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But that would not be a good idea. She’s far too good for me, I don’t even have to know anything about the woman to know that. My soul is tainted by grief, loss, and addiction. How long did I even lose myself in the bottom of a bottle, as I buried my feelings in faceless and nameless women? How long did I lose my way?
Far too long to be able to be anything of worth to a woman like Cove.
Then there’s the part where I need her and need this to work for me to be able to make a go of getting my life completely on track. I owe it to the guys of SO. They sure as hell didn’t need to track me down to a hole in the wall bar and dry me out when I wasn’t strong enough to do it myself.
I can’t miss this opportunity.
And there’s no way I can fuck this up for Cove either. From what Kat told me when she pulled me aside, this is Cove’s trial run with the label. If she’s talented enough for the guys to take a chance on her, then I don’t want to be the reason she doesn’t earn her place in this world.
Yeah, I can’t fuck this up for either of us.
I force myself to relax my body and give a casual shrug, “It’s a nice little studio. It’ll be enough for what we need at least,” I sound almost bored and the way Cove’s shoulders slump tells me she was hoping for a little more from me.
If only, my little Songstress; if only.
“Right,” she chuckles awkwardly, “I’m sure it’s no big deal for you.”
“It’s not,” I deadpan like an asshole.
When we were introduced, it became apparent that she knows exactly who I am and probably what has been reported about me. That doesn’t mean she knows me and erecting walls around myself is the safest thing I can do. For both of us.
Fuck, I could use a damn drink.
The grimace that graces her face has me stepping back from her, but only so I don’t move closer. I crave feeling the heat from her body. I crave her sweetness.
I’m just not worthy of it.
The sooner she realizes it, the better we’ll both be. Even if it kills a part of me with every bit of distance I force between us. Fuck, my chest aches with the notion, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
It’s past time that I take responsibility for myself and my actions. I’m protecting her in the only way I know how.
Cove makes a humming sound as she nods absently. I almost stumble when I meet her blue-eyed gaze, there’s an intensity there, a fierceness, that almost has me losing control.
Her voice is soft and soothing, “I love your music, just so you know.” The way she bites the corner of her lip has me wanting to pull it free and nip at it myself. “I just,” she pauses and takes a deep breath, “don’t see a reason to hide it.” I almost smile because she’s fucking adorable, but I hold it back. Her eyes turn soft and something like pain passes her face and she starts to stay, “I’m sorry for-.”
I cut her off sharply, “Don’t.”
I know what she was going to say, and I can’t hear it. Not from her. Not right now.
I’ve been digging up my grief and examining it instead of burying it deeper far too much recently. I can’t hear platitudes and apologies right now. Not now. Not from her.
Her blue eyes go wide and round, which is bad enough, but it’s the pity I see shining in her gaze that makes me want to rage. I don’t want her pity. I don’t want anyone to lay that shit at my feet.
I don’t deserve it.
I deserve to wallow in my grief. It’s what I was doing while drowning in alcohol and bad decisions. But I was pulled out and I’m not going to waste the chance I’ve been given. I won’t do that to myself or to Conley’s memory.
I can’t.
“I don’t want your fucking pity,” I growl the words, letting my anger free. It’s not difficult to do. Maybe it should be.
Cove narrows her eyes, and I see a challenge flash there. She scoffs, “Being sorry someone has experienced loss is not the same thing as pity.”
I take a deep breath and try to get myself under control considering I have to work with this woman, and I want her desperately. Even if I can never have her. “Look,” my voice is gruff, “we might as well get the awkward shit out of the way so we can move past it. I’m sure you’re aware of the shit that the tabloids and paparazzi were more than willing to spread about me. Most of it was true, I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean you know me.”
She straightens her shoulders like she’s preparing herself for battle. It’s sexy as fuck. “Just because I said that I like your music doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend to know you, Langston,” she almost sneers my name like it’s a bad word.
My eyes widen at her boldness. I’m not used to women standing up to me. It’s refreshing as hell.
