AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh my God. Are you all right?”
Logan gave a thumbs up. “Fine.”
Lindsey crouched down in front of him. “You’re a hot mess.”
Logan rolled onto his knees. He held his midsection, hoping that the last of the whisky was gone. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” He staggered to his feet. “You here to give me some unsolicited advice too?”
“No, I came to pee. But since I’m here.”
“Pass.” Logan brushed by her and held onto the wall. The world was still a bit crooked. At least thirty-five degrees off.
“You love her already, huh?”
Logan came to a stop at the end of the hallway. “You’re a fanciful girl.” He turned enough to be heard, but didn’t look at her. His head throbbed like an infected tooth and the anger that had been dulled with alcohol was rearing up.
“Maybe, but I’m not the one lying to myself.”
He kept walking, dug out a water from the cooler and managed to get down the stairs to the main floor without falling on his face. He needed air.
He paused at the bar. Oblivion and numbness was so much better than this. But he kept walking. The door…her voice. He could still hear it in his head. The one silvery tear she couldn’t hold back.
Logan stumbled into the trees, a limb snaring his t-shirt, scraping the hell out of his arm. He backed into a tree, sliding down the trunk to the ground. He crossed his arms over his knees and buried his face.
He couldn’t be in love with her. Not this fast.
Even if he wanted to stick that clusterfuck of an idea under the microscope—and he did not—what did it matter? He couldn’t keep his shit in order enough to prove to her that he was worth the effort. But he could get the festival done on a high note. Even if he had to fake ever fucking chord.
The rat-a-tat beat of Morgan on the drums kicked him into gear. He stood, and while still a little muzzy, he could at least walk a straight line. He got to the checkpoint at the side of the building. A behemoth of a guy—who might rip his uniform shirt if he took too deep a breath—stood sentinel. When he spotted Logan, the guy nodded.
“Hey. Can you do me a favor?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I need someone to drive me up to my cabin and bring me back. I didn’t bring my stage clothes and I need a shower.” Definitely needed a shower. And a fucking toothbrush.
“No problem.” He lifted his wrist and murmured into it. Suddenly another man wearing the RD logo on his t-shirt pocket came around the corner.
“Just follow me, Mr. King.”
Logan nodded. He got into the black SUV and shot Zeke a text that he’d be back within the hour. The ride was quick and quiet. His escort seemed to know that Logan wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Through the gate and to the front of the house, Logan blocked out memories of Izzy. He’d never get through this if he didn’t.
He used the palm plate and was relieved that the house was empty. He took the stairs two at a time, stripping as he went. The clothes went into the trash before he ducked under the punishing spray of his shower. Memories of Izzy’s cries, her honeyed taste on his tongue made him race through his routine.
He brushed the death out of his mouth and paused with the tube of toothpaste in his mouth. His pills were there. With shaking fingers, he turned the bottle of Valium around in the cabinet.
The urge to check out rode him hard. The one psychiatrist he’d seen had been a little too eager to fill out that prescription pad for him. And the one time he’d allowed himself to take one, he’d been in a fog the entire day. A delicious calm that made him feel absolutely nothing.
He’d hated it. Logan shut the medicine cabinet firmly.
No way.
With a towel around his waist, he went to the wardrobe and pulled on a black dress shirt, boxer briefs, and pants. As he sat on the bed to pull on socks he tried to ignore the mussed sheets and Izzy’s midnight flower scent. His house was full of her.
Exactly the reason he rarely brought anyone to the cabin. He had friends and the band, but never a woman. It had always been his refuge. And now she was in every freaking room.
Eating with him, cooking, loving—no, just no. He stepped into a black pair of shoes and left the room without a backwards glance. He raced down the stairs, stopped in the kitchen for another bottle of water and downed four aspirin. On the island was a basket.
Dread slicked down his spine. It was full of smoked meats and breads, high end mustard, and an assortment of olives and pickled vegetables. Perfect for after a show. He curled his fingers into a fist, then plucked the card off the stick at the top.
