Every time I thought that shit was behind me, locked away in the little box I shoved it into, something like this happened and fucked me up. Not this time. Not going to let it happen, and not in front of her.
Chapter Six
Sadie
Broken
Lovelytheband
The thing about men like Dean Ross? They pretend they’re made of armor right up until you see it dent. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it. You can try and fill it, sand it, repaint it, but the imperfection is still there. It’s always there, under the surface, just waiting to crack again.
The accident on the road sits in my chest long after the flashing lights disappear behind us. Dean walked off our bus and onto Luc’s hours ago. The others pretend not to notice what happened. That’s loyalty. Or denial. Hard to tell. Either way, I respect them for it. They have each other’s backs. They are more than just bandmates; they are a tight-knit band of brothers. This much I have been able to determine.
I sleep a few bumpy hours during the early morning hours, waking when I feel the bus come to a hissing halt. I pop my head out of my bunk’s curtain, Hayden coming out of the bathroom. “Where are we?”
“Pit stop.” He pauses next to my bunk, yawning before he continues. “Truck stop diner if you want breakfast.”
“Definitely.” I grin, my stomach grumbling its approval at my decision. There is nothing better than truck stop diner food. I don’t care what anyone says. The food is always hot, fresh, and no-nonsense.
The diner smells like burnt coffee, bacon grease, and something questionable involving syrup. Perfect place for a girl who hasn’t slept much in the last thirty-six hours.
I slide into a back booth, drop my camera bag beside me, and press my fingertips to my temples. My skull is pulsing like a bad drum solo. I’m running on three hours of sleep, caffeine withdrawal, and the memory of Dean Ross looking human in the rain.
I flip open the menu hungry enough to eat three breakfast specials. The bell over the door jingles, and I feel him enter. I don’t even need to look, but of course, I do.
Dean walks in like the room owes him something, hood up, hair damp, jaw set. He doesn’t see me at first. He goes to the counter and orders something in a low voice, fingers drumming like he’s vibrating on the inside. Then he turns, his eyes scanning the room, stopping when they find mine.
There’s a flicker in his gaze, a tightening followed by a quick, sharp inhale like he wasn’t expecting me. He breaks contact by lowering his head, shaking it just slightly, then walks straight toward me.
He’s got the standard white diner mug in his hand, wearing an expression somewhere between ugh, why, and I dare you to look away first.
I lift my chin in greeting. “You sure you’re at the correct table?”
He gives me that signature half-scowl. “Not so sure about anything right now.” He sets his cup down and slides into the booth anyway. “I’m not sitting because of you. I’m sitting because the counter coffee tastes like battery acid.”
“What makes you think mine’s better?”
“You haven’t thrown yours at me yet.” He chuckles. “If it was bad enough, I’m sure you would.”
My mouth twitches despite myself. “Fair point.”
The waitress appears with a pot and tops us both off. Dean wraps his hands around the mug like the heat’s the only thing tethering him together.
“You sleep?” he asks without looking at me.
“Like a rock tossed down a well.”
“That bad?”
“That accurate.”
I study him over my cup. “Didn’t expect to see you up this early.”
“Didn’t expect you to follow me outside last night,” he mutters, jaw shifting.
I go still. “I wasn’t?—”
“Following me?” His brow arches. “Sure.”
