Page 110 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

The roar of the crowd swells around us as we exit the stage, but the moment we’re out of sight of the fans, the guys close in.

“That’s it,” Emily announces, stepping toward us. “We need a Band meeting. Now.”

“I’m fine,” I growl, but they’re already herding me toward the green room.

“Yeah, you’re totally fine,” Luke snorts. “That’s why you’ve been walking around like a zombie for weeks.”

“And butchering songs you could play in your sleep,” Vince adds.

Cass closes the door behind us with a frown. “You need to call her.”

“There’s nothing to say.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.

“Bullshit.” Sam drops onto the couch across from me.

Emily steps forward. “You’re both miserable,” she states sternly, crossing her arms.

“Emily, you need to mind your own business.”

“She’s worried about you. We all are.” Sam explains, defending his wife as he sits on the end of the couch. “Look, man, we get why you’re angry. But is it worth throwing away everything you had with Lacey?”

I grip my sticks tighter, focusing on the worn wood grain. “She betrayed my trust.”

“She made a mistake,” Luke counters. “One mistake. And she puts up with more PR bullshit than anyone should have to handle.”

“You didn’t see her face when she left,” Emily says quietly. “She was devastated.”

The memory of her tear-stained cheeks hits me like a physical blow. I stand abruptly, needing to move, to escape their concern.

“It’s been over a month,” Cass points out. “How much longer are you going to punish both of you?”

Vince suddenly snorts. “You’ve got it bad for her. Why don’t you just admit it?”

I scowl. “Shut up.”

But I can’t shut out the memories. They creep in uninvited, slamming into me at the worst moments—like now.

The way she fit against me in bed, her breath warm against my neck, her nails dragging down my back as she moaned my name. The way her lips parted, her body arching beneath me, her dark eyes heavy with heat and something else—something that scared me as much as it made me crave her more.

I force myself to shake it off, swallowing hard. But my silence only fuels their concern and their amusement at my stubbornness.

“You know,” Cass muses, propping his feet up on the coffee table, “you could just call her.”

Every muscle in my body tenses.

I should have. I should have called her the second she left. Should have told her that even though I was pissed, even though I needed space, I never wanted her to actually go.

But now, every day that passes makes it harder to pick up the phone.

Instead of answering Cass, I grab another bottle of water and take a long drink, letting the cold liquid cool the fire burning inside me.

I know I should call her. I want to call her. But what the hell would I say? That I miss her? That every song I play reminds me of her? That I keep reaching for my phone, only to put it down again like a goddamn coward? I sit down on the couch again, feeling defeated.

Cass nudges my boot with his own. “You know, man, pride’s a bitch. You keep waiting for the perfect moment, and you’ll wake up one day realizing you missed your chance.”

Luke leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She loves you, Nate. We all saw it. And I don’t think she wanted to leave.”

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration curling in my gut. “She did leave.”

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