Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(28)

Panic crept in slowly at first, but it began to storm, pelting him in doubt at denial. “You misunderstood me. People can be strong and still make mistakes—”

“Oh, own it. Own what you said.” She shoved open the passenger side door. “You better because you’re losing me over it.”

It took James a second to react when Lita jumped out of the Mustang and stormed toward the road. He followed suit, her words replaying in his head like a broken record. Had he read the situation wrong? He’d never considered any of it from her point of view. Survivor. Not victim. “Where are you going? Stop.”

“You don’t get to know where I’m going anymore,” Lita shouted over her shoulder before she halted and turned on a booted heel. She got right in his face, backhanding him with her raging beauty. “I only packed enough clothes for three days. Did you know that? I thought…I love James. And he loves me. And we can figure this shit out in three days.” Her head fell back on a hollow laugh. “You need longer, though, to pull your shit together. A lot longer.”

I love James. I love James, she’d said. Lita started to walk away again, but reflex had his hand shooting out to capture her elbow. “Just give me a minute to think, will you? I thought I understood all of this and I just need to think.”

“Yeah, so do I.” Her green eyes turned sad. “We need to do it without each other around, though. I’m going back to Los Angeles.”

His stomach rebelled. “Christ, I don’t want that.”

She shook her head, sending two tears falling down her cheeks. “Right now, I don’t care what you want.”

It didn’t matter if he deserved that, it felt like a death blow. “You just told me you love me. How am I supposed to let you leave?”

“Same way I watched you leave, I guess,” she said, the words ending on a sob. His knees threatened to collapse. God, he’d been a fool. Hurt his girl. Hurt her so bad. Needing to hold her, he reached out, but she evaded him, stumbling a little on the grass. “If you figure this out, James…if you work your way through this belief that your love is bad for me, you know where I’ll be. But don’t come find me unless you’re ready. Please.” She clutched at her chest. “I can’t take any more.”

Smothered in disbelief, James watched the love of his life—the reason for his existence—walk away, farther and farther from him. How had this happened? He’d expected a sense of relief, rightness, over having set her free. But the doubt over what he’d done was battering him from the inside. A voice berated him from the back of his mind, telling him he’d been wrong. So very f*cking wrong. He’d hurt her far worse with his words than he ever could with his body. “Lita,” James shouted, striding after her. “Please don’t leave. Come back here and kiss me. Know that everything is going to be fine.”

Lita paused. “Too late for that,” she said without turning around. And kept walking. Leaving James standing on the road, invisible blood pooling around his feet.





Chapter Nine



When Lita returned from Modesto, Los Angeles looked different. As if she were seeing the traffic, the sidewalk cafés, and tourists through a new pair of eyes. For so long, life had been about making it to the next moment. Riling up James. Buying new drum equipment. Sleeping off the crazy night before. Ignoring the pain every time James refused to see her. Touch her.

No more, though. She was done. It was time to stop waiting for wishes to come true, for other people to handle her decisions and start doing for herself. If there was an added benefit of keeping her mind occupied, instead of focusing on the slashed-to-ribbons organ stuttering inside her chest, well…the distractions didn’t hurt either.

She spent her first night back in Los Angeles packing her hotel room. No more rock star purgatory for Lita. Her packing style of throwing everything into giant boxes from Staples might have been messy and unorthodox, but it got the job done. Next, she found a real estate leasing agent online and viewed several two-bedroom apartments before settling on a bright, airy duplex in Santa Monica, not too far from the beach. She sat there now, cross-legged in the empty living room, going through her wallet to scrutinize the credit cards.

Had she applied for any of them—or had it all been James? And holy shit, it hurt to think about him. Great, gulping breaths accompanied any mental recitation of his name, as if the very thought of his presence sucked the air from the room. What was he doing? Would he ever come back? The uncertainty heaped on top of her like dirt being shoveled from a grave. Maybe she shouldn’t want him to return to Los Angeles. After all, the credit cards and various memberships spread out around her on the floor proved he’d taken up too much space in her life.

Not all his fault, though. Not all. She’d leaned on James, loved him taking care of her needs. She’d craved it because it was the only way he’d shown affection for four years. The only tangible proof that he felt something.

He’d felt something, all right. Pity. He hadn’t taken care of her out of love, he’d done it out of guilt. Over their first encounter. Over wanting to play rough with a girl he didn’t think was mentally healthy enough to handle it. If she was being fair, her actions over the course of four years did nothing to prove his theory wrong. She’d been reckless, acting out at every opportunity. Perhaps it had been wrong to assume he could see beneath the surface to the strength beneath. Perhaps it had been na?ve to think her trip to Modesto would show him in such a short space of time that she wasn’t just an unruly brat. She was a woman that loved him and hadn’t known how to express it, because she didn’t know what it looked like.