Page 146 of Angel

I was keen to get to her, but it’d take me finding someone to step in for me to release me from my current obligations.

I phoned my friend Ramm, a tall, dark-haired soulful guitarist and killer musician, to take my Six Sinner’s position temporarily.

He agreed to fill the slot.

I then called a meeting with Mason and my band brothers in our boardroom.

‘I need your OK to please bow out of this tour for a few weeks,’ I told them. ‘I need to go spend time with Roxy and fix shit between us. You all know Ramm; he can take point for me.’

‘Ramm is ace brother, but he ain’t you,’ Jude growled.

‘He’s over all of our discography, he’ll do just fine.’

‘We’ve got your back, mate,’ Deacon said, swapping a glance with Jude, who conceded, raising his hands in surrender.

After one final Nashville show that night, I packed a small bag at home.

I jumped into my truck, driving through a blinding, midnight rainstorm to get to Roxy.

I navigated the slick back country roads, arriving at her secluded farmhouse at two in the morning.

The driveway had no gate, and I swept in, my headlights flashing over her silver-and-black Lexus RZ parked in the portico.

Relief hit, and I sighed.

I killed the engine, cut the wipers, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror.

The immaculate, polished rock star was dead and gone.

In place was a sleep-deprived, haggard soul yearning for his wife.

Regardless, I was here, so I climbed out and sprinted to the front door.

My jeans and sneakers got soaked through and mud-splattered as I raced through the downpour.

‘Please be inside,’ I muttered, my wet shoes squeaking over the porch steps.

I pounded my fist against the cedar paneling as cold rain streamed down my neck.

I gave zero fucks about the elements or the sludge thrown up on my clothes; I just needed to see my woman and talk things out.

Chapter 28

ANGEL

Minutes passed with no answer.

I kept hitting the surface of the door and calling her name.

‘Roxy!’

My voice almost went hoarse, but I refused to let up.

The door swung open after what seemed like an eternity.

Roxy stood under the porch light, clad in cotton shorts, a baggy tee, and thick wool socks.

Fuckin’ breathtaking.