CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GRIFFIN
Whack!
“I’m up. I’m up.” I scramble to pull myself to my feet after getting woke up by the bus door slamming into the back of my head.
Casey pokes her head out of the half-open door. “Sheesh, Griffin. You look like crap on a stick. Did you sleep on the step all night?”
“Maybe,” I groan, dragging both hands down my face. “Is she okay?”
She nods. “Took some pain killers and went to bed. She’s still sleeping. I’ve been checking on her through the night.”
“I sent her at least a dozen messages last night, Case.”
“She knows.”
“Did she look at any of them?”
Her eyes focus on the ground in front of me. “Not that I know of.”
“What do I do, Case? You’re her best friend. What does she need me to do?”
The bus door pushes open a little wider with London standing right behind it. The left side of her face is bruised, and her jaw is swollen, but she’s still beautiful. I reach out instinctively wanting to feel her in my arms, but she takes a step back so I’m left with a handful of air instead of pulling her into my chest and wrapping her in my arms. “Case doesn’t speak for me. I can do that myself.” The look she gives Casey says more than words ever could. Casey tucks her head back inside the bus, leaving us standing there with a heap of awkward between us.
“I’m so sorry, I—”
She doesn’t even give me the chance to finish. “I realize you thought you were protecting me from worrying, but all you did was leave me—and Carter—vulnerable. I’m incredibly lucky that he decided to go back to Tulsa with my parents for the week. And while it was the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to let him do, it was clearly for his best interests.”
“That wasn’t what I meant to do.”
Her jaw clenches and she lets a deep breath escape slowly. “It doesn’t matter what you meant to do. All that matters is what happened.”
“London—”
“The tour is over in two months, we can be civil until we all turn into pumpkins again but whatever we were doing here,” she waves her hand in the empty space between us, “is over.”
Her words knocked the air right out of my lungs. The lump forming in my throat is growing larger by the second. My nose burns. Tears are stinging my eyes. “London, please let me—”
The bus door slams in my face. I guess that’s her answer. No explanation necessary. I got in my own way… again. I make zero effort to hide the fact that I’m standing outside this woman’s bus bawling like a baby. Fucking hell.
One Week Later…
Knock, knock.
“Go away.” Day seven of giving up any hope of being with London James and I’m already a disaster. I haven’t showered in… I don’t think I’ve showered since the night I beat the hell out of that idiot. The same night I lost London. The same night my hopes of having a family with the white picket fence and a recording studio out back died.
Knock, knock. “Open up, idiot. You missed soundcheck, again. Nigel is going to have your ass.”
“Travis, go away.”
“Good luck when you see Nigel.” He bangs on the door again one last time just to annoy me a little more tonight, because that’s exactly what I need.
Two Weeks Post-London…
The Machine rejected the songs I sent them. Nigel said they were “too melodramatic.” We’re a rock band. Melodramatic is the branding. Whatever. What do they expect from me? I’ve been locked up inside this room trying to create music when all I can think about is London and how the music moves her soul when she’s on stage. It’s been hell trying to get through a show without talking to her. I’ve stolen a few glances her direction and my heart breaks more each time. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. A man can only take so much before his heart totally gives out.
Three Weeks Post-London…
Knock, knock.
“Griffin, it’s me.”
That was absolutely the worst impersonation of London I’ve ever heard, and I’ve never wanted to punch him in the face as much as I do right now. “Oh, I have a great idea. Why don’t I go torment my brother with the love of his life who stomped all over his heart? Go the fuck away, Travis!”
“Come on, dude. You’ve been locked in there for weeks. You’re starting to smell. It’s so bad it’s like a human rights issue at this point.”
I swing the door open just enough to punch him in the shoulder and then slam it back in his face. “Leave me alone.”
“You’re contaminating our air supply, dude. Take a shower.”
Four Weeks Post-London…
Knock, knock.
Christ! Will they ever just leave me the hell alone? I swing the door open ready to grab Adair by the dreads or punch Travis… again, but instead I see Carter’s big brown eyes beaming up at me with his guitar slung over his shoulder. My heart breaks—again— at the memory of that day in the mall. It felt like we could be a real family. It was only the next day that London agreed to let me prove to her how serious I was and then I went and screwed it all up by not being honest with her. “Hey, Carter. I didn’t expect to see you,” I somehow manage to choke out.
“Mom told me not to come, but I…” he wipes his nose. Oh, shit. He’s been crying. “I dropped my guitar in the airport, and it hasn’t sounded right since. I’m not sure what I did, but I’m pretty it’s broken.”
“Let me take a look…” I unzip the bag and perch the guitar on my leg, strumming a few chords. “I think the intonation is out of whack. Let me see if I can fix it.”
His face lights up. “You can fix it?”
“Well, I think so but if not I’m sure we can find someone who can.”
“What’s intonation?”
I turn so the guitar is facing him. “See this?” I tap the saddle. “This is what tells the guitar what pitch to use. When it’s out, even the best notes will give us a crappy sound.”
He nods and studies what I’m doing.
“I think I got it.” I strum out a few chords. “Sounds good to me. You want to give it a try?” I hand it back over to him for inspection, just as the door flings open with London’s standing there fuming mad.
“Carter!” She drops to her knees and wraps him in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you.”
“You didn’t know he was here?”
She gives me a look that could put me six feet under. “Obviously not.”
Great. This isn’t going to help me redeem myself.
“Carter, I’m really glad you had your tactical gear on. You did a great job by making sure you didn’t take that off, but you cannot just leave like that. You have to let me know before you go anywhere.”
“I did tell you.”
“Technically, you asked me and I said no.”
“He was the only one who could help me fix Issy.”
She pauses and glances around the small room. “Issy?”
“My guitar. I named it after Casey.”
Pushing herself back up off the floor, she grabs his hand and helps him put Issy back in her bag. “I’m sorry, Carter. We really shouldn’t be bothering Griff—”
“You two are never a bother. I really wanted to help.”
She continues, “Next time, we can call a guitar tech and take it in to town without having to bother him.” She turns and gives me a slight nod like we haven’t been through hell and back together and like she’s not the love of my life. “Thank you for helping him. You should have let me know he was here.”
“I didn’t know that you didn’t know,” my voice raises an entire octave.
“Seems to be a recurring theme with us, huh?” She lets the door slam behind them as she grabs Carter’s hand and leads him back to her bus.
Damn it.
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