Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(99)
A gesture I’m hoping is enough to bring her to me.
My father hangs up his phone, slinging the Bluetooth onto the table. “The next time you decide to make a major life-changing announcement, maybe at least discuss it with me first.”
“Well, I didn’t know when I went up there that I was going to be doing that.”
“That’s not better, son.” Sighing heavily, he drags a palm down his face. “If anything, that proves how fucking impulsive the decision was.”
Dropping the guitar pick on the table, I steeple my fingers together. The halo tattoo I got three years ago on the underside of my thumb winks up at me, and I shrug, wishing I had something more to tell him. Something better that would benefit everyone involved.
But the fact of the matter is, finding something that benefits the James family is what I’ve been doing since the start of my career. The rock star brand was our saving grace when I got signed onto Symposium, giving the three of us tasks to do and things to focus on outside of our misery.
The difference between the last time I took the stage before my hiatus and when I was up there tonight was staggering. Not only in the renewed sense of passion and energy I felt, but in the actual creative material.
I got stagnant before my break. My love for music was overshadowed by fatigue, drinking, and sadness. Symptoms of an illness I was trying to cure by ignoring completely.
My muse was tired, so I set her free.
Now, she can rest for good knowing she served me well. Knowing someone else inspires me now.
“You’re throwing everything away that you worked so hard for,” my father says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For a girl. A girl who quite literally ruined your life.”
“Guess so.”
“What happened to exposing her? To reclaiming your innocence and fixing your public image?”
“I told you I didn’t want to do that anymore. I’m not interested in further traumatizing someone who was, inevitably, a victim of the same shit that I was. She just couldn’t be vocal about it.”
His face hardens. “So, what? She tells you a sob story, and you’re keen on believing it without any proof? What, is her pussy made of magic or something?”
My tongue gets heavy in my mouth as an image of the brutal scarring on her body flashes through my mind. The recollection of an equally brutal attack—one that had me seeing fucking crimson on my way to the airport, and if not for the fact that she’d mentioned the perpetrator is now dead, I probably would’ve skipped out on the concert altogether in favor of finding the fucker and sodomizing him with the neck of my guitar.
Still, I don’t tell him any of that.
He doesn’t deserve to know.
“If you’re asking, am I giving up a lucrative career at its height just so I can spend my free time balls deep inside of a girl completely removed from this fucked industry, then yes. Yes, I am. I’m surprised you’re not more proud that I’m finally understanding the power of pussy.”
Pushing to my feet, I pocket the pick and smooth my hands over my coat, placing my palms flat on the dining table as I stare him down.
“Don’t worry though, Dad. Maybe I’ll follow in your footsteps. Start up a record label, monopolize clientele, fuck over my family, and create an empire that Great Britain would be proud of.” I rap my knuckles on the wood and straighten my spine. “Maybe… maybe I’ll come for yours.”
Several hours later, with a full moon high in the sky, I get antsy sitting around waiting to hear from Riley. Whether she watched the show or not, I need to know.
Even more, I need to tell her this shit in person.
Need to look in her eyes when I admit that I’m fucking ridiculously gone for her, so I can know for sure that I’m not alone in it.
I pack an overnight bag and leave the penthouse without telling anyone where I’m going; naturally, the second I step outside, I’m bombarded by a slew of paps. Everyone is trying to figure out the identity of my mystery girl, where I’ve been all this time, what my next steps are, and if I’m giving up music for good.
A million questions hurled at me by the same vultures willing to tear me down three years ago, just to catch a quick buck.
“No fucking comment,” I snap, losing them at the gated entrance of my building’s underground parking structure. Hopping into my blacked-out Range Rover, I make it to the airport in record time, for New Year’s Eve especially, and board a flight back across the country.
When I land in Lunar Cove a couple of hours later, I’m jet-lagged as fuck, barely able to see straight. A cab takes me across town, and I note fireworks at the boardwalk as we drive around the lake, headed for the sleepy cabins tucked away in the corner of town.
Parking in front of the two at the end of the street, I add an extra hundred to my bill, asking the driver to sit idle for a minute while I collect myself.
Technically speaking, Riley is too good for me. Pure and innocent, candy-coated with an ooey-gooey center. She could—and should—reject me, based on the simple fact that I initially set out to hurt her when I came here.
I couldn’t even tell you when the exact intentions changed. Only that they did, and at some point my being here became less about finding out what happened to me, and more about what happened to us.
I can only hope my leaving earlier didn’t fuck up any chances I have of explaining that.