Crazy in Love (Blue Lake #3)(35)

As he strode out the dressing room door, his security team fell into line around him. Some flanked him, others followed two steps behind. Cole kept his head down, and his stride sure, as he closed in on the elevator that’d lead him to the stage. The roar of the crowd increased as he stepped into the elevator.

Out of instinct, his fingers found the strings of his guitar and his heart raced.

Drums pounded from above as Ronnie geared up for Cole’s intro.

“Remember,” Rita said, moments before the doors hissed shut. “Keep your head in the music and your eyes on the crowd.”

The doors closed, leaving him to his thoughts. Outside the elevator, the crowd went nuts. His fingers played:

Run to him, think of me.

In my heart, you’ll always be.

Taking a deep breath, Cole struggled to put Rachael out of his head and stepped out of the elevator onto a small opening shrouded by black fabric swags. On the other side the heavy cloth, his fans stood, cheered, screamed, and jumped up and down. The roar was deafening, nearly blocking out Ronnie’s beating drums.

Promise me you won’t wait,

Deep down I know you deserve better.

I want you to be happy

Even if that means I sleep alone.

Love isn’t in the cards for us,

But it may be for you and him.

The words struck him hard, causing him to stagger back. His stomach wrenched and those little floating stars flickered in front of his eyes.

What the hell was happening?

“Ladies and gentleman!” Jersey, his lead guitarist, hollered into the microphone. “Cole Turner!”

Cole knew the routine. He should’ve charged through the black swags and ran to the edge of the stage. Slapped hands with as many fans as he could reach. He should’ve screamed and grabbed the microphone, starting the first song right away.

But his feet wouldn’t budge.

“Cole Turner!” Jersey announced again.

Run to him, think of me.

Did it really have to be this way?

Thick beams of a spotlight criss-crossed over the stage. Jersey called his name a third time. The crowd chanted over and over again, demanding Cole’s entrance onto the stage.

This was stupid. He wanted Rachael. She wanted him; he’d tasted the desire on her lips. So what was the problem? He couldn’t have her because he was leaving? Because she wanted something long term and he couldn’t give that to her?

When did he turn into mother-effing Ghandi?

With a deep breath and an odd warmth spreading through his chest, Cole pushed through the curtain and strode to the center of the stage.



* * *



Rachael was curled up in bed, the quilt pulled up to her chin, when the front door to the inn creaked open. She rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was nearly two a.m.

Concert must’ve been a hit.

Or maybe Cole and Lucy got together afterward. She’d had a backstage pass, and who knew what went on backstage after a rock concert? Members of the band probably smoked weed, drank expensive liquor and divided up groupies. One helluva party.

Heavy footsteps pounded through the living room and into the dining room beneath her. More than one set of footsteps, if she wasn’t mistaken.

And then came the shouting.

“I still don’t think you get it,” Rita hollered, her shrill voice booming through the inn. “You screw up once, okay, I’ll figure out a way to clean up the mess. You screw up again, and there’s nothing I can do!”

“I get it!” he fired back. “You think I want to screw up like that? You think I don’t know how that makes me look?”