Page 179 of Second Sets Omnibus
“Never,” I murmur, picking up my guitar. “Want to hear my new song?” I ask, strumming the strings and humming under my breath.
“Yes!” she shrieks with excitement. “Play me a song, Knight.”
I grunt, slamming my fists into the hanging bag over and over until my raw knuckles bleed. Red pours down my arms in tiny droplets, but I don’t fucking stop. I revel in the pain, washing away the happy memories pouring through the black box I locked them in. My only happy times as a kid were with River on that hill and my guitar on my knee. I didn’t know how to play, but the internet was a hell of a teacher. Slowly but surely, I figured it out and played River song after song. Then we left Central City for greener pastures with the man who not only ruined and controlled my life but my mother’s, too. Sometimes I wonder why the fuck she jumped into bed with him and stole my fucking life from me.
Fuck. Her. Fuck River. Fuck. This. Fuck. Everything.
Why did it have to be her? Why? It could have been anyone else on the West’s payroll, but it just had to be River fucking West. The once love of my damn life, and now…
I shake my head, dispelling the tumultuous thoughts banging around in my mind. The need to walk away from this entire situation sits heavy on my chest as I continue to pound into the bag with all my might, forcing myself to fucking forget everything—even how to breathe.
When I stop my frantic jabs, black spots dance in my vision, numbing the rage and pain eating away at me. Leaning my forehead against the bag, I suck in oxygen, refueling my body until the world returns to focus. Slumping down onto the mat, I lay on my back, staring at the tall ceiling.
Whoever built this house knew exactly what they were doing. A full-sized gym with every piece of equipment possible surrounds me. And in the next room, a full-blown recording studio taunts me, begging me to create new music, and digitally immortalize it for the world to hear. If fucking only.
Not only does my dick refuse to work around other chicks, the moment River numbed my heart—the music fucking died inside me. Like she sucked the spark from my damn soul and stole that shit from me. I curl my aching fingers into fists and snarl at the fucking ceiling for the millionth time in the past week. A helpless feeling of being stuck in the damn mud, unable to take control of my destiny, creeps up my spine.
I huff, turning to my side and forcing myself to stand on my jelly legs. Looking at my smartwatch, I stop the timer at precisely two hours. Blowing out a breath, I bask in the momentary reprieve this session has given me. My mind quiets for one bliss-filled moment, and serenity runs through my veins. Right now, it’s as if I never laid eyes on River West and had my soul stomped out, only to return to her years later and have to follow her orders.
“Fuck,” I grumble, stumbling toward the white towels dangling from a rack attached to the wall.
Wiping the sweat from my face, I smack my lips, desperately seeking the water I forgot to grab before disappearing. Every inch of me aches deliciously as I trudge up the steps into the brightly lit kitchen heated with the sun’s rays. It’s like walking out of my damn casket and into the real world. When I entered the basement two hours ago, the sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon. And now, the new day is here—Sunday. A day of nothing but working out and taking it easy before the reality of our new week begins, band practices, and our early morning therapy sessions.
Over the past few days, the guys have already started to fall into her bullshit. Again. They’re falling into her fucking honey trap and gravitating toward everything she says, like lost little puppy dogs with big heart eyes. It fucking disgusts me. How can they do that? After everything that she put us through.
Fuck. Despite the grueling work out this morning, my head is still a damn mess. Sure, I momentarily distracted myself from the bullshit happening. But the pain never truly leaves. Every time she walks into the house, she rips open another scab and exposes my wounds.
This entire situation has been one fucked up, long nightmare, and there’s no way out. Believe me, I’ve checked every day. My agent has been searching this entire week, hoping to bring me good updates about another prospect. But nothing has come of it. According to her, I should stick to my contract, even though we could void it by walking out and starting somewhere new.
Stick it out? Yeah right. She has no idea what I’m up against. When I walked away, I walked the fuck away. Endpoint. Nothing was going to bring me back to the woman who crushed my heart in the palm of her hand. So, thanks, cruel world, for plopping me smack dab in the middle of this shipwreck with no lifeboat in sight. I’m fucking drowning in rage, pain, and the constantmemories holding me captive. One day, I’ll be able to break the surface and breathe again.
Nothing in this world could make me forgive River West for what she did. That fucking video lives in the deep confines of my head, reminding me to never again fuck around with relationships. Women, yes. Well, fuck—kind of. If my dick would fucking cooperate. It’s like he’s holding out on me for someone I refuse to let him have. Fuck him.
My fingers curl into fists when I step further into the kitchen and rest my head against the cool metal of the fridge. I heave a breath, trying to shove down the emotions River always brings up. I’ve locked that shit up for so many years with success. Now, here it is again, trying to ooze out of me. I would rather swallow my emotions and let the numbness take me over than feel what I felt for her.
Taking a deep breath, I ground myself to the now. Fuck my brain. Fuck my thoughts. As I listen to the sounds around me, I note the others must still be asleep. Like hell do they get up early and fight invisible demons at the gym like me. Not that I get up fucking early. Ever. But today was different. A calling clawed through my ribs and pulled me toward the gym so early in the goddamn morning.
Thud. Thud.
My face scrunches when a small scratching sound comes from somewhere in the house, followed by a small, strangled cry.
“What the hell?” I mutter, pushing off the fridge and looking around for the source of the sound. “Better not be a goddamn rat,” I grumble, cautiously walking toward the sound.
The more I walk away from the kitchen, the louder it gets, seeming to come from the large living room.
“Help!” a little voice calls, making my heart slam in my fucking chest. “Please, Daddies!” It comes again through sobs.
That’s when I realize it isn’t scratching coming from anywhere. It’s light pounding coming from the front door.
A million thoughts race through my mind when I march toward the front door, catching more words from the tiny voice on the other side.
“Help! Mommy is dead!” The tiny voice cracks with emotions, sniffling behind the front door. “Daddy!” the voice calls frantically, sounding more urgent than before. The pounding continuously beats against the wood until I’m standing right in front of it with my brows furrowed in confusion.
Daddy? There’s no one’s dad here. Unless one of these idiots knocked up some chick and decided not to tell anyone. Fuck. What a dick move that’d be. I don’t care who the chick is. I’d never abandon my child like my dad left me high and dry.
“Fuck,” I shake my head, throwing the door open, and freeze at the sight of her.
A beautiful little girl with fat tears rolling down her cheeks and a white bunny clutched to her chest shivers outside my front door. Her eyes screwed shut as she sniffles on her bunny’s head.
