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Olivia
Don’t. Not now. Let Veritas handle it, ok? We got this. We got you guys. We’ll always protect you.
ME
Ok. Thanks, Liv.
I blow out a breath and close my eyes. The moment I saw that package on my desk with my name scribbled in perfect cursive and a million stamps placed on the corners, my heart sank. For a brief moment, I hoped they had forgotten me and moved on to something else productive. But they didn’t. They never do.
The package is a silent reminder that they’re still there after three years of anonymous harassment, watching my every move from afar with a camera in their hand. I’ve been down this road before. We’ve looked for suspects left and right. Hell, they even looked into Van as a safety measure, given his previous stalking ways.
“You’re positive it’s not him?” I mumble, tracing the picture my stalker sent me. It’s nothing but my grinning face, roasting in the sun. Lyric had a dance recital that day, near the lake on an outside stage. It could have been anyone.
Olivia runs a hand down the left side of her face, drawing my attention to the faint scars lining her flesh. I can’t imagine going through what she did when she was a teenager. She rarely talks about the trauma of the fire or losing her three best friends.
“Yes. We’ve looked into Donavan Drake several times. He’s been overseas with the production company he works for, for several months now. There’s no way he could follow you around and be halfway across the world.”
My only saving graces are Liv and Veritas having my back, or I’d be up shits creek without a paddle. A hopeless feeling envelops me, not knowing what to do about this stupid stalker. When will it end? It’s been three miserable years of watching my back, and now I have to worry about Ly, too. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and making sure whoever they are isn’t there lurking in the shadows.
I rub circles over my temple, trying to settle my rampant heartbeat. It pounds in my ear, taking over everything around me. It isn’t until a distinct rumble coming down the drive, vibrating my entire house, brings me back to reality. As four moving vans park on the curb and open their back doors. Peeking out my window, I raise a brow when Rad wheels out his old dirt bike and places it in the garage.
I’d recognize that bike from a mile away. It’s his winning bike, the one he raced around Raccoon Run, and the same one he finger-banged me on before spreading me over his winning eight-hundred bucks.Fuck.I close my eyes, trying to erase those happy memories from my brain permanently. Seeing them again awakens something odd inside of me. Something I never thought I’d have to face again. Maybe they’re my nightmares, or maybe they’re here to set things right.
Back then, when we first met, we were thrown together in a whirlwind and fell hard for each other. We were simplistic kids with enormous dreams, just trying to find ourselves. Then it all went to shit, which is something I won’t let go of easily. They used me, intentionally, and admitted it. They invited me along on a trip they never intended to take me on and then left like I meant nothing after witnessing something they didn’t fully understand. Forgiveness is not in my vocabulary at this moment in time; maybe, if they make it up to me somehow, but I highly doubt that.
I’ve moved on with my life with Lyric by my side. I don’t need them anymore.
“See you,assmunchers, later. I’m going for a ride,” I grumble, running a hand through my hair, trying to distract myself from her—River. The woman I fell head over heels in love with. Only to have my heart ripped violently out of my chest and spit on. “Fuck,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut as the pain of her betrayal sears through me again. Stopping before the garage door that connects to the house, I recover my breath and sigh. I have got to get a handle on my fucking self. I’m being ridiculous. I can’t fall apart because she’s back in the picture. Not now. I’ve fought too damn hard to get back to the easy-going, carefree guy everyone loves to see. No matter the dark cloud floating over my head whenever I’m alone.
Once upon a time, she was my pretty girl. The most beautiful woman in the world. And I called her mine. All mine. And well, theirs, too, I guess. I thought she felt a semblance of what I felt for her. Love. Adoration. Major attraction. God damn, the sex was off-the-charts hot, too. Even thinking about spreading her ass out on a pile of money makes little Rad perk up. Even now, after all this time, she’s still on a shrine in the back of my head with candles and a curtain concealing her memory. If only I could contain it from ever spilling out into my waking thoughts. Then I might be okay.
I guess I was mistaken about us, though. She managed to jump into Van’s arms again, like the moments we had meant nothing to her. She threw out the Ferris wheel ride, the way she built our band, and the fucking dining room table incident like they didn’t play on repeat in her mind, too. Because fuck, even through my hate, I fuck my hand to the memories of River’s cries at the top of the Ferris wheel.Fuck.Not only am I sad, but now I’m saluting in my damn pants.
Hell, maybe I pushed my pretty girl too much and way too fast. I did kind of stalk her and put a flag in her ass, claiming her as my girlfriend. She had no choice. So, that’s on me, I guess. She didn’t want me the way I desperately wanted her. She didn’t want any of us.
I huff a breath when the familiar burn behind my eyes threatens to spill tears again. I’m so damn tired of crying myself to sleep. It’s been fucking years. Why can’t my heart move on?
“You’re going for a ride?” Callum asks in a soft voice, placing a hand on my shoulder. I grunt, shrugging his hand off, and nod, clutching my keys.
“Yeah, man. I gotta clear my mind,” I mumble, wiping away the tears leaking out.
Stupid tears; I don’t need you right now. Never again. I’m tired of crying over her; she’s not worth it. She broke my heart once; I won’t let her trample it again. Lesson fucking learned. Not even those sexy as fuck six-inch heels that accentuated her long, lean legs under that come-fuck-me-dress she wore over here for our meeting can win me over. God. She’s amazing. I love her. But I fucking hate her. And what’s wrong with me? My heart tears into two different pieces, going in two separate directions.
When I turn to look up at Callum, my brows furrow, there’s a hint of something brewing in the back of his determined gray eyes, and suspicion hits me hard in the chest. That fucker is up to something.
“You’re not thinking about going tonight, are you?” When he darts his eyes away toward the ground, I get my answer. “Bro, we can’t leave, remember? Not even for that.”
His jaw clenches tight, and he nods. “Thanks for the reminder, Dad,” he grumbles, working his jaw back and forth, biting back all the rage consuming him.
I swear, my brother Callum hasn’t been the same man since he witnessed River kissing Van. It’s like the sweet piece that made him, him—was left behind in Central City and with her. She stole that from him. He had just started opening up and becoming the person he wanted to be, and now, he has effectively shut down completely.
“Sorry, Man. I didn’t make the rules. Take it up with her,” I say, throwing an arm out toward River’s house, which sits just across the street from us.
Thankfully, she hasn’t shown her face today, giving us the weekend to move in and settle into our gigantic new home. I’d rather not face my past head-on. Until Monday morning, of course, when she’ll meet us for our very first band practice under her new rules. Shit. I feel like I’m back under my strict parents’ control. The ones who forbade me from getting tattoos and staying out past ten. Now here I am, twenty-seven, and on full lockdown enforced by my ex. Life is fucking weird.
“Look, I know it’s Saturday, and I know that’s what you do, but I can’t lose this contract.” If I don’t have music, I don’t know what I have.
Emptiness? More time to focus on my heartbreak? I’ll self-destruct in no time. Even if we haven’t been the same since we got signed, I never want to lose my grip on what makes me whole. Music. The tunes. The way I smash my sticks into the drums. It helps me to remember I’m alive, and if that’s gone, what will I do?
