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Fury begins to roll through me as he continues ripping me to pieces using the vulnerabilities I hand-fed him. He breaks contact as he delivers the last part of the song to the audience, the lyrics a hauntingly clear warning that if I don’t wake up, I’ll become another casualty destined to implode due to my own ignorance.

Bastard.

Tears spring to my eyes as he bellows the last line, his plea to an angel going a thousand miles an hour without purpose. I can feel Joel’s eyes on me as I turn to flee when the last line is repeated, and the angel Easton sings of inevitably meets her demise.

Joel calls after me, but I’m already gone, racing down the long hall backstage toward the exit. Applause erupts, and pandemonium ensues just as I burst through the back door. Humidity instantly covers me in a sheen of sweat as I reenter reality before I’m pulled under by the crushing weight of what just happened.

Feeling betrayed in a way I could never have anticipated from him, my vision blurs as I bypass a few lingering fans smoking outside, dodging their stares in seek of refuge. Bolting away from the auditorium, I make the quick decision to order a car and pin my location several blocks away, giving myself a little time to physically try and burn through some of the hurt. Ten minutes later, a Honda pulls up to where I’m waiting before the passenger side window lowers.

“Natalie Butler?”

“That’s me,” I say, the driver’s inquiry of my full name a reminder of exactly why I’ve gone to the lengths I have to ensure I don’t in any way forsake a name I take pride in.

Iammy father’s daughter.

I’m his legacy, and his legacy is my future.

Nate Butler has been my rock, my hero, and the man in my life my whole existence, and I can’t forgo him or our relationship so easily. Our relationship is precious and sacred to me, and I’m done explaining that to Easton because it’s falling on deaf ears.

Safely inside the car—feeling like I just ran an emotional marathon—I let the anger take over.

Smug, self-righteous, son of a bitch!

As if he’s got me so easily pegged—along with my flaws—likehe’ssome sort of solution. For a man who claims he wants no part of ego, he damned sure seems to have procured a massive one when it comes tome, what he thinks of me, and my actions.

“Just come from the concert?”

Glancing up, I meet the eyes of the driver, who my app told me is Tom and looks to be close to my age, if not a little older.

“Yes,” I clip out.

“I wish like hell I’d gotten tickets. How was it? Is he any good live?”

My verbal lashing dies on my tongue, and I deny myself the petty satisfaction in place of the truth.

“He’s incredible. He’s better than you could ever imagine.”

“I fucking knew it,” he replies as I wonder if that was Easton’s version of a sendoff, the notion of us parting ways like adults now laughable.

So be it.

Having a reason to despise him will make things a hell of a lot easier because right now, I can’t reconcile the mess between what my heart is screaming and what my head is trying to explain. But one thing is for sure, both are roaring mad and jointly jaded by his shitty behavior. He once told me vindictive behavior doesn’t come naturally to him.

Tonight, he made himself a liar.

“I’m going to the next one,” Tom vows as I dodge his watchful gaze in the rearview, the Dallas skyline lighting in the reflection of my passenger window.

“You should, Tom, because he’s unforgettable,” I sigh out the painful truth.

Tom’s attempt at conversation becomes background noise as a blanket of regret cloaks me. Regret now underlined by anger. A large part of me wishes I’d never flown to Seattle, never laid eyes on Easton, never raced after him out of that bar, and got into his truck. That I didn’t know the feel of his hands, the pull of his scent, the warmth that emanates from him. That I’d never got lost in his blazing kisses, or discovered the intensity of our chemistry, or felt the weight of his body on top of mine. I wish I’d never become privy to the intensity of his lovemaking, the mind-blowing feel of his thrusts and the rippling of ecstasy that follows.

That I didn’t know what it feels like to be the sole focus of a man so brilliant, so beautiful, so insightful, and so intoxicating. I hate that he tuned into me so expertly and managed to get truths about me in such a personal way that his words and behaviors with me reflect those points home so thoroughly. I hate that he’s taken so much from me already without me truly realizing it—until now—and I resent the fact that I’m the one who gave them to him.

As I pull up to the hotel feeling defeated, I decide it’s for the best. Easton did me a favor by dismissing me so cruelly. Otherwise, I might have always wondered what might have been. A small part of me wonders if alienating me was his intent, to spare me some of the heartache. Because, despite his disgusting behavior over the last six hours, he is just that type of selfless man.

I hate that I’ll never know that for sure.

All I do know is that it’s time to go home.

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