Page 50 of Sustain

Of course, I do. With Mackenzie, I absolutely do.

But how do I do that when she doesn’t know everything? She knows me like nobody in my life has known me, but at the same time, she doesn’t know me at all.

She doesn’t know that I’m a fucking selfish coward. My lie of omission is always on the tip of my tongue, wanting to be set free. To hell with the repercussions. But something holds it in, keeps it back, and silences me.

Fear.

My fear of losing her is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before. Is that what true love is? Desperately holding on to something you know deep down in your soul you don’t deserve?

I watch Mackenzie cheer her band of brothers on through their finale, her stunning face joyfully aglow in crimson and sapphire from the salvaged fireworks show. I’m hit with sudden wretched clarity that losing even a fleeting chance at earning a permanent place in her heart would devastate me.

Ruin me.

But fuck what I deserve. She deserves better.

Better than me.

Who the fuck am I? I’m just a washed-up and broken rockstar with a family she’d never want.

I know I’ve already doomed us.

Being torn is a real thing. Heartbreak is a fucking physical torment in my chest. I can feel the scars already forming on my heart. But that’s the good thing about scar tissue; it’s thicker, stronger, and impermeable to pain.

After the deafening final encore, I help Mackenzie carefully navigate the backstage chaos to her hotel before taking my own lonely trek through town to my cabin, back to Stormy, who’s been left alone all day.

Festival after parties certainly sound attractive, especially with Mackenzie in attendance, but strangely I crave isolationnow. My gut churns with all the suppressed truths that would absolutely condemn me in her beautiful violet eyes.

Outside her hotel, sadness creeps in, chilling me more than the frigid icy air as our impending separation looms large in my mind and heart. Mackenzie pauses before entering, watching ephemeral snowflakes drift under the nearby amber streetlights.

“I almost wish the storm would come back if it meant we could steal a few more of these rare moments alone together.” Uncharacteristic hesitation clouds her smile as she timidly turns my way. My fingers tremble, barely containing the urge to pull her close, promising a safety neither of us controls anymore.

I sway forward, my pulse raging arguments to both my heart and my head. Neither one is winning. But the door swings open abruptly as someone leaves the hotel, ruining the enchantment echoing between us.

“Go. Enjoy the party,” I say, chastely kissing her forehead. Her scent permeates my senses, and I nearly break and give in. Somehow, I’m able to resist and step back.

“I’ll call you first thing in the morning?” she asks, and the hope in her eyes is absolutely devastating.

I’m nearly rendered speechless, but somehow find my voice.

“Of course,” I nod noncommittally, and give her a slight bow as I force myself to turn away.

Shoving my hands deeper into my coat pockets, I decide to take a roundabout path through the snow-covered town to my cabin, passing concert revelers still high on emotion from the show on the long walk. Snippets of Chaos Fuel’s lyrics hit my ears, sung out of tune, and laced with liquor. Instead of feeling pride for a show pulled off against all odds, all I feel is empty.

All I’ve accomplished is a set up for failure.

Just fucking tell her.

thirty-five

. . .

Surrender

Mackenzie

Nursing the warming whiskey in my frozen fingers, I let the laughs and antics of the guys wash over me as they pass the platinum record I presented after the show back and forth to each other for photos. The typical manic post-festival relief mingles with a surprising sadness knowing the regular grind resumes tomorrow. Even with Christmas right around the corner, work never ends.

My gaze drifts toward the exit, hoping against hope that Ian will change his mind and come join us. I wonder how Stormy survived the day alone. Maybe she tore the cabin to pieces in our absence. Kind of how my heart feels right now.

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