Page 9 of Craving Oblivion

“I love you, too. All of you,” I purred. Her screaming stopped. “And that’s why we’re going to play one more song.” I nodded to Bridger who knocked his sticks together, finding his beat.

Security dragged the now-sobbing woman offstage as I ripped through the chords, willing the music to take me back to that place—the one where I didn’t have to feel anything other than this high.

Jax threw his arms around me, pulling me tight to his side as we headed toward the hotel suite we’d booked for the after party. Where are we? Shit, I didn’t remember. This tour had been relentless. I glanced up at a billboard of the local hockey team. Ah! Boston. Right. Sweat and smoke, both tobacco and pot, clung to my clothes, my hair. My arms and legs shook as the last vestiges of adrenaline seeped from my body. Exhaustion filtered into my brain.

“You’re going to join us tonight, right?” Tatum asked. Her voice, always a bit raspy, now held the husky quality of lust. She offered me a hint of a smile. She’d been smart enough not to touch me since she’d made it seem like we were a couple the day of my mother’s funeral.

I hadn’t needed to read her the riot act; by the time I’d returned to the hotel, both Bridger and Jax had informed her that if she behaved like that again, she’d be out of the band.

I shook my head.

Her bright eyes, filled with hope and passion, dimmed. Her lush mouth melted into disappointment as she walked away.

Jax tossed back his sweat-soaked bangs. “She still refuses to let go of the fantasy that you’re going to get really hot for her.”

“I’m not. Ever.”

“Might be time to get rid of her, then,” Jax said. “And you—you need to deal with your shit because your head is all over the place. You need to let off some steam. Fuck it out, man.”

That was Jax’s answer for everything, the one I’d tried back in San Francisco. I knew it didn’t work.

I shook my head. He didn’t know what had gone down that night with the model, and I didn’t plan to tell him. Embarrassment crept up my neck, and just the idea of cracking like that again caused any desire I might have had for a woman to wane.

Steve moved to my side—a silent, annoying, yet welcome presence. I still hated him—hated him just as much as I leaned on him. It was codependent and messed up, but he was the closest thing I had to a father.

Hell, he could be my father.

“Why don’t you go to the party?” Steve said.

Bridger clasped my shoulders from behind before he bounced ahead, yelling, “Let’s part-ay!”

I cringed, hating those words. Fucking Lindsay.

I turned away from Steve, ignoring his scowl. Then I opened the door to my suite and stopped cold.

“Cam?” I said, blinking hard.

Steve glanced into the suite, a look of relief sweeping over his face, before he shut the door, offering me more privacy than I typically had. I appreciated the gesture. I should probably tell him that.

“Good to see you, son,” Cam said. He pulled a Werther’s from his pocket and slipped the candy between his lips. “Sorry I missed your mama’s funeral—and your Pop’s too. You’ve had a hell of a run.”

“Don’t worry about that.” I waved my hand. “You’ve had your own shit going on.”

“True, but you’ll always be important to me.”

“I thought you were touring farther south.”

Cam scratched his cheek. “Manhattan. Closest we’ve been in over a year.”

I dropped my gaze. I hadn’t been back to Austin since Aya… I shut that thought down.

“So I decided to pay you a visit.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said, heat creeping up my neck. Cam was busy too, but he made time for me. I hadn’t returned the favor. I didn’t want him to see me high or drunk, not after he and Asher had tried so hard to keep me clean and straight.

They shouldn’t have bothered.

“I got hitched,” he said. “Sent you an invite, but I guess you never got it.”

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