Page 19 of Fractured Destiny

“Wow.” He steps inside instead. “You did.”

Evan shuts the door behind him and leans against it. “Still hung up on Neeley?”

Hearing her name from someone else’s mouth makes my skin tighten. I fasten my belt and grab my water bottle from the floor. The plastic crackles under my grip. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Sure,” Mason snorts. “Miss Tessa walked out of here looking like she wanted to drown you in a toilet for no reason.”

I shrug. “She’ll live to find someone else to blow.”

“Will you?” Evan tilts his head.

I glare at him, but it lands nowhere. Mason drops onto the couch where Tessa had my cock in her mouth minutes ago, and gestures around the dressing room as if the evidence has personally offended him.

“Let me get this straight.” He furrows his brow. “A gorgeous woman follows you backstage, makes it incredibly clear she wants to suck your dick, and you what? Politely send her into the night because you’re still hung up on the mystery girl who ghosted you? Did she have a magic pussy or something?”

Evan winces. “Subtle.”

“No, seriously.” Mason leans forward. “You fucked a girl you knew her for one night. It should mean nothing.”

“I know.” My eyes squeeze shut at the memory.

“Then act like it.”

Simple advice. Solid advice. The kind of advice any normal guy would take without turning it into a goddamn existential crisis. I want to tell him he’s wrong, except he isn’t. The woman is burning a hole through me for no good reason.

Cal pounds on the door and opens it before anyone answers. “Load-out. Now. I’m not humping all the gear on my own because Lake forgot how groupies work.”

Mason points at him. “See? Even Bishop gets it.”

Cal looks between us and shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t care.”

He disappears back into the hallway.

“She screwed you over, man.” Evan pushes off the door. “You’ve gotta move the fuck on.”

Maybe.

Probably.

All my life, I’ve known the texture of being used, discarded, forgotten, passed from one place to the next. Neeley leaving should belong in the same pile. Except it doesn’t.

Every time I try to shove her there, some part of the night slips loose and refuses to stay put.

Her laugh when I called her trouble. Her fingers tracing the inside of my wrist. The way she looked through me.

Most of all, what she said to me after the show.

I dig how you embrace the silence.

“Lake.” Evan nudges me.

I blink and realize all three of them are waiting on me to answer a question I didn’t hear.

“Whatever.” I grab my guitar case. “Let’s load the van.”

Nobody pushes me after that. Smart men.

Three hours later, we’re somewhere between Wichita and whatever forgettable town comes next. The highway stretches beyond the windshield while the van rattles over seams in the pavement. Mason claimed an entire bench seat the second we pulled onto the interstate and now snores loud enough to qualify as a health hazard. Evan isn’t much better. His head knocks softly against the window every time we hit a bump, headphones crooked around his neck.