Page 65 of Dirty Rock

“Get out,” she hissed.

“That’s not what you really want.”

“You don’t know a single thing about what I want.”

I leaned closer, and she looked up at me like she hated me. “Why? Tell me why you’ve quit on us. Tell me thetruth.”

“Go, Rhett.”

“I thought we still had time…”

“So did I,” she whispered sadly. Her sadness was no longer hidden. It shone as the lights of the kitchen hit unshed tears. “But we don’t, and it’s over. I need you to leave. Now.”

I reached up to grip her chin, pulling her closer to me. She came forward, but her hands remained gripped to the countertop. I couldn’t work out if she looked scared, turned on, or heartbroken.

“It’s not over. I’ll go, but it’s not over, Jules. I won’t let you quit.”

“You don’t have a choice,” she whimpered.

“Darling, you should know one thing about this Romeo. He never gives up onhisJules. You can lie to me. Use me. Throw me under the bus. Kick me out. Tell me I’m worthless. Tell me you hate me. Tell me I’m nothing. Tell me I’m everything in the very next breath. Tell me I’m your biggest regret. I’ll take it all. But you will not quit on this band. You will not give up on Youth Gone Wild. You’ll not give up on your career. I won’t fucking let you.”

Julia closed her eyes on me for good.

“I. Won’t. Let you,” I breathed over her, before I turned and left her standing there without saying another word.

My things were thrown back into my bag while standing in her bedroom, but I left my grey T-shirt on her pillow before I walked out.

Hoping it would taint her sheets.

Her life. Her heart. Her obviously broken soul.

If she thought I was going to let her forget me and what we’d shared, she had another thing coming. That wasn’t who I was. I didn’t know how to be the good guy. I was only good at being bad.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The black Range Rover pulled up outside the pub about three hours later.

I threw my shit in the back seat and then hopped in the front, staring straight ahead as I tried to control the anger flowing through me.

“Damn, you look like shit,” Dex said as he took me in.

“Awe, Uncle Dex. I’ve missed your pretty arse, too,” I said, slurring a little. My tongue felt fat and clunky. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

That’s right. In my anger, I’d gone to the nearest pub I could find, and I’d thrown my credit card at the landlord, telling him to charge whatever the fuck he wanted to it in exchange for getting me off-my-tits high.Then, I’d called Dex to come and save me.

Uncle Dex, as he was affectionately known to the rest of Youth Gone Wild, was Presley’s Uncle, and he was also a rich man who had nothing better to do than chase around after us idiots. After the premature death of Presley’s father, Dex had taken it upon himself to make sure that his nephew and anything attached to him were safe, and that included the band. He was a good-looking motherfucker. Probably middle-aged.

I was being rescued by a guy I barely knew.

“First question,” Dex said, narrowing his eyes on me and tucking his Jackson Maine hair behind his ears. “How the hell did you get all the way out here to Mersea Island?”

With a sigh, I looked out of the windshield again. “Promise not to tell anyone?”

“I don’t need to make that promise.”

“That’s right. This Range Rover is a confession booth.” I smirked, a hiccup bubbling up from my stomach. “I came here with Julia.”

“The band’s Julia?”

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