Page 162 of Second Sets Omnibus
I thought I really was doing what was best for us. She was a distraction. Someone they were willing to stay behind for.
Rad frowns, staring at me. “I get it, man. I guess. But looking back now, I don’t think we did the right thing.” He swallows hard, staring off at the dark house a few feet away from us, housing the girl we intentionally left behind. “We should have talked to her and heard what she had to say. Like now. But…”
“She probably won’t talk to us about it anymore,” Callum mumbles, rubbing his chin.
“I don’t think we did, either,” I sigh, biting into my bottom lip as the guilt tears another piece of my soul into the void of noreturn. I rub my hand across my aching chest, praying the acid doesn’t bubble up my throat as punishment.
One day soon, I’ll tell them. I just want more time with Lyric before I’m thrown to the side for my atrocious actions. But I don’t blame them. They’ll never forgive me. River will never forgive me. If I have to sit on the sidelines and watch them happy together, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I just need a few more happy memories to cling onto when I’m tossed to the side and forgotten about.
Callum stops, cocking his head to the side. “Did you hear that?” he asks with furrowed brows, looking into the dark shadows surrounding River’s house.
“Hear what?” Rad grunts, picking up his discarded dirt bike.
Callum’s face twists, and he shakes his head. “I thought I heard a click or tap or something.”
“All I hear is the ocean waves,” I offer, looking toward her house with a twist in my gut.
“The monsters coming for you, Cally boy?” Rad taunts, heaving his messed-up bike forward on its damaged wheels.
“Fuck off,” Cal grunts, shoving at Rad’s shoulders.
“What are we going to do about Kieran?” The three of us halt outside the open garage, listening to the silent house. All the windows appear black, hopefully meaning his grumpy ass went to bed.
“You think he knows? Like for real knows?” Callum asks, licking his lips. A deadly expression captures his face, brewing a fire behind his eyes.
Rad’s teeth grind when he throws his bike into the garage without care and growls. “I’ll fucking murder him,” he grunts, kicking the bike one more time. “If he knew…”
“Doesn’t seem like him, though.” I shake my head. “If Gloria could concoct restraining orders, then who’s to say she told himthe truth?” I raise a brow when Rad and Cal exchange a look, and they sigh.
“What do we do then?” Rad asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“We don’t say anything yet. The ball is in River’s court.”
“Fine,” Rad agrees. “But if all this turns out to be bullshit, I’m reclaiming what’s mine,” he says, pointing a finger toward her dark house. “And that’s a fucking promise.” With that, Rad walks away, sauntering into the house without another word.
“What do you think?” I ask Callum, who narrows his eyes at me suspiciously.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out.” With those foreboding words, he turns his back on me, leaving me to stew in my own fucked up mess I made, now with more complications.
The tall buildingsof East Point surround me, shining in the bright morning sunlight. I squint my eyes, taking a deep breath as I psych myself up for my rendezvous with the devil herself. Who knows if I’ll make it out alive to tell the damn tale.
All around me, people bustle by, entering the high-end stores lining the area with bright smiles on their faces and exiting with an armful of bags, giggling about their purchases. Speaking of…two stores down, two brunettes dressed to the nines in expensive clothes and jewelry stop abruptly on the sidewalk with shock splayed on their faces.
“Oh, my God,” one woman squeals ten yards away. Her big eyes widen, and her jaw drops, staring at me with awe like I’m a fucking rare God standing before them. “That’s Asher Montgomery from Whispered Words!” she hisses with excitement to her friend beside her while jumping in place.
“Oh, my God! It is!” her friend shouts, promptly covering her mouth in embarrassment as high-pitched giggles escape frombehind her hand. A pinkish tint takes over her cheeks as she stares in my direction with wide eyes.
“I heard they were living closer now.” The first girl says in what she thinks is a whisper, but her voice carries loudly to my ears. Quickly, I hold in the cringe, making me want to melt away from the situation.
Inwardly, I groan, loathing this evil side of fame. For one split second years ago, I adored the attention and fucking ate it up with a spoon. I fucking encouraged it with a sick grin, craving the attention of the crowds coming to see us. It took me a long time to realize that no one wanted to know the real me. They didn’t want to sit down and have an easy conversation. They wanted my fucking dick. Not conversation. Maybe a baby to claim what’s mine. The fans want the man I portray on stage with the cocky smirk and sexy swagger. They want Asher Montgomery, the guitar player of Whispered Words. And that’s a straight punch to the gut because the Asher on stage and the Asher walking the streets are two very different people.
This is all part of the gig. I know it is. But it’s fucking annoying that I can’t walk out of the house without someone approaching me for pictures and autographs. Some people—no matter their gender—offer themselves up to me on a silver platter. Years ago, I was tempted by their sexy curves and golden smiles. Tempted, being the key word. I’ve kept my dick firmly in my pants since the night I fucked River on that dining room table and came happily in her eager cunt. Believe me, that moment repeatedly sits on a high pedestal in the back of my head. Especially when the loneliness I’ve imposed on myself crushes my soul one squeeze at a time. My heart has only beat for one annoying Little Brat, even after all these years. It’ll never change. No matter how much she loathes us. My heart is hers and has been for the past few years. My guilt has sat with me for too long to settle down, let alone bone another chick.
Politely, I wave as the fans drag their phones out and snap several pictures of me standing before my self-inflicted doom. I try to plaster on a fake smile and greet them with the kindness I don’t currently feel.
“Can we take some selfies?” one girl asks, dragging her friend by the hand and stopping before me. She grins when I nod, and we take several selfies together, huddling in a tight hug. Our smiles light up the photos, despite the annoyance I feel.
“Make sure you tag me on FlashGram,” I say as she squeals again, nodding in agreement, and they walk away without another word.
