Page 99 of False Promises

“No. I put the kids to bed a long time ago and was just enjoying the quiet of the night. And I wanted to see you before calling it a day.”

I pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head.

“What did I tell ya?” my ex-bandmate said, burying it with a cough from behind me.

I shook my head.

A sense of calm ran inside me, filling the void in every corner of my being.

“I’ve missed you guys. Stop worrying about me. With Tristan and Kimmie, you have enough to keep you busy as it is. I’m a grown man.”

We broke apart.

Belinda shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You and I will talk in the morning, okay? We need to catch up. And don’t think for a second I didn’t notice you trying to avoid the subject. Tomorrow, you’ll tell me everything, Carter Hills. The ugly truth and all that’s going through your mind.”

I nodded. Because if Belinda wanted to chat, nothing I could do would get me out of it. And I loved her for caring so fucking much.

“Sure.”

I settled in the guest room, and before I could replay the last few months in my head, I fell asleep in the household that hosted four of my favorite people in the world. Knowing I was safe from any harm here, even the one I induced on myself.

* * *

Stud’s fishing cabin was a small shack in the Oregon wilderness. Sitting on a big piece of land bordered by thick lines of mature trees and traversed by a stream, it had all the basic necessities like water and electricity. Located a few miles outside a small town, I could get groceries and run errands when required. Dark brown log walls, plank flooring and ceilings of the same shade, it wasn’t chic or modern, but exactly everything I yearned for to reclaim my soul and find peace. The closest neighbor was a ten-minute walk down the small country road, so I was free to be as I wanted, without being bothered. During the day, I busied myself reading one of the books from the shelves, cooking, and going for long runs across the property.

At night, I sat with my guitar by the fireplace and played for hours until the pads of my fingers hurt and I couldn’t evade sleep any longer.

Riley and June kept me updated almost daily. We had started the talk about getting the new album out within the next year. The one I’d been holding off for the longest time. And to go back out there. Tour. Travel. The whole nine freaking yards.

Every few days, I texted or called Savannah and pretended the connection was static or I was busy with a secret project to keep our conversations short each time. All I was left with was listening to her complaints, threats about making me pay for abandoning her, or whines about missing me. Nothing new. Nothing exciting.

When Taylor’s name flashed on my screen three weeks later, I braced myself for the news he was about to deliver. Cold sweat beaded on my neck. This was the moment of truth.

I fortified myself, my eyes perusing the space around me before I walked outside to get a better connection. The smell of pine and humidity clung to me.

I circled the cabin, fresh air filling my lungs as I took a big inhale, tilting my head back to stare at the sky. In a few strides, I reached the barbecue and bonfire area, a little clearing free from any trees, where I knew the connection to be the best. With one roll of my shoulders, I paced the ground covered with fallen leaves and pine needles and pressed the button to accept the call.

“Hey man,” I greeted Taylor after the video chat connected.

“Carter, I think you should sit down.”

25

SAVANNAH

In the four-inch-high stilettos, I paced the living room. Soon, the tips would leave permanent imprints on the wooden floor. On the coffee table, I was burning incense sticks that smelled like patchouli, strong enough to singe my brain cells. The lady at the voodoo-thing store told me they could help with the apartment energy and soothe the atmosphere. And right now, I was desperate and ready to try anything to bring back my good fortune. To bring back my man into my life. And go back to the time when we were happy together.

The call went through, but no one picked up on the other end.

Balancing the phone in the crook of my neck, I tugged down the hem of the leather mini-skirt I was wearing. So much for looking like a thousand bucks. With no one to get slack-jawed over me, it didn’t serve the purpose. In front of the full-length mirror, I fluffed my hair which fell into soft curls over my back and used my fingertip to fix my eyeliner.

“Come on, pick up,” I repeated for the umpteenth time with a sigh.

Why was Carter not answering his phone? It’d been six days since we had a conversation that lasted more than thirty seconds. Each time I got a hold of him, the line was either filled with static or he said he had a busy schedule and had no time to talk. Whatever was his problem, I wouldn’t let him ignore me once he was back home. I deserved better than a boyfriend making me feel like a second string.

Our fight in New York replayed in my head. If I had to—and as a last resort—I would say I’m sorry to him. Something I usually refrained from. Apologizing displayed your weakness, and I refused to be a weak person. No, I was strong and confident and wouldn’t reduce myself to low standards unless mandatory and left with no other resources to fix our miscommunication.

Anger simmered inside me, and I tightened my fists, careful to not mess up my manicure. With determined steps, I neared the coffee table and crushed the incense sticks in the porcelain plate holding them, using my hand to dissipate the overwhelming scent. This didn’t work. I wasn’t calm. Or in control anymore. I was losing the advantage here.