Page 124 of The Rogues

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

“Do you want anything to eat, baby?” Remi asks as he walks by. His hand scoots across my back and shoulder so casually that my stomach flutters. Like we no longer have to overthink the touches between us; we can just let ourselves be free with our movements.

“I’m okay,” I reply, giving him a small smile. He moves to the tiny kitchen this bus has to offer and starts to scour stuff together, likely putting together a snack plate for the entire pack. I’ve noticed that they do that quite often. Cheese platters and other snacks all spread out on trays while they lounge around since each of them has different tastes. I love seeing these tiny glimpses of how things used to be before I came into the picture, and I love even more that I’m now a part of it.

“When do we take off?” Malaki asks near the bunks as he changes his clothes.

“Around five,” Cyrus says while looking at his phone intently. “Then we’re on our way to Chicago.”

I sigh when I think about how much longer this tour is going to be. We’re now heading across the major cities in the north before we go right down the middle and back into the south. Then our international tour will begin, which will only breed even more issues.

Cleo and I haven’t spoken since that day in her hotel room. Every day seems to be getting worse. All the staff can tell that there’s something broken between us, and it’s made it awkward while trying to navigate the tour professionally. Everyone tiptoes on eggshells around us, and I feel like I’m going bonkers.

It’s been tense in the green room, both of us silent and seething at one another while Lark and Nicola try their best to mediate, but I don’t think it’s possible. Too much has happened, and she is too deep in her drug abuse to see reason anymore.

My only reprieve has been my mates.

Accepting that has been hard, but the guys have been there for me every step of the way. It’s nice to have a pack to lean on, even if that pack is the reason why this rift is a gaping hole to begin with.

The media took Cleo’s words and ran with it. I’m the home-wrecker; I betrayed Cleo in the worst of ways, and no one will believe me if I try to fix it. She went and threw a bomb at the situation, blowing it into something that it didn’t need to be. I’m not sure how I can forgive her for that. When I finally had the courage to tell our team about my scent matches, and they agreed to tell the truth, it turned into yet another lie.

At the time, I was surprised. Hurt. But I’ve since discovered that addiction is a fickle thing. There’s no right or wrong way to go about things, but it’s an illness that wants to survive and it will do anything to do so.

Now, everything makes sense. It all comes back to Cleo, and all the things she’s willing to do instead of admitting that she needs help.

“Remi, can you slice up some apples for that board?” Lennon asks. “I think they’re going to start browning soon.”

“Are you going to eat them if I do?”

“Of course, as long as you add peanut butter.”

“But you have to ask me to add peanut butter for me to know that.”

Jamie laughs. “I’m going to eat some too. No peanut butter though.”

“Thanks, Jamie.” Remi starts cutting green apples and I find myself watching his forearms.

God, he really likes hiding those things under his blazers and sweaters, huh?

I lock eyes with Malaki. He’s already looking at me as he winks, prompting a solid blush to spread over my cheeks.

Someone knocks a moment later, and Cyrus unhurriedly goes to answer it, probably assuming it’s their tour manager or someone else here for details about our departure.

What we’re not expecting, however, is to see Lark standing there. Her eyes are rimmed with red, her mascara running down her face.

I immediately go to her, panic clawing me from the inside out. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Her honeysuckle scent smells oily, like soiled sap. She sniffles slightly, her signature frown still present despite the emotion so clearly written over her face.

“It’s Cleo…” she says, and my heart sinks. “She’s at the hospital.”

Her eyes trail over my guys, hesitant to say anything else but I persist. “I’m just going to tell them anyway, so please tell me what happened.”

That seems to knock her out of whatever was holding her back, but I never in a million years expected the words she spoke next.

“Cleo overdosed.”

It’s like my entire world collapses right then and there. My soul feels ripped out of me, and the next thing I know I’m on the floor, bodies towering over me as they say words that I can’t hear through a thick fog.