I miss her.
It wasn’t long until I’d lived up to the nickname she’d given me and became a legit Internet stalker. During one of my many Google searches on her, I found that she’d canceled several of her upcoming performances. Tabloid speculation was that she was pregnant with Henry Alexander’s love child. They’d even posted obviously edited pictures of her alleged baby bump. More reliable sources reported that she was headed to rehab. I couldn’t imagine Levee being hooked on drugs, but how well did I really know her? And the pendulum of my anxiety swung, leaving me worried all over again.
Originally, I’d been grateful for the distraction Levee had provided me. If only I could have figured out how to distract myself from her. It wasn’t like we had some torrid love affair I’d never be able to recover from. It was simply a flash-in-the-pan romance that never should have happened in the first place.
I needed to let her go and move on.
I just couldn’t actually do it.
At all.
“I REALLY WISH you would stay home,” Henry said, sprawled across my bed.
When he’d arrived at my house the night Sam had walked away, he had done it with a huge suitcase wheeling behind him. I hadn’t initially questioned it, but by day three, when a moving truck had shown up in my driveway, it had become abundantly clear that he was moving in. He hadn’t necessarily asked if I was okay with living together again, but I hadn’t exactly argued as a herd of movers had transformed two—yes, two—of my guest rooms into Henry’s personal sanctuary.
“I have to get out of this house. I’m dying of boredom,” I replied, stepping into a pair of washed-out skinny jeans. “Why don’t you go out and do something tonight?”
After riffling through my drawers, I pulled on a New York T-shirt that hung off one of my shoulders. Simple, comfortable, and exactly what I needed.
“Hideous,” Henry vetoed from the bed. “And no, thanks. I need some downtime.”
I huffed then yanked the shirt back over my head and stomped into my closet. “When did you become such a homebody?” I called as I began searching through the rows of shirts.
“When the cockless love of my life decided she was going to jump off a bridge,” he said, appearing in the doorway.
I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Meh. I’ll get over it. You just scared the piss out of me. I’m not much in the mood for going out without you these days.” He smiled absently as he became enthralled with his reflection in the full-length mirror.
While I wasn’t exactly in the know about Henry’s schedule, I knew that it wasn’t open. He was a busy guy. Yet, somehow, he’d managed to spend every waking minute of the last week at my side. Which meant he’d witnessed me obsessing and worrying about Sam firsthand.
Which also meant he already knew the answer when he asked, “Still nothing from Sam?”
Over the previous week, I’d slowly begun the process of getting my life in order while preparing for a month-long stint at a luxury resort. (Read: crazy camp/rehab.) I wasn’t addicted to drugs, but according to the doctor Henry had forced me to see the morning after Sam’s little revelation, depression, anxiety, and exhaustion were my poison. I couldn’t say that I disagreed. I also couldn’t say that I liked it. The press was going to have a field day, but Stewart assured me that we could keep it quiet. I laughed. Nothing was ever quiet in the music industry. The rumors were already circulating.
During all of it, I had mostly been concerned with what Sam would think when he heard the news. Would he be happy? Relieved? Still angry? Would he allow me a chance to at least apologize? I felt like an ass, but I missed his wicked grin and his golden eyes.
I missed the way his hands warmed me. And especially the way they sent chills down my spine.