Page 9 of Sinner's Vow

Chapter Four

KENNEDY

We flewstraight to Los Angeles and there was only a thirty-minute layover until we boarded the plane to Australia. I was not prepared for how long the flight was going to be. After twenty-one hours of travel time, I felt like a total zombie when we touched down.

“We have thirty-six hours before the show,” Maddy, the tour manager, says as we step off the plane. “The cars are outside waiting. They’ll take you to your hotels. Get some sleep. Look perky when it’s time to hit the stage.”

I watch a woman walk up from behind Maddy, her eyes fixed on Owen. She looks serious, focused. But as her eyes meet his, a smile grows on her face. The kind of smile that says she’s in love. And there isn’t a bone in me that doubts it when I look at the smile on Owen’s face. He catches her around the waist, lifting her right off the ground. Her hands come to either side of his face and they kiss each other like they’ve been apart for months.

“That’s Jordan,” Noah says as we step around them and head through the airport. Noah wears a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. And it hits me then. Noah is famous. I knew this. I was a little starstruck myself for the first ten seconds after he picked me up off the ground. But it really hits then. People, strangers, will know who he is. They’ll take his picture, they’ll want to talk to him.

And the conversation Owen and I had on the plane is further proved when Noah hands me a hat as well, nodding for me to put it on.

“She’s the one who tackled the groupie at the New York show?” I ask as I pull it down over my head. Not that it will help much. This hair is kind of unmistakable.

“Yep,” Noah confirms. “She’s tough as they come. She’s a good person, but don’t be offended if it takes her a long time to warm up to you.”

“Well, that’s not intimidating,” I scoff sarcastically.

I look over to see Noah smirk, and something flutters in my chest.

Damn. What this man does to me…

From here, I don’t even remember the ride to the airport. The world is spinning a little—I’m just so damn tired. We step outside and slip into a waiting car. It doesn’t even hit me that I’m halfway around the world, and I’ve never even been outside the country before.

The next moment we’re pulling up to the doors of a fancy-looking hotel and Noah grabs my hand, leading me inside.

And then we’re in a hotel room, staring at the bed.

“I’ll take the couch,” Noah says, his voice sounding tight.

I swallow once at that. My skin feels too tight.

But I just nod, and we both drop our bags and crash. Out like a light.

When I wake up,I’m totally confused. Whose bed is this? Where am I? What is going on?

As I roll over, my hand hits something hard. I pop up onto my elbow, looking through the dim light.

And my heart starts beating faster when I see what it is.

There is a canvas on the bed. Not a tiny one, but one of those two feet by three feet ones. Beside it, there is a pack of brushes, nice ones. Really, really nice ones. And beside that, I find a pack of paints. Really high-end paints.

The sound of footsteps pulls my eyes to the door of the bedroom of this suite. There, I see Noah lean in the doorframe. There’s something a little different in his eyes. Something a little lighter. But still hesitant. He slides his hands into his pockets.

“You’re a painter,” he says.

My insides start shaking. My hands too. And emotion bites at the backs of my eyes. “You remember?”

Noah shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. “I’m getting little bits and pieces. Most of the night is still missing. But I remember you telling me you are a painter. Classical style, right?”

The moisture pools in my eyes now. I bite my lower lip to contain it all and nod.

He doesn’t come closer. His body language still screams hesitant, unsure. But his eyes hold mine. “Kennedy, I’m so sorry,” he says. “That night, it must have been pretty fucking monumental. I can only imagine how me not remembering must make you feel.”

Pretty shitty. But I don’t say it out loud. Because Noah has felt enough guilt for long enough. I’m not going to make him feel more. “Maybe it will all come back to you.”

“Maybe,” he says, and I think I detect hope in his voice. “But I wanted to give you something back. You’re doing the band a huge favor. I’m pretty sure I could spend the rest of my life trying to make this up to you and it will still never be enough. But I remember you saying you paint, and well…I hope it’s something.”

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