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“Since you handed me a whole bottle in Vegas when I was eighteen. Don’t you remember? Oh yeah, let me refresh your memory.” I swing the drink back, the moonshine burning my throat and making my eyes water. “You can’t, can you? Because you were always too drunk or passed out to form one coherent thought.” After pouring myself another, I slam the bottle of moonshine down on the counter. Walking into the living room, I chug part of the drink back before placing the glass on the wooden table.
He follows me, hanging his leather jacket over the chair like he belongs here. Like it didn’t cost me years of my life to try and forget about him.
I take a seat on the couch while I watch him poor himself a glass of water in a jar before downing it in one swig. Pacing the living room with the empty glass still in his hand, he taps his fingers on it like he always did when he was nervous. God, he is still as handsome as he was back then: broad shoulders, long hair in front of his eyes. He fills out his black skinny jeans better than he did before, and I squirm trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs.
He sees me staring and I look away while I try to disregard the smirk slowly forming on his face.
Fuck him and his package. Rolling my eyes, he probably banged numerous groupies in the years we’ve been apart. The super-sized stories were like an urban legend amongst the girls I’d met backstage at various shows.
“Why do I get the feeling you want to beat my ass?” Navarone says, humor back in his voice.
I flash him my best fuck off smile. This riles him up, judging by the hard lines forming on his perfect face.
“Say what you wanted to say before you trespassed into my home, and be gone. We spent years making sure we wouldn’t bump into each other in this town; let’s keep it that way,” I spit out, before downing the remainder of my drink.
He utters some profanities and then in three big steps, confines me to the couch, his arms blocking my escape and his strong legs making it impossible for me to make a run for it. His deep, raspy voice, sends chills down my spine when he slowly drawls, “Not until I get what I came here for.”
There’s not a hint of doubt in his tone. The timbre of his voice goes right to the place between my thighs. I press them together. Rone grins; his eyes are glued to me. His lopsided smirk makes me quiver, and I want to smack him in the face.
I briefly close my eyes, not wanting to deal with him being here after all these years. “Why did you come?” I ask, feeling his hot breath against my lips.
“I came here for you, Allie.”
The pad of his thumb slides across my bottom lip, I push him away from me before rising from the couch on unsteady legs. Blame it on the booze. “You can’t. I’m not yours to take.”
“Babe, please hear me out. These last years, I’ve been broken being in the same city as you, and you—”
“I what?” I raise my voice, pushing against his chest. He lets me, the bastard lets me, making me madder than I already am. My throat tightens and everything that happened between us hits me right in the heart and I can’t breathe.
“You broke me,” I yell. “Don’t you get that? You fucking destroyed me.”
“Baby, please.” He tries to grab my arms but I’m a woman on a mission and I push him back against the wall.
Balling my fist, I slam him in the chest. “You.” My voice breaks and I hit him again. I hate that he doesn’t put up a fight. The tears are already streaming down my face while the brick wall I put up for protection cracks. Protection against him, against myself, and against the dream I buried along with my heart.
“You broke me,” I say again, losing steam. “Why did you leave? Why did you leave me alone when I needed you the most?” I scream, my hands hurting from all the hitting. The sorrow reflected in his eyes pushes me over the edge and I start to sob. He takes me into his arms while I try to get free, but he is too strong and I slowly lose the fight in me. “Why did you come back?” I blubber. “I was doing okay without you. Why did you come back? Why did you write those damn songs?”
“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers, swaying me from side to side.
He freezes when we both hear the guys outside the door. Before he lets me go, they all pile in, laughing and joking with each other. I take a step away from Rone, not bothering to say something to the men standing in the doorway. I know what they’re thinking as they glance from me to him.
I run into my bedroom and slam the door behind me before falling onto my bed, clutching my pillow, and letting my tears run free while I listen to muffled voices outside my door.
“Rone, you need to go, man,” Gunner tells him.
Evan grunts, “Gunn, leave it alone. It’s between them.”
Axl chimes in, “I thought bringing you together would be good for her. She has been sleepwalking without you in her life.”
“I know. I fucking know, okay? I’m the one who fucked shit up between us,” Navarone says.
“No shit, man,” Frankie mumbles. “Fuck, dude. That freaking hurts, Ev.”
I can’t make out what Evan says in response.
“I thought she needed some time; that’s why I haven’t been sending those goddamn divorce papers back. I don’t know how to fix this, but I’m not ready to let her go yet.”
I can’t hear what both Frankie and Austin tell him. After some back and forth, there is a knock on my door. Clutching the pillow against my chest, I brace myself for what he is going to do.
