Consumed (Devoured, #2)(64)

And, as much as I hate to admit it, I leave my hope at home.

An hour later, I step into Your Toxic Sequel’s dressing room, and I’m met with an awkward silence from Cal and Wyatt—the only band members back here at the moment—that only Kylie can break. Meeting me at the door, she grabs my hand, lacing her fingers through mine, and pulls me over to the loveseat. I know it’s all a show. That much is evident in her dark brown eyes and the way her hands tremble every time she pushes her short brown hair behind her ears.

“After the show we were thinking about going to that bar you’re always talking about,” she says to me in a high-pitched voice. “The Bea—”

“The Beacon?”

“I think we all just need to get some stress off our chests.” She reaches for her bottle of water but knocks her hand into Cal’s Monster instead. It falls over, sending liquid pouring over the edges of the coffee table and onto the floor. “Shit.” When she tries to clean it up, I shake my head.

“I’ve got it.”

As I kneel down on my hands and knees, wiping up the spill with a wad of paper towels that I found in the bathroom, Cal leans in close to me. “So . . . how are you doing?” This is probably the most serious that I’ve ever heard his voice.

“I’m better. Still a little shook up, but I’ll be fine,” I lie.

He releases a rough sigh. “We were worried about you. All of us so don’t let Sin try to tell you something different.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Giving my shoulder a careful squeeze, Cal rises to his feet. “And speaking of Sinjin, I’m going to go track him down. I haven’t seen that * since sound check.”

As soon as he leaves, Wyatt volunteers to go too, using his pre-concert chain-smoking as an excuse. “You need me, you call, beautiful,” he says sternly to Kylie, and her eyes narrow.

“I will let you know the moment I have to pee,” she answers him, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. As he shuts the door behind him, Kylie slumps forward, sinking her face into her hands. “I’m a mess,” she admits in a muffled voice.

“God, I’m right there with you.” Ever since I left the venue earlier this afternoon, I had been trying to reach the number Sam had called me from. I had hoped that if I got her back on the line, I would be able to reason with her, but I hadn’t had any such luck. I swallow over a lump in my throat. “Do you know where he is right now?”

Wrapping her arms over her stomach, she shakes her head. “Said he had something to do with Tyler, but who knows. He’s been so annoyingly calm today that I couldn’t take being around him anymore.”

I make a fist around the messy stack of dry paper towels beside me on the floor. “I’m scared.”

She rolls her tongue over her lips in preparation to say something, but there’s a heavy knock on the dressing room door. Creasing her brow, she yells out, “Come in.”

David pops his head into the narrow opening he’s made in the door “Have you seen Lucas?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She tips her water back and then swipes the back of her hand over her mouth. “Why, what’s up?”

Shaking his head from side to side in confusion, the edges of David’s lips twist down. “There’s a couple of men out here looking for him. Says it’s urgent they find him.”

Pushing myself up off the floor, I stare at David, waiting for an answer, feeling as if as soon as he speaks, everything will change.

I quickly learn that my intuition is right a moment later when David runs his giant hand over his face.

“They’re cops, Kylie.”

Three words and everything suddenly changes. Three words and my world comes shuddering to a painful stop.





Lucas





We cancel nearly all the remaining dates on the tour.

For the first week or two after shit jumps headfirst into the fan, I find myself drawn to the video that Sam had made for me. The Samantha on the screen doesn’t look anything like the woman I saw earlier this summer, or even the woman from a year ago. When Kylie does a little digging into the history of the file, she discovers that Sam made the video almost two years ago.

My ex-wife sat in the middle of that pristine white sofa that used to be in the living room of her Atlanta apartment. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and she arched her thin body forward. On camera, the track marks on the insides of her elbows weren’t obvious, but she still tried to hide them with her hands.

And though she mostly avoided making direct eye contact with the camera, there were rare moments during the video where she did look up. The look in her gray eyes was intense, and I feel like she’s staring right at me, telling me everything in person.

In a way, I guess she is.

“Lucas,” she began. “I can’t do this to your face, so this is the only way I could get what I wanted to say out there.” Taking a deep breath, she moved her hands in front of her chest as she attempted to work out what she’s going to say next. “It’s my fault Bryce Roberts died. I did it, and I’m so sorry.”

The first time I watched Sam’s video, I had stared blankly at the computer screen, wondering what the f*ck she was talking about but I kept looking. Kept waiting.