Page 95 of Before Now

I never come in post-show, always grabbing my bags before the tits and dicks are on display, but not tonight. Also, there aren’t any tits or dicks since Felix and Dev passed me like I didn’t exist on their way to the exit.

An asshole sits on the tan leather couch, though.

Foster’s eyes lift long enough to slash me with a glare, then lower again. “I thought you’d take the hint you’re not welcome in here, director,” he says, voice rough from performing. “Get out before I call security to take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” I spit back. “I’m filming a documentary aboutyourband, and you locked me out. We had shots planned…”

My attention dives to the guitar case on the coffee table in front of him. The coke he’s cutting on top of the smooth surface.

“What the fuck, Foster?” I glance over my shoulder to the door, realizing anyone could walk by. He might not care, but I do. I close it and come back, his head shaking in annoyance I’m still here.

He can fucking deal.

“I get you’re mad at me, but messing with filming over it? None of this works if you cut off my access to you. To all of you.”

Foster tosses aside the keycard and looks up, giving a careless shrug. “I told you I’d do my job when your wannabe boyfriend does his.”

I swallow down the urge to scream at him for being such a dick. “Xander filmed the merch table and entrance line tonight. He did his job.”

“Nah, I mean his real one. Tell me which of us he’s protected you from. Or is him feeling you up backstage part of his plan? If he’s doing it, no one else can? Fucking genius, honestly.” A harsh smirk forms, and I drop my gaze because he’s getting to me. “Maybe he’ll earn a raise for fucking you.”

I whip my eyes back to him. “It was a hug.” I clip the words, fists at my sides. “Xander’s a friend. Yes, we’ve slept together, but nothing since before Prague and never again. I don’t want him, Foster. I didn’t go to the label or Heath or ask for any of this, so stop fucking punishing me for it.”

Foster dips down and snorts through a line like he has a point to prove, and I feel it like he intends.

He stays forward, forearms braced on his thighs, and he nods at the door behind me. “If you’re done…”

“You know what? Fine.” I hold his stare, my frustration meeting his anger head-on. “Hate me. Despise me. Loathe me. Act like an ass and try to hurt me. But you won’t ruin the documentary. I won’t let you, and not just because of what it means for me. Because of what it means for Felix and Dev, for how fucking proud Colton looks of you when we’re filming.” I blink back a rush of tears, but they reach my voice anyway. “And for you—not Adams—you, Foster. I won’t let you stand in your own way, no matter how you feel about me now.”

He surges to his feet, anger to fury. “Don’t act like you care about me. You never fucking cared,” he grinds out. “The only true thing between us was that you were a liar, so save the bullshit. I won’t fuck up the doc because people I love need this. They need me to show up, and I will. Over and over again. And I’ll do it for me. I’ll turn it on and be everything I need to be in spite of you, Remi. Because I already lost enough to you when you fucked off out of my life the first time. No way in hell you’re taking anything else from me before you’re out of it permanently.”

My heart pounds in my chest, his heaving while the words linger. They tug at strings attached to anchors of pain buried in the muddy deep. Except the water level seems to have dropped, and what I’ve always wanted to say to him is right there.

The door swings open, and Colton strides in.

“Oh,” Colton says. A divot forms between his brows at the sight of us, Foster seething and me struggling to stand, three lines of coke on the case in the middle. “You good, Adams?”

Foster gives me a harsh once-over, then looks to his security guard, tone dead when he tells him, “Take out the trash before I do it myself.” He walks away, slamming the door to the bathroom behind him.

I swipe the tears away as the truth sinks back into the depths.

I never thought I could be sad about that.

27

FOSTER

Before…

I wasn’t lyingwhen I said Remi gave me too much credit if she thought I could track her down with a name and phone number. But I have a hell of a lot more than I need in the end.

The end comes almost two weeks after I land in Texas with Chase. Remi sent her picture, and then nothing. No texts or calls. I’ve struggled over the stalker aspect of looking for her, showing up where I last knew she was. But none of this makes sense. Remi vanishing without a word is wrong, and the hollow feeling in my gut wins out.

Ashfield, Ohio. A café with a town square across the street. The house almost too easy to find.

No, it is too easy. When I pay for my coffee, the police chief’s address is written on a pink piece of paper and taped to the counter. Chief Kane.

I fish my phone out as I return to the rental car. The picture of Chase kissing his bicep like a total douche covers my screen with the incoming call. He’s texted a dozen times over the past hour, but my head hasn’t been in the right place. I tuck it away without reading the messages, still not there.

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