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Her lower lip trembled. “Let’s just call this what it was. A fling. I got the fantasy fuck of a lifetime. Your reputation is utterly intact.” The last word cracked. She clasped her hand over her mouth as one tear slid down her cheek and melted into her hand.
She broke him. Hours ago, she’d been laughing in his arms and now he’d brought her tears.
It’s what he did.
He wanted to go to her. To drag her into his arms and promise her that it wasn’t true. Instead, he lifted his chin and took the slap. “Satisfaction guaranteed. Goodbye, Isabella. I’ll be gone after the last show.”
She backed away from him, her face ashen.
Logan turned his back on her and opened the door. He slipped inside and closed it softly behind him.
Nash and Lindsey were at the microphone. Her angel-bright voice matching her hair and sweet smile. Nash, all dark angles and intensity. Logan had known there would be magic with the people he’d brought together.
At least this was one thing he could get right.
Logan moved behind the bar and spotted the bottle of Jameson behind glass. He picked up a stainless steel shaker and bashed the lock until the slider turned enough for him to jimmy the door open and grab the bottle.
At least she’d be away from him. He didn’t deserve her.
He never had.
Twenty-Three
“C’mon, man. That’s enough.”
“One more drink and I won’t care that the one woman I want to be in the audience will be missing, and the one I despise will be waiting for me with a crazy smile.” Logan tipped back the red plastic cup until he got the last drop of whisky. He’d put Aimee on the no-fly list, but she’d be there. She was always there.
“You didn’t care half a bottle ago. Now, you’re too drunk to find A minor, let alone see the crowd.”
“So?”
Zeke sat next to him. “You’re the one that put this barn show together. And you say you have this great love for the town. You want this guy,” he looked him up and down, “on stage?”
Logan swished the last quarter of the bottle. “They’ll get over it.”
“And the press?”
He shrugged.
“They already think I’m a chump.” Logan shoved his sunglasses on his face. “Useless to try and change that.”
“It’s because you let them. You should have reported this chick a year ago. It is not your fault she’s unbalanced.”
“Isn’t it?” Logan dropped the bottle on top of the piano with a thunk. It rolled to the side and the precious caramel-colored liquid glugged out. Logan made a grab for it, but ended up knocking it to the floor. “Dammit.”
Zeke scooped up the bottle and tossed it in the garbage. “If you believe that, maybe you’re just as fucked up as she is.”
Logan’s chest heaved. “Maybe I am.” He’d let Izzy walk, hadn’t he? He sure as fuck hadn’t been strong enough to stay away from her. And now he’d tasted her, felt her move under him, heard his name on her lips.
Those were things he couldn’t turn off. No matter how much whisky he consumed.
“Sober the fuck up and pull yourself together. We have a show in two hours. If not for you, then for the people that came here to support you.”
With his gut roiling and his head pounding, he tried to make sense of just how messed up he was. Logan pushed off the stool and headed backstage. Zeke was right. The chasm of crap he was facing wasn’t anyone else’s problem but his own.
Nausea settled on him, alternately clammy and sweaty. Instead of swallowing it down, he busted into the small bathroom and slammed to his knees. He retched until his gut was on fire and his head spun. He dropped weakly to the floor, his head rapping against the door.
The door opened and he fell onto his back, across the threshold.
