Page 7 of Drum Me Away
“Not flush it down the drain,” I said, clearing my throat and taking a swig of champagne mixed with OJ. Dahlia could be a hard-ass when it came to messing with her creations, and Lucas didn’t deserve to be attacked for wanting to live a real life.
“Just make adjustments,” I added. “We’re ready to move on to the next phase of our lives.”
She lifted her gaze to stare at me over the top of her iPad. “And what is that phase? The one where you finally admit this relationship is actually real?”
I forced out a laugh while fighting the blush I could feel creeping up my neck. A few months after we started this whole fake dating business, I’d gotten drunk and confided to Dahlia that the idea of actually dating Lucas wasn’t unappealing, if I weren’t so damn afraid of relationships, courtesy of the last one I’d been in.
The craziest part was, two days later, Lucas had asked if I wanted to go on a real date, and I’d balked from the memories of my last “real date.”
That moment had marked the demise of Lucas’s and my friendship, which sucked royally. Especially considering we were still carrying on with this pretend romantic relationship.
“We want out, Dahlia,” Lucas said. “We want to break up. You can make that happen the way you want it to, or you can leave it to us. Your choice.”
He knew exactly what to say to ensure Dahlia quit fighting us and decided to help. No way would she allow us to manage this on our own. She was fond of saying, “You two are fantastic at making hits. Not so much anything else. You stick to the music, and I’ll handle the rest.”
She pursed her lips, her gaze darting between Lucas and me, and then it dropped to her screen, where she began furiously tapping. “Fine. I will create a plan, and you will stick to it like actors on stage on Broadway. Do you understand me? No deviating.”
It sounded like she was a mother scolding her children. I chuckled uneasily, but Lucas nodded and said, “Fine. So long as the end result is the public is aware that we’re no longer together.”
Damn. He wasn’t messing around. Lucas was more than ready to not be a part of my life anymore.
“And the rest of the band doesn’t hate us,” I added, rubbing a hand over my chest, where my heart was beating a steady albeit slightly too-fast rhythm. I wasn’t at all crazy about the uncomfortable sensation there.
* * *
Dahlia left shortly after that, promising to come up with a foolproof plan before we kicked off our tour next weekend, here in LA. Not a lot of time, but I had faith she’d figure it out.
Lucas topped off each of our drinks and then wandered over to the French doors leading out to the patio and slipped outside. I followed. We’d hardly spoken at all since he returned from his mystery trip. I had no idea where he’d gone, what he’d done, who he’d been with.
What kind of woman would cause Lucas to fall so thoroughly and deeply that he’d actually uttered the words, “I’m going to consider quitting the band”?
If you’d asked me ten minutes prior to that, I would have insisted Lucas would never, ever, not in a million years consider leaving the band.
To be honest, I was glad I felt so strongly about avoiding that kind of love at all costs. I loved this life; I loved the person Dahlia had turned me into. I had no desire to feel so passionately for another person that I’d be willing to walk away from all this.
Because that would be giving the other person the control and ability to hurt me.
Our house, like so many in this area, was built into the side of a mountain, providing a natural barrier between the occupants and those who would intrude upon our lives. From the street, all you could see was a solid, dark green gate, a privacy fence, and lots and lots of trees and bushes. From the back, well, without a drone or a helicopter, no one would be able to tell whether Lucas and I hung out by the pool naked or dressed in snowsuits.
When I walked out onto the patio, the aqua-colored, crystal clear basin of water was only ten steps away, and beyond it was a breathtaking view of the mountains and LA. It was, admittedly, a nice oasis, a place to hide away when the pressures of constantly being “on” became too much.
Lucas had been edgier than usual after we finished recording this latest album, but I couldn’t recall any specific interactions that might have been frustrating enough to send him away without so much as a note.
He sat on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. He wore a pair of shorts that hung low on his hips and a T-shirt that wasn’t quite long enough, so every time he lifted his arm, he exposed a swath of skin and those sexy as hell V-shaped muscles over his hips.
Those muscles, his six-pack, and his spectacular pecs were always a highlight of our concerts when he stopped drumming mid-set, stood, and tore off his shirt and then played the rest of the show naked from the waist up. Even though I got to see that Adonis belt more frequently than most—it was inevitable when you lived with the guy—I’d still been caught staring like a lovesick fan enough times that Dahlia was fond of teasing me about it.
I walked over and dropped down next to him, not too close, since he seemed to shy away anytime I was near. “You cut your hair.”
He raked a hand through his shoulder-skimming locks. They’d draped to the middle of his back before he disappeared six weeks ago.
“Yeah, I chopped off about six inches right before I came back.”
“I like it.” I did. He rocked the hell out of the really long hair, but this shorter, more stylized look felt more like…him.
He grunted and stared off into the distance for long moments, before saying, “Even though they both have mountains, southern Missouri is so different from here.”
That was where he was from. A small town south of Branson. Whenever he talked about home, there was a trace of longing in his voice, like maybe he regretted leaving. But if he hadn’t, he never would have realized his dream of becoming a rock star.
