“Guess that’s my answer.” Smirking, he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll rephrase. If you could have your life in LA back — not the partying, not the drinking… butyourlife, the way things were before it all went to shit. The tour. The album. The way it should’ve played out, beforeshe…”
My glare is lethal.
He smartly swallows whatever he was about say in regard to my ex and pushes on. “If you could have thatlife back… Would you still want it?”
I shove to my feet and stalk to the railing, not answering him as I take another long drag of my cigarette.
“Woods?”
“Where’s this coming from? Emotional bonding sessions aren’t your style, Grayson.”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“That life you’re talking about — it’s never going to happen,” I grit out. My free hand curls around the deck rail so hard I’m surprised I don’t indent the wood. “No use thinking about it or talking about it.”
“What if—”
“What ifis a damn good way to torture yourself, nothing more.”
I hear him heave a deep sigh and a second later, his wry tones reach my ears. “So, you wouldn’t want to know that the tour is back on, then.”
My voice is a growl. “Look, if Francesca sent you out here to try and convince me to do the tour alone, you can get on your damn jet, fly back to LA, and disappoint her once again. Because, as I’ve told her a dozen times in the past two years: I will never do a Wildwood tour without…” The word breaks in my throat. “Withouther.”
Grayson scoffs. “I shouldn’t even tell you, you stubborn bastard. You hardly deserve the truth.”
I turn to look at him, spine rigid. “Just say what you came here to say, Dunn. I’m not paying you by the word.”
“You’re not paying me,period.”
I glare at him in stony silence.
“Fine.” He stares at me from the lounger, his typically cheerful features set in a somber mask. “The tour — you wouldn’t be doing it alone. She’s back.”
There’s a moment of absolute silence. Even the birds seem to hold their breath.
“What did you say?”
“She’s back. Felicity is back. She’s agreed to do the tour and—Hey! Ryder! Where the hell are you going?”
I don’t answer. I don’t stop.
I’m already running.
Two years underwater — a muffled world of dim color and sound where things like light and hope and music cannot penetrate — and with two little words, my head finally breaks the surface. They ring in my ears, startling in their clarity as I swipe the Wrangler keys off the counter, overriding Dunn’s shouts as I run for the door.
She’s back.
Chapter Six
felicity
Three weeks later,every nerve ending in my body feels frayed and raw as I pace back and forth inside the glass sound booth. It’s my first day in the studios — and my first day back in Los Angeles after agreeing to do the tour. Despite Francesca’s objections about leaving and Jerry’s insistence he could handle all of Gran’s affairs without me, I flew home to close up my cottage and tie up the loose ends of my life before finally surrendering myself to Route 66’s authority a few hours ago.
Mercifully, I’ve kept myself too busy to think about the upcoming tour… or the man I’ll come face to face with tomorrow morning, during our first official band rehearsal.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I glance through the glass wall, into the sound mixing room where a bank of dark equipment waits at the ready. The clock on the wall informs me it’s almost midnight, but I have no desire to go up to the penthouse apartment Francesca arranged for me use while we rehearse for the tour. The fact that only a short elevator ride separates me from my bed would make me happier if I knew there was any chance at all I’d be able to sleep once I crawl into it.