Inside my heart, I only ever wanted Cam and London.
But the boy I loved hated me and left me without a single goodbye. I hadn’t heard from him in over ten years until recently.
And the girl. London kept me dangling on a string, with all the pull and leverage to do so. She never let me keep her close and gave me ultimatums that I couldn’t abide by; I couldn’t be who she needed me to be.
I hated myself for that. If I could’ve been the man she needed, I would’ve pulled out all the stops.
But we both knew that wasn’t possible.
I wasn’t enough for her.
She needed Cam, too.
Regardless of that tear in the fabric of our relationship and my unforgivable behaviors, London would still come every time I called. Anytime I needed her loving arms and her warm body to make things right again. No matter where I was in the world – and I’ve been everywhere – she’s been just a phone call, a text message, and a Skype chat away.
But she’d never stay long, claiming her job and life demanded her attention back home. And her answer was always “No” to my proposals.
We both know I never deserved her love. This was just the universe’s way of righting that fact. There is no doubt that London is my grace and salvation, always quick to save me when I’ve been down and lonely and needing rescue.
Lord knows she should’ve left me long ago.
Just like Cam did.
He left me the moment I was locked away and my freedom was taken away. She should’ve hightailed it out of my pathetic life, too, while I wasted away in that jail cell for three years.
Yet, she never truly let go.
Just like a kite on a string, she kept hold, even through the windiest and harshest years of my life. London never strayed far but lived a separate life without me, while I was on the road, living my pathetic excuse of a rock star life on the road.
I shrug and chuckle at Deg’s comment. “Just make sure to make good life choices and wrap it before you tap it.”
Deg laughs loudly at my advice and swings his thick, beefy arm around me as we walk side-by-side toward the bus, where our other bandmates and tour personnel await our arrival. I inhale a deep breath before stepping on, the anxiety steeping inside the bowels of my stomach. Scratching and clawing to get out.
It happens every time I go on tour. Being on this bus affects me in the way only being locked inside four walls can do. The only difference between the bus and prison is that I’m not surrounded by felons when I’m on tour.
The similarity, however, is that I don’t own my life when I’m confined to this bus – just like I was without my freedom in prison. When on tour, I’m told where and when to go, how to get there, and what I’m supposed to do when I’m there. The next two months will be a test to my strength and willpower.
And the only thing I have to look forward to is the moment I can have both London and Cam back in my arms.
