Page 75 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“Jesus, Nate,” Vince mutters, wiping sweat from his brow. “You trying to break the damn thing?”

I don’t respond.

Because if I do, I might just snap.

My drumsticks hit harder than necessary as I try to drown out the echo of Lacey’s voicemail greeting for the third time today.The rhythm is off—aggressive and unsteady—nothing like the precise control I usually maintain. But precision isn’t what I’m after right now.

“Still no answer?” Sam asks from across the studio, his voice carefully neutral.

I don’t bother responding. He already knows.

Two weeks. It’s been two fucking weeks since I last held her, since that night after the album launch party when everything felt perfect—right before it all went wrong.

We’d stumbled through my front door laughing, both of us still high on adrenaline and each other. The heat from our encounter at the party had followed us home, building with every touch, every kiss. The sex was off the charts—we couldn’t get enough of each other. We were both wild and insatiable. I smile, remembering how she’d tasted like champagne, how her fingers had traced fire down my chest, how she’d whispered my name like a prayer…

But now? Radio silence.

I grip my sticks tighter, barely resisting the urge to throw them across the damn room as memories from that night flood back—her skin glowing in the moonlight, the way she’d arched beneath me, how perfectly we came together. We’d fallen asleep tangled in each other, and I’d thought... I’d actually thought...

“Fuck.” I toss the sticks aside, running a hand through my hair.

The next morning, she’d kissed me goodbye before heading to her meeting with Rachel, already subdued but still smiling. “It’ll be fine,” she’d said. “Rachel’s dealt with worse scenarios.”

Except it wasn’t fine. Whatever happened in that meeting changed everything.

She was gone when I got home, and now, all I get are brief texts: ‘In meetings.’‘On set,’ and ‘Can’t talk now.’

The band leaves on tour in three days. And all I know—the only thing I’ve been told—is that the company is making demands on her time.

Demands.

For Christ’s sake, we’re supposed to be engaged. Does the company and Rachel not understand what that means?

I thought, at the very least, Lacy would want to see me before we left for the tour. I’d planned for it. Hell, I was counting on it.

But now?

Now, I’ve got a sick feeling in my gut that won’t be happening.

I push back from the drum kit, scrubbing a hand over my face, feeling my bandmates watching me.

“You gonna talk about it or just keep punishing your drums?” Cass finally asks.

I scowl. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah. Right.”

I glare at him, daring him to push it.

But it’s Luke who does.

“Look, man,” he says, setting his water bottle down. “We all see it. You’ve been on edge since the launch party. And I don’t blame you—Lacey vanishing for two weeks without a real explanation? That’s messed up.”

My jaw tightens. “She didn’t just vanish.”

“No?” Vince lifts a brow. “Then where the hell is she?”

I don’t answer because I don’t know why she isn’t here.

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