Page 60 of Dirty Rock

I took a careful step back, feeling weirdly vulnerable. Vulnerability wasn’t something that sat too well with me, not even when alone and drowning in my own thoughts. But Jules being Jules held on tightly to my jacket and tugged me right back to her.

“Hey,” she said softly. “We still have time.”

“Why do you keep saying that? About time? We still have time…”

She shrugged and forced a smile. “I just want us to enjoy today.” She took my hand and began to guide me downstairs, not saying another word.

I wanted more answers. I wanted to tap inside Julia’s head and take a peek around at what was going on in there. How was it possible? How was it possible to spend so many years with someone and not see them for who they really are until they forced you to? I couldn’t get the damn question out of my head.

Not as we walked through her low-roofed kitchen with all the wooden beams. Not as we passed through her perfectly designed living room without a remote control out of place. Not as we stepped out into the garden and Julia pushed her arms through a thick padded coat before locking up the house. I couldn’t get the mystery of her out of my mind as she took hold of my hand again and guided me to the most idyllic, secluded beach I’d ever seen.

I couldn’t do anything but look at her as she talked with ease, and I let her earlier words float around in my head.

We still have time.

But what the hell happened when we didn’t?

Chapter Twenty

After three years of being chased by fans and the press, I’d forgotten how addictive peace could be. Real peace. Not the quiet of a hotel room when my blood was swimming in Jack Daniels. Not the silence of my bed when the drugs were tearing through me. Not the suffocating bubble of being under the shower, or the temporary peace brought on by headphones and music.

Real peace.

Ocean waves, sandy feet, and the cold wind against your skin.

Nowhere to be, no one to see, no commitments to fulfil.

Zero responsibilities.

No people to please.

Julia held my hand for most of the day as we walked up and down the beach, skimming stones across the sea, dropping our arses into sandbanks to watch the water, and even when we stopped at some country pub that only had two other customers and a docile dog inside it. She’d held my hand as the old fire crackled and we drank a pint of the local ale, doing nothing but laughing about things that had happened on tour. Coops when he accidentally set his room on fire in New York. Big D when he’d gotten caught with his fingers in an intimate place of a married woman backstage. Hawk and the way he’d tripped over the wires during a gig and face planted in front of thousands of fans, only to make it look like he’dmeantto do it. Dicky and his ridiculously high blood pressure and lack of adventure. But Jules really lit up when she talked about her two favourites, Tessa and Presley.

“You don’t ever get sick of hearing about them?” I asked with genuine interest.

“Nope.” She rested her chin in her palm and stared at me like I was the dream she’d finally caught up with. “They make my soul happy. Seeing them like they are… it’s beautiful, and I think people who do get sick of hearing about them are the ones who aren’t happy themselves.”

I scrunched my face up and groaned, taking a sip of my beer before dropping it back down to the table. “Not everyone is jealous. Some people just get sick of looking at it all the time.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have what they have if you could?”

“No,” I lied. Outright. I just hadn’t realised it was a lie until the word had left my lips, and I’d felt that weird stabbing in my chest again.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Julia smiled flatly, looking at me like she was trying to search for something she couldn’t get a grasp of, like one of those ‘find the diamond in a picture full of hearts’ puzzles that drove you insane.

“Keep looking, Jules. I’ve nothing to hide.” I winked.

“One day, I’m going to remind you of this conversation. One day, when you’re loved up, dopey-eyed, and drooling over your new supermodel obsession, I’ll pull you aside and say, ‘Hey, Rhett. Well done on that whole not falling in love thing. You’re such a winner, Romeo.’”

“Maybe I’ll remind you of the same when you have a nice little city boy from the Financial District of London on your arm.”

“Never going to happen.”

“Why not?”

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