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Looking over at Scar while she rubs Carter’s back in gentle circles while Hayden talks to her, I can tell she’s thinking the exact same thing.
Boone pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously. “I’m letting Vik know what just happened and that Daniel’s out. She’ll love getting this news,” he says, sarcasm thick.
I throw my head back with a groan. “Can you have her tell Arun?” I really don’t want to be the one to have to do that. Not that this really affects the band that much, but it’s more just one more headache to add to his already overflowing plate.
Boone nods, still typing as Carter, Hayden, and Scar make their way over to us. Scar has an arm looped around Carter’s waist, and I suppress a smile, enjoying seeing her nurturing side come out for her friend at this moment. Hayden walks close to Carter on her other side, hands tucked deep into his sweatshirt pocket as if having them in there will keep him from reaching out to Carter.
“Sorry about all of that,” Carter says, and the four of us immediately jump in, all talking over one another to assure her that she has nothing to apologize for. She smiles, but there’s no heart behind it.
“You know you’re still welcome here, right?” Boone assures her, and my heart twists at it. Seeing the way he is looking out for Carter makes me a little emotional thinking about the way he’s done the same for Scar over the years.
“I don’t know, I’ve never done a job like this on my own before,” Carter hedges. “And Daniel is my partner, in more ways than one, so I’ll need to talk to him about it.”
Hayden’s face sours at her response, but he keeps his mouth shut.
Boone nods. “I understand.”
And I do, too. Even if I don’t like it.
And by the looks on everyone else’s faces, I would say we all feel the same way.
27
SCAR
I stare at the screen in my hand until my eyes burn with dryness, the salacious headline scraping like sandpaper.
Scarlett Lane, real name Elaine Scarlett Whelan, the newest girlfriend of Whisper Me Nothings drummer James Walker, checkered past EXPOSED! A DUI, three-month stint in rehab, and MORE BELOW!
I always knew it was bound to come out, one way or another.
Felt like a guillotine was always hanging above my head by a precarious little string.
I just hoped that it would be from my mouth instead of some reporter and anonymous close sources. But that doesn’t help the pit in my stomach that seems to be eating its way through my intestines, rotting and sour. Shame heats my face at the reminders of my past.
My phone buzzes and Boone’s name flashes across the top of the screen. I swipe away his call, declining it for the third time since this article hit the internet and started gaining traction quickly due to my newfound success and status as the “newest girlfriend of James Walker”. I roll my eyes, but scold myself, knowing there are more pressing matters to be pissed about that aren’t being labeled as someone’s girlfriend.
Especially when I’m quite proud of that label.
But the other labels the article is attaching to me? Those feel branded into my skin. Alcoholic, drunk, criminal, lush. Each one sends a tiny stab of pain through my body.
A pounding at the front door to the bus breaks me out of my stupor.
“Open up, Scar. It’s me.” Walker’s voice calls out, muffled by the barrier between us.
I swing my legs over the side of my bunk and walk to the front of the bus, unlatching the door and before I know it, the breath is knocked clear out of my lungs by the force of Walker as he picks me up and cradles me close to him.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers over and over into my hair, head tucked in close to my neck. His cologne surrounds us in a fog, and I let the warmth from his body seep into me, allowing it to loosen all of the muscles I’ve been holding so tightly since the moment I woke up and saw the headlines.
Walker carries me over to one of the couches and sits down, bringing me with him so I’m straddling his lap. I pull back and make eye contact for the first time since he’s arrived and the pain he holds in them guts me worse than the words people are saying about me.
“I take it you read the article?” I ask him, dread already filling my stomach, alongside anger at the idea that someone took what wasn’t theirs to share and told it to the one person who has started to matter the most to me.
“No.” Walker shakes his head and at my surprised expression, he continues, “I saw the headline, but I wanted to hear about it from you.”
He stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to fill him in. Previously, he’s hedged around what he really wants to find out, never pushing me to talk if I don’t want to or telling me he’ll wait until I’m ready. But I can see by his rigid shoulders and the expectant look on his face, he needs me to open up to him now. He’s not going to wait forever.
I wish I could go back to last night, where we went to a late night movie at a small local theater after the show. Walker rented out the entire theater for us and we spent half the movie tied up in each other’s mouths like horny teenagers. By the time the credits were rolling and it was time to go, our popcorn bucket was still mostly full and our knowledge of the movie we just saw was limited because all of our attention was wrapped up in each other.
