done being Justin St. James from Immoral. And then I left. What else do you need?”

He steps into me, and I try like hell not to breathe him in. He smells the same, but there’s a hint of outdoors there too. Maybe some sweat. He smells too damn good. “I need you to come back home and stop this shit.”

“Why? You aren’t hurting for 10 percent of my earnings, Waylon. You’ll be just fine without me.”

Except I won’t be.

I can’t say that though. I square my shoulders instead and look him dead in the eyes. “It’s not about a goddamn paycheck. It’s about the fact that we hooked up, and then you moved out into the middle of nowhere. In Tennessee.”

He scoffs at me, all broody and angry. I remember a time when he enjoyed the fame. The music. The crowds. When he was truly happy. But I barely recognize this man before me. The man he’s become slowly over the past few years as he grew tired of it all.

And I ignored it.

Because I didn’t want to believe he was miserable.

“You really think I left because you jerked me off?” He moves into me, and for a brief moment, I lean into him, my eyes closing as I remember the way his strong body felt against mine. He’s added muscle since then. I wonder just how damn solid they’d feel under my hands, but I quickly remember myself and step back.

“Why did you leave then?” I ask seriously because I’m at a loss. I know he was getting tired of it, but I didn’t expect him to just pick up and leave. “And why Tennessee?”

“It’s none of your business, Waylon. You’re fired. Go home. Go back to the city. It’s getting dark.”

I look around, seeing the sun setting behind the trees and try not to show my nerves. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me. If this is about us, you need to tell me. I know I messed up.”

He laughs again, but there’s no humor there. “It’s not about you and me. My bags were already packed. You were just too busy to notice.”

I study him carefully, my eyes narrowed in his direction. “Why did you leave? You can be Not Justin St. James in Kansas City.”

“No. That’s not true, and you know it.”

“Fine an hour outside of Kansas City, like Mav.” The man likes his privacy too and hasn’t had any trouble finding secluded areas.

“Go home,” he says as he locks his truck and starts toward one of the cabins.

“I’m not leaving. You know me pretty well,” I say as he stops to look at me. “You know I’m not giving up this easily. Talk to me.”

“No,” is all he says before unlocking the cabin and going inside, slamming the door behind him. I don’t miss the click of the lock when he gets inside either.

Well fuck.

What the hell am I going to do now? I look at my phone and see absolutely no bars on it. No service out here.

This is just fucking great. This really is how I’m going to die.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

---