His heart thumped violently in his chest. “What?”
“I’m getting married in three weeks.”
He couldn’t have formed words if his life depended on it.
“Luke?”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes. I’m happy. Are—Congratulations. On your awards. It’s everything you ever wanted.”
“I used to think that.” Why hadn’t she asked if he was happy? Did she just assume he was because he’d always dreamed of being a country singer? It killed him that she was congratulating him on the thing that ended up tearing them apart.
“Your fiancé—is he a good guy?” The cut kept bleeding because he kept digging in it. What he wanted to do was tell her she was supposed to be marrying him. It was always supposed to be them—Luke and Rowan. Rowan and Luke. How had everything gone so sideways?
“He is,” she said.
“Would I like him?” Did it matter? He planned on hating him on principle.
“I don’t know. The old Luke would have. I don’t know about this Luke.”
Fuuuuck. It killed him that she didn’t think he was the same person he’d been before.
“I’m the same person I always was.”
“I wish that were true.”
“Row—”
“I have to go. Take care of yourself, Luke.”
The line went dead. He stared at the blank screen before tossing it on the nightstand and falling back on the bed.
Maria had to know Rowan was getting married, so why had she given him Rowan’s number? How could he even find her? Yeah, he had her address, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate him showing up at her door.
He’d fooled himself for years, pretending it didn’t hurt. That he was fine. That the fame and glory were worth losing the best thing in his life. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even realized she’d been the best thing in his life until it’d been too late. He could blame it on bad advice and bad management, but the truth was he let his ego and his pride drive her away because he’d been too scared to admit he needed her more than he needed the music.
Having that moment with her again, even at a distance, and having that door slammed was like losing her all over again.
