Shit! My hands shake as I type back a message.
Me: Yeah, just not feeling well all of a sudden. In the restroom. Be back in a minute.
I can’t tell them. I can’t be the reason that Cole and the band lose everything. Nothing happened, really. He stopped. I swallow hard at the thought of what could have happened.
I need to just let it go. I can’t tell him—Cole will kill him. If Wilson doesn’t follow through on his threat, he’ll be in jail anyway, so it won’t matter.
Deep breath in. I have to do this. I can’t let this affect the band. My arms are still aching from where he grabbed me. Pulling up the sleeve of my sweater, I gasp.
Bruises.
I already have dark purple bruises all up and down my arms.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I cannot let Cole see this, but how in the fuck am I going to hide them? An all new set of tears burns my eyes. No. I need to pull it together and get out there. The longer I stand here, staring at the evidence, the more suspicious they’ll get. Pulling down my sleeves, I wipe my eyes, applying powder to cover the blotchy red spots.
I’m going with the not feeling well; it’s not a stretch, since just last month I was ill with strep throat. I’ll play it off for a few days and then I will erase it from my mind.
Time to pull up your big-girl panties, Stacy.
We’ve been talking to these guys a hell of a lot longer than what I thought we would have to. They’re pretty cool dudes; I remember Jones having us listen to a demo of them. If it weren’t for the fact that my girl is in this same building dressed to kill in that sexy little black dress, I wouldn’t mind hanging around to shoot the shit.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, I have to get my girl. The one I just confessed my love for not ten minutes before I was dragged away from her. Not the most romantic confession, but I couldn’t fucking hold it in any longer. I was scared out of my damn mind, not knowing if she was safe.
“All right, well, these guys need to hit the road. Another show tomorrow night,” Jones finally says, and I swear I could fucking hug him.
We say our good-byes with the promise to get together and jam sometime and head back to the girls.
Logan is sitting at the table by herself. Looking around, I spot Stacy walking toward us, her face flushed. I immediately break away from the guys and, in just a few long strides, am standing in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” I cup her face in my hands.
“I don’t feel real well.” She leans her forehead against my chest, her arms crossed over her own, tucked in tight against her body.
Smoothing my hand over her shoulders and down her back, I ask, “Are you cold?”
“Yeah. How much longer before we can go?”
“Stacy, are you all right? You were gone forever.” Logan and Kacen appear beside us.
“Yeah, I just . . . didn’t feel good all of a sudden, so I went to the restroom to splash some water on my face. Just hit,” she meekly replies.
“I’m taking her to the bus,” I tell them.
“We’re coming with you. Gavin and Tristan just left to tell the driver and the crew to get ready to roll out,” Kacen explains.
“Let’s get you to the bus.” My arm goes around her shoulders and she huddles into my side.
I hate this. I hate seeing her not feel well. I have this protective instinct when it comes to her, and my mind doesn’t rationalize well. Like now, I just want to get her back to the bus and curl up with her in my arms. I want to make it better, make it go away.
“I’m gonna shower,” Stacy says as soon as we step foot on the bus.
“Okay, sweets. You need anything?”
“No, just hoping a shower will help.”
I watch her as she gathers clothes and disappears into the small bathroom.
“She’s not usually like this. Strep once a year and she’s usually good after that. Maybe it’s being on the road, and her system is just out of whack?” Logan comments.
“I don’t know, but I fucking hate it.”
“Baby, let’s get you off your feet.” Kacen takes her by the hand and leads her to the couch.
“Let’s just go to bed,” she suggests.
“We can do that. I’ll help get you settled, make sure we get on the road, and then I’ll join you.”