Alcohol You Later (39)

I need to get the hell away from here before I do or say something I can’t take back.

I storm across the lot to Rhett’s bus—because I’m sure as hell not going back on mine—where I pilfer a bottle of Jack and his oversized hoody and sunglasses from the entryway storage closet.

I’m gone as fast as I came, Korie none the wiser as I don the disguise and start heading for the security gate.

I’m halfway to freedom when my cell starts buzzing in my palm, Rhett’s name flashing across the screen. I don’t want to answer it, but my commitment to the band is too strong to leave them wondering where the hell I am and whether or not I’m going to show.

I take a swig from the bottle, tucking it back inside my sweatshirt and press my finger to the green button on the phone, bringing it to my ear without saying a word.

“Where the hell are you? You’re supposed to be at rehearsal.”

The thought of seeing Lyle has me breathing fire. Angry doesn’t begin to cut it. I could fucking murder him with my bare hands. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what? This is your job…our career. Get your ass in this stadium.”

“That asshole tell you what happened?”

He snorts. “Yeah…you walked in on him and Raven taking care of your kids. Get over yourself, man.”

Yeah. Because a couple of toddlers are the reason he’s been hanging around my bus. Get real. He’s out for my girl, and I don’t know why the hell I’m the only one who can see it.

“Have Blain fill in for me tonight. He knows the songs.”

“What the—?” I can practically see him combing a hand through his hair repeatedly the way he does when he’s pissed. “Do I need to come drag your ass in here myself? Because you know I will.”

My blood catches fire, raging beneath the surface of my skin. “I said I need a fucking night,” I roar. Does he think this is a joke? Can’t he hear how close to the fucking edge I am? “I can’t perform like this. I—I’ve never felt like this.”

“Listen,” he starts, like he’s speaking to a child. “Just come back and we’ll talk it all out.”

I grit my teeth. “You don’t understand. I will hurt him if I see him right now.”

My tone and conviction must make him realize how very serious I am because he finally relents.

“All right,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re coming back though, right?”

“By morning.”

The line falls silent for a beat.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yeah,” I rasp. “All right.”

I end the call and head in the direction of LSU’s campus, enjoying the quiet solitude as I walk beneath the sprawling oaks. It’s crazy how something as simple as walking around without security and people throwing themselves at you becomes a luxury.

It’s summer, so it isn’t overly crowded. Though, it is hot as hades in this damn disguise. And humid to boot, but worth it. Totally worth it to have some time to myself. I can’t remember the last time I was truly alone.

When the heat becomes too much to bear, I dip into a little Mardi Gras themed café, where I soak up some A.C. and grab dinner—a shrimp po-boy and extra-large coke. I seat myself in a corner booth that gives me a great view of the other tables and quickly guzzle half the drink. With discretion, I refill the cup with the remnants of the bottle still hidden in my shirt.

“Can I get you anything else?” inquires a busty brunette by the name of Helen, pen and pad in hand.

“Nah, I’m good for now.”

“There’s a trash bin right over there,” she says, motioning with a finger. “If you wanna dispose of that properly.” Helen eyes the bottle lying next to me on the bench seat and winks. “Laissez le bon temps rouler,” she says before turning and walking off, her ass swaying side to side as she sashays her way back to the counter.

Let the good times roll—when in Rome, right?

I devour my sandwich, watching couples come and go. Groups of friends laughing and joking, their faces changing as they rotate in and out. My envy over the simplicity of their lives is a constant ache.

“Can I get you a drink menu?” Helen’s back, gnawing on the end of her pen. “Don’t imagine you’ve got another flask hidden under that hoodie.”

I chuckle at her playful demeanor. “You gonna need ID?”

“Well, yeah, boo. You’re cute and all, but not worth losing my job over.”

I like this girl. Bet she makes a lot in tips. “Y’all do that HIPPA shit here?”

Her head tilts, and she stares as if she’s trying to place who I am. “If you’re asking me whether I plan to blast your name on the ten o’clock news, so your girlfriend finds out you’re here instead of work…you’re safe.”

“I feel like I can trust you, Helen.”

She zips an imaginary zipper across her lips. “I’m a vault.”

“Then, I’ll have a Bloody Mary, please.” I grip my identification between my pointer and middle fingers and offer it to her, holding my breath as she looks it over.

Her brow furrows. “Should I know who you are?”