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My heart dropsinto my ass when the ghost of my fucked up past strolls into the room with her head held high and stops right before us.What the hell is she doing here? In our domain?
Determination lines her sharp face, not giving any indication our presence affects her. No heavy breaths. No tears. There’s nothing hiding behind the face of the girl I purposely screwed over and forced my best friends to leave behind.
Shit.
Pain spreads across my chest as the repressed memories I locked away long ago flood back into my mind, released from the confined space I shoved them into. Everything about River I’ve blocked and purposefully forgot about her. Our time together. The moments I spent between her luscious legs and shared with my bandmates. She went so far to help us get here, and then, I shit all over her existence. Imploding everything she’d built by one single lie I had orchestrated.
How has she been? Why is she here? How bad did I fucking break her with my betrayal because I was so damn desperate to get away?
Familiar pangs of guilt churn in my gut, and burning bile rises in my throat. I’ve avoided everything River West for the past five years. I never sought her out.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Besides, there was no trace of her anywhere, with all her social media accounts shut down after we left. For me, it was a godsend. I didn’t have to look at my mistake head-on and acknowledge the fact I fucked up. My refusal to think about her had me locking my memories away behind several heavy doors in my mind. My survival on this planet relies on her nonexistence. And today, I’m coming face to face with the karma I deserve by seeing her again.
Goddamn. What did I fucking do? Sometimes I don’t understand myself. But if there’s one thing for certain, it’s that I’m not worthy to be in her presence. Kick my ass and lock me away, it’s the least I fucking deserve for the vile actions I perpetrated against her.
Eyeing her up and down and taking in her appearance is its own form of torture. My heart pounds double time. My fingers fucking tremble around the arms of the chair. Staring at her is like looking too hard at the sun, and I’m bound to be burned. Not that I don’t fucking deserve it. I deserve every ounce of ire this woman has, even if she doesn’t know what I did. No one does except Gloria. Not a soul. Not even the men around me. I intended to purge my sins and confess them when we were famous, and she was long gone, but the words never left my tongue. I couldn’t—wouldn’t. We were good for so long, and then, we weren’t.
River’s long, brown hair remains the same as it always had, hanging past her shoulders. Only now, it seems smoother and more professional, framing the edges of her filled-out face. No longer does she look like the poor girl from Central City, barely eating and running herself ragged. She’s filled out and looks healthier than I’ve ever seen her. More defined curves fill out the professional black pantsuit, highlighting just how much she’s grown up.
Something beneath the surface of her calls to me again, much like it used to. River is a siren standing in a room full of sailors, begging them to come to her. Her aura hasn’t changed one bit. I shift in my seat, determined to, once again, not heed her call.
“Hello, boys. My name is River West, and I’m your new band manager. Congratulations,” she says, cocking her head.
I swallow the lump in my throat when all the oxygen leaves and suffocates me. Her voice drifts through the room with authority. Together, Callum, Kieran, Rad, and I sit like statues waiting for her to speak again. Every agonizing minute she stands there in silence, watching us with an eagle eye, is torture.
Her inspecting moss-green eyes take in the changes each of us has experienced in the past few years of a harsh rock star lifestyle. We’re rougher. Maybe edgier from our time in the spotlight, entertaining millions, but yet, slightly more damaged than before. I always thought if I removed myself from the beast roaming the halls of my home, I’d heal the demons darkening my soul inside me. Boy, how wrong I was.
A new demon followed me around, relentlessly taunting me. Guilt. Over the years, I’ve tried to lock everything away in a small box and forget my transgressions. Who could forget, though? I never realized what I had, until it was gone. It was too late. Now, everywhere I look, my stomach turns, and bile rises at the simplest of reminders.
The longer she stares, waiting for us to acknowledge her, I swear fucking sweat breaks out across my flesh. Instinctively, I reach for the package of antacids in my pocket and toss one in my mouth, discreetly chewing the chalky substance to settle the nausea swarming in my gut.
The more I look at her, the more I see the ghosts of what I left behind.
Flashes of our intertwined past roar through my mind, leading to the worst decision I’ve ever made. Her name sits in the back of my mind, chanting like a prayer, patiently waiting for me to acknowledge the peak of our downfall. The person who cleverly built us up and helped us to succeed by granting us the golden ticket, only for us to turn our backs on her and leave her in the dust like she never meant a damn thing to us all. And that’s the core of it all. I was young, stupid, and demented enough to think I could erase her from our lives without repercussions. But if there’s anything I know about karma, she always comes back to bite you in the ass and take back what you put out into the world.
“How about we get started?” River hums with more confidence, not bothering to look up at us again.
“What-what are you doing here?” I swear I utter it without permission. “Why are you here?” I mumble again, trying to shake the specter from my vision.
“So nice of you to ask, Mr. Montgomery,” she says in a polite yet professional tone.
The mere mention of my name sends shivers down my spine and goosebumps down my legs. Fuck. No, she can’t affect me like this again. I can’t let River work her way under my skin as she did before. I resisted so well back then, but with my guilt currently eating me alive, I don’t think I can ignore the call she gives out.
“I’m working.” Shrugging, she spreads massive amounts of paperwork out on the table. Her eyes look through the pages, humming under her breath until she comes to one that shocks her into silence.
Kieran says something snarky. Rad retorts. The entire room moves on without my conscious mind present. The only thing I can focus on is the past, instead of the present or future—where my mind should stay firmly planted. She mentions numbers, and I respond, staring at the dismal view of our existence at West Records. We’re fucked. Kieran keeps babbling on, but I tune out his shitty attitude. The only reason he acts this way is because I’m a fucking tool and made him think she betrayed us.
Since then, I’ve lost touch with him. Hell—even myself. We aren’t the same people we were rocking out in Callum’s basement with stars in our eyes. We’ve changed. And we’ve ripped apart at the seams. I locked myself into music, focusing on the words and melodies. I tore myself away from the guys, promising myself I’d come clean. But I never did. In turn, they’ve collected their own vices, leading them away from the once tight-knit, brotherly bond we had.
My fingers white-knuckle around the armrests, hoping to choke the mirage standing before me from my vision. I blink hard, wishing her away. Many times before, my guilt chased me down with a vengeance. From the woman standing in the crowd of our performance to another walking down the sidewalk—she haunted every waking moment of my life, reminding me of the bullshit I pulled.
River tilts her head, looking us over with such confidence my heart aches in my chest. I swear someone utters a question of what she’s doing here, and why the fuck is she standing in West Records, but I don’t hear it. I hear nothing but the past calling back to me, forcing me to recall the bullshit I put her and my brothers through.
It’s the one thing that keeps me staring at the ceiling night after night, until my eyes are bloodshot and burning. It’s the rumbling in my stomach when I can’t keep the acid from burning me from within. It’s the itchy skin, pulling taut over my bones, and the patches of eczema reddening my damn flesh. An itch I can’t fucking scratch because my guilt manifests in unpredictable ways.
It’s consuming me whole. Before I know it, I’ll be nothing but hollow bones wandering this earth.
