Page 55 of Fractured Dreams

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Tex’s phone rang for the third time in a row. He answered it without checking who it was, snarling, “What the fuck do you want?”

There was a pause at the other end of the phone, then Connor’s voice came through, heavy with concern. “Man, where are you? You’ve been MIA for two days.”

“Taking some personal time,” Tex snapped, as a thudding pain bloomed behind his eyes.

“Well, you missed this morning’s recording session. What the hell’s going on? Noah is here looking shifty as all fuck but won’t say anything.”

Tex groaned, his head pounding. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hung over before. He needed another drink—and soon—before it got worse.

Connor’s voice grew muffled, as if he was talking to someone else and partially covering his phone. When he came back on, he asked, “Are you at home?”

Tex’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked upright, making his head swim. He could tell he wasn’t in his own bed, and he was praying that he wasn’t in some random woman’s bed instead. Not that it mattered anymore, but the thought of sleeping with someone else, even when blackout drunk, made him more nauseous than the alcohol.

Thank God, when he looked around, he realized he was only in his guest room, and he had the vaguest recollection of stumbling there with an almost empty bottle of whiskey the night before, because he hadn’t wanted to be in the bed he’d made love to Eden in. Had felt too dirty to defile the place where she’d curled up next to him, warm and trusting.

“Tex?” Connor said, after what must have been too long a silence.

“I’m at home.” Fuck, his throat was sore, as if he’d been yelling. But if he had, he couldn’t remember. He did remember that he needed another drink though. He groped around for the bottle he’d brought up with him, but when he finally found it, partially under the bed, it was empty. He dropped what had been a $100,000 bottle of sixty-two-year-old scotch back on the floor.

Groaning, he heaved himself up and made his way slowly out the door, for some reason still clutching the phone to his ear, even though he’d almost forgotten he had it.

“We’re coming round. Don’t go anywhere.” Connor hung up.

Tex snorted, he doubted he’d be able to make it out the front door in the state he was in, let alone drive or ride. He was able to make it down the stairs to the bar though. After rummaging around, he found another bottle of whiskey and cracked it open. Time to get rid of his headache, and hopefully this time he’d also obliterate the memory of Eden’s face when he’d lied and told her she wasn’t the one.

After he’d fucking slept with her.

Tex swore and scrubbed his face roughly with his hands, the memory of how badly he’d screwed up searing through him. He’d been drinking all that afternoon, ever since he’d got Eden’s message asking to see him, trying to get the balls to break it off, trying to find the words. Then when she’d kissed him, he was going to stop her, but he’d just wanted one last taste of her, one last moment of her lips against his, her hands on his skin, the softness of her body pressed against his. And before he could stop himself, he was inside her, telling her he loved her the only way he could, with his hands and his lips and his body.

And when she’d said the words he couldn’t, the full realization of what he was doing had crashed in on him. But still, he couldn’t stop. Not until he’d made her his one last time.

Then he’d cut her loose.

Pain lanced through Tex and he clenched his eyes shut. Eden would never know that letting her go had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Every word of the lies he’d told her had cut him like a knife. And, like the fucking coward he was, he hadn’t even been able to look her in the eye as he’d broken her heart because he knew he wouldn’t be able to go through with it if he had to watch as it happened.

But he’d had no choice, he’dhadto lie to her. Because what Noah had said in New York was true. Eden wouldn’t just accept it if he tried to spell out all the reasons why their relationship wouldn’t work—why he wasn’t the right man for her. Not when she’d already fallen for him. And if she’d turned her big blue eyes on him and told him she loved him again, told him she wanted to take the risk anyway, he’d have caved in an instant. He’d already proven he had no will power when it came to her. So he hadn’t let her—had known exactly what to say to make her walk away and not look back.

Tex tipped his head back and drank—straight from the bottle he was clutching—then dropped flat on his back on the couch. His stomach rebelled, nausea rolling through him, so he resorted to taking small regular sips instead of gulping it down the way he wanted to.

He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for what he’d done to Eden. But there was no other option, because no matter how much she was hurting now—how much they were both hurting—it was nothing compared to how bad it would hurt if they let themselves fall harder, love each other longer, start to build a future together. A future that would come crashing down when he unintentionally hurt her one too many times, when she finally understood that he wouldn’t be able to give her what she needed to be happy—when she inevitably realized the life she was living wasn’t the one she’d dreamed of.

Fuck it. Tex raised the bottle and took several gulps of the whiskey, then flung his arm over his eyes as he struggled with the urge not to throw it all back up.

Taking long, deep breaths in through his nose, he lay there, the room spinning, for who knew how long before he was roused by the sound of his front door opening. Taking another sip, he waited for Connor, and whoever else had decided to come over, to find him. A few seconds later, Connor, Zac, and that fucker Noah, rounded the corner and found him laid flat out on the couch.

Connor scrubbed his hand over his face when he saw the state Tex was in, casting a look at Zac and Noah, who were both wearing grim expressions. He crouched down next to Tex. “Noah told us on the way over that you and Eden had a thing going on.” He glanced up at Noah, then back down. “But he doesn’t know what happened after he spoke to you. Eden’s gone, left early for her internship. She didn’t tell Noah what happened, but from that, and the state you’re in, I’m going to guess it wasn’t an amicable parting.”

Tex’s heart plummeted. Even broken up, even with her hating him, he’d taken comfort in the thought she was nearby, in the same city as him. But she hadn’t been, she’d been gone, and he hadn’t even known. He thought maybe he should have sensed it—an emptiness where she’d been—but then he just felt empty in general, so what was the difference?

He closed his eyes and took another mouthful of whiskey.

Connor sighed and stood up. “C’mon man, let’s get you some water and get you into bed. You need to sober up. You’re not doing anyone any good like this.”

Tex’s eyes snapped open, and he stared up at his friends, alcohol-fueled anger rolling through him. “Fuck you all,” he said. He pointed at Connor. “Fuck you for not even wanting love and having it fall into your lap.” He pointed at Zac. “Fuck you for…” He paused, brow furrowed, trying to figure out the bass player’s current relationship status. “I don’t even know what, you enigmatic fuck.” Lastly, he pointed at Noah. “And fuck you for being a fucking better brother than you are a friend.”

Noah’s jaw tightened, and he cast a pained look at the others, but he stooped down to help grab a limb anyway. And Tex didn’t fight them when they hauled him upright and maneuvered him to his bed. He just wanted oblivion.

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