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Fuck.
* * *
Since there was no time to get back to L.A. to get on the private charter with everyone else, I bought a first-class ticket leaving that afternoon from Lauderdale. It would get me into London early the next morning, around the same time as the flight the rest of the band was on, and I’d meet them at the hotel.
As soon as I had a chance, I’d pull Devyn aside and ask her if we could talk.
I’d called Z and updated him about where I was, telling him I wouldn’t be on the flight but that I’d see them in London. He’d mentioned no one had heard from Devyn, so I’d tried calling and texting her, but they all gone straight to voicemail. The texts hadn’t been opened either, from what I could see, and a wave of regret hit me hard.
I’d been distant and cold to her the other night when we’d talked, far more focused on myself than on her because I’d been hurt that she didn’t trust me enough to confide in me. Now I realized how selfish that had been. She’d made a mistake by not telling us about her past, but that was separate from our personal relationship.
If I was going to be the man in her life, someone she loved and trusted and counted on, I’d made a colossal mess of things.
She hadn’t done anything wrong from legal or even moral standpoints, but I knew her well enough to know she was humiliated for the whole world to find out. She wanted her talent as a musician to speak for itself. This would blow over for the band—I wasn’t worried about that—but unless it was handled right, the stigma could follow her for a long time.
I hadn’t thought about any of that, and when she’d needed me the most, I hadn’t been there.
There was no way to go back and change how I’d behaved that night, but I was going to do my best to make it up to her.
Assuming she gave me the chance.
I didn’t know where she was, what she was doing, or even if she’d show up for the tour, and there was nothing I could do until I talked to her.
I’d hoped to sleep on the flight, but that wasn’t happening, so I was tired and grumpy when I got to London. I hadn’t even hired a bodyguard to travel with me, leaving me to navigate the throng of fans who’d figured out what flight I was on. They were waiting just outside of the security area, carrying signs and flowers and all kinds of little gifts.
As much as I wanted to tell them to fuck off, this wasn’t the time.
We needed to keep them happy, and if there was an influx of pictures of me on social media with a bunch of fans at the airport, it would serve as a nice distraction from the porn bullshit.
“Kingston.” A tiny blonde with doe-like eyes and a bright smile thrust a piece of paper at me. “I drew this for you.”
I glanced down and was surprised at how good it was. It was of me sitting at a piano and all I could think about was when Devyn and I sat at my piano together.
“Thank you,” I said in a sincere voice. “This is beautiful. Can I have it?”
“Of course!” she gushed. “Will you take a picture holding it?”
“Sure.” I was surrounded and there would be no getting out of here anytime soon, but that was okay.
Good publicity was necessary sometimes, and it wasn’t like they were going to hurt me.
Hopefully, within a few hours, there would be something positive about Onyx Knight in the press and I would be on the road to forgiveness with Devyn.
36
Devyn
It cost a small fortune because of the holidays, but I’d bought a ticket to New York to go see Jesse. I hadn’t known what I was going to do about the band or anything else in my life, so I’d run. Greatty was wonderful, and I adored her, but sometimes I needed advice from someone my own age, someone who understood some of what I was going through.
And that was Jesse.
She’d been my ride or die in college and she’d been the one who helped pick up the pieces after Larry hurt me and the record deal fell apart.
This time there was so much more on the line, and it was good to be able to talk to her.
Of course, it hadn’t taken long for her to set me straight.
She essentially told me I would be an idiot if I walked away from Onyx Knight simply because Kingston had turned out to be the spoiled, self-centered prick of a rock star you would expect him to be. I’d earned my place with the band, and I had a contract that said so. The personal stuff was going to have to wait.
