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“Suuure.” Dawson draws out the word in a low, mocking tone. “Be my guest, darlin’. Been thinking of going in a different direction for a while now, anyway.”

“Shelby will never get signed.”

“That girl’s got more talent in her pinky fingers than you’ll ever have, so good luck with that.”

“Talent is irrelevant. You oughtta know that better than anyone, Mr. Beers and Blue Jeans.”

I choke on a laugh while looping my finger through the air in a “wrap it up” sort of gesture. Dawson glares at me. “I gotta go, Glenna. Looks like there’s news about Shelby.”

Silence from the other end.

“I hope she’s okay.” It almost sounds sincere.

“For your sake, I hope you’re telling the truth, Glenna. What you did to me was bad enough, but to drag that innocent girl into it… It’s like I never knew you at all.”

Poor bastard looks so miserable, I’d rather be standing anywhere else, listening to any other conversation, than one so personal.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially you,” she says so softly, I almost miss the words.

Dawson’s face takes on that hard expression again. “Yeah, well. When you play dangerous games, someone’s bound to get hurt.”

He ends the call and stuffs his phone in his back pocket. “Figured I’d never get her to outright admit it. We need to warn Jackson to build his case before he goes at her hard. I don’t doubt for a minute she’ll follow through on every threat.”

“Worried?”

“I couldn’t give a fuck.” He snorts. “Rumors that I had a fling with a hot twenty-two-year-old ain’t gonna hurt my reputation.”

A low growl rumbles out of me and he holds up his hands.

“It’ll hurt Shelby more than it’ll hurt me. It ain’t fair but that’s how it is.”

“You publicly refuting any rumors would be helpful.”

“Of course I will. But keep in mind, if I deny it too much, people will assume it’s true. Glenna will try to smear Shelby as much as possible. Even with the truth on Shelby’s side, it’ll taint her reputation.”

What fucked up world are we living in? Shelby works so damn hard. She hasn’t done a thing to deserve any of this.

“I never thought when I asked Shelby on the tour that something like this would happen. I wanted to help out a new artist. Lift someone up. The way folks did for me early in my career. If I’d known it would make her a target…” Dawson sounds more broken up than I’d expect. Maybe I should put a lid on my cynical side and take him at his word. “I’ll make it up to her.”

“How exactly are you gonna do that?”

He stares at me. “Let me think on it a bit.”

Chapter Thirteen

Shelby

After a few hours of actual restorative sleep, I feel almost human again.

Rooster’s no longer in bed with me when I wake up.

I startle when my gaze lands on a bulky figure in a chair. His back is to the bed, so he’s facing the door. After a few seconds of study, I recognize Murphy and breathe a sigh of relief.

“Murphy?” I croak out.

He jumps up. “You all right? Need something?”

“Water?”

“You got it.” He pours from a pitcher near the bed and hands me a small plastic cup.

With shaking fingers, I manage to take a few sips and hand the cup back to him.

“Where’s Rooster?” I force a smile that probably looks more deranged than humorous. “Not that I’m not happy to see you.” Then it hits me. We’re in Virginia still, I think. “You drove here from New York?”

“Couple of us rode down. Heidi’s here too. She went into the hall to make a phone call.”

My eyes water. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah.” He gently squeezes my hand. “We were all worried about you.”

“Thank you.” I lick my cracked lips, and Murphy motions to the water. I shake my head. “Is Rooster okay?”

“He needed to run out and take care of something,” he says with the evasiveness I’ve come to expect from Rooster’s club brothers. “He’ll be back.”

My eyes are already closing and Murphy’s last words take a few seconds to sink in.

Nightmares of suffocating chase me. I’m buried in a shallow grave while someone tosses heaps of dirt on top of me. Too powerless and weak to dig my way out of the hole…

“Rooster! Oh my gawd!” my mother’s shrill voice pierces through my terror-struck unconscious. Is that really my mother? Or have I shifted to a different dream?

“What happened? Shelby? Baby, are you okay?”

With monumental effort, I open my eyes. Nope. She’s here. Great relief washes through me. I’m not being buried alive, and my mother’s here by my side.

Her warm fingers wrap around mine and she gently kisses my forehead.

“I’m okay,” I mumble, squeezing her fingers and closing my eyes again.

At some point, Rooster must have returned to my bedside. Where’d Murphy go? Did he say Heidi came with him or did I imagine that whole conversation?

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