Page 64 of Before Now

Foster’s expression fills with disgust, and he backs away. “Great fucking talk,” he mutters.

Then he whips around, leaving me reeling and wanting to scream at him to stop. Only he pushes through the curtain without me moving or finding my voice.

Because my Foster scar’s been ripped wide open, the edges jagged and raw. One wrong move, and all the others twisted with it tear open too.

The threat immobilizes me. But then the curtain falls between us. I can’t see him anymore, and for a shaky breath, it feels like he might not even be on the other side at all.

Somehow the possibility of him being gone again frightens me more.

18

FOSTER

All I wanted wasan hour of sleep before switching it on tonight. Instead, nothing feels safe as I break through the curtain to the bunks.

The air’s laced with her, and my chest throbs and burns. It accompanies my thoughts as they play a game of what-ifs in my personal brand of torture.

And I just fucking trapped myself at the back of the bus.

Not that I had much choice unless I wanted to physically move her.

I couldn’t trust myself to touch her.

The space has never felt smaller, with nowhere to go and nothing but a thick, velvety fabric separating me from what I need to stay away from most.

“Fuck.” I’m forced to a stop by the bathroom door, a closet closing in on each side of me. “Fuck.”

I scrape both hands through my hair, willing myself to distance from the deluge of emotions clawing toward the surface. They’re so mixed up, tangled worse than ever. I’m the closest I’ve been to dredging up the corpse for a postmortem. I have this pounding desire to set it all ablaze, reduce it to ashes and ask her every singlewhythat holds me prisoner.

Why lie? Why not just end it? Why cut me in the one way she knew would bleed me out?

Why not me?

I close my eyes, thinking the last one, knowing I can’t ask any of them. The questions threaten more than I can risk. It already aches to be around her. My armor’s scuffed and bent from the battle of having her on tour. Hearing any of those answers from Remi could be the sword that slips through my ribs.

Then everyone suffers.

Again.

Blowing out a breath, I spin around and find the cruelest mercy in the doorway. Remi hugs herself around the middle, standing barely inside the curtain like maybe she doesn’t want to be.

I don’t want her to be either, but I also don’t want her anywhere else. Two assholes struggle inside me, one needing to exist in misery for the other to have any chance at peace.

“What,” I say, not hiding the harshness in my tone. “You can’t do enough damage from out there?”

As I stalk down the aisle between the bunks, she swallows, but she holds her ground in her black-and-white striped mini skirt and tight black top. We set up for the same impasse as out there. Except we’re getting a different ending.

“I will move you, Remi.” The warning curls between us, and I don’t stop until I’m towering over her. She tilts her chin up to hold my stare. I’m beyond pissed I have to fight through the glint of sadness always lurking in hers.

Her breath picks up. Mine saws in and out.

She breaks the stalemate right before I follow through.

“You really think it wasn’t real between us?” She studies me when I don’t answer, and then her arms fall to her sides. She forces a lifeless attempt at a smile. “Right. I’m sorry I even asked.”

She backs into the curtain, and I clench my jaw, refusing the words. But when she moves to leave, I say them anyway.

“Was it real?”

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