But I know what it took for him to share that small part of himself and be vulnerable.
About as much as it’s going to take for me to share this with him.
“My dad is sick.”
“We’re here,” the driver announces.
I reach for the door handle. “Chandler’s gonna be pissed.”
His hand wraps around my wrist before I can exit. “Talk to me.”
He’s out of his mind. This is so not the time or place.
“There are over twenty-five thousand fans waiting inside that arena for you.”
And we’re already late.
The calloused tips of his fingers capture my chin. “But the only person who matters to me is sitting right here.”
My heart—the traitorous organ—slams against my chest.
I know better than to believe anything he says, but it still hasn’t gotten the memo.
“A couple of years ago, he was diagnosed with early-onset dementia.” I close my eyes so they don’t fill with tears. “Most days, he doesn’t even know who I am.”
The pad of his thumb skims my cheek. “Lennon.”
There’s so much sorrow in his voice you’d think it was happening to him.
My breath stills as he cups the side of my face, inching closer.
Even though I should push him away, I can’t.
He’s the sun…pulling me into his atmosphere.
He breathes me in, I bleed him out.
“Lennon,” he repeats, only this time it sounds like an apology.
The soft press of his lips is like a salve to my exposed wound.
But not the one he caused.
Pain spears my chest and I tear my mouth away. “No.”
I swear I hear him growl.
“Why?”
The fact he has to ask me is further proof why this not only shouldn’t—but can’t—happen.
I flash him a vindictive smile and toss his old words in his face so he can choke on them this time.
“It will complicate shit.”
Pushing the door open, I climb out of the car.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
There’s a sharp tug on my arm before I’m shoved against the SUV.
I open my mouth to yell at him, but the pure agony cutting into the sharp lines of his face renders me speechless.
“I hate that I hurt you.”
And then he’s walking away.
That makes two of us.
CHAPTER 45
LENNON
Backstage after the show, everyone gathers around Chandler, who’s standing in front of a giant cake.
“In the words of Bon Jovi—we’re halfway there.”
A bunch of us exchange baffled looks because that’s not what Bon Jovi said.
Phoenix cups a hand over his mouth. “We’re halfway there, asshole.”
“Yes.” Chandler raises his glass in the air before downing it. “Yes, we are.”
Phoenix and Storm shake their heads.
“Anyway,” Chandler drones. “Thank you for all your hard work.” He lifts a finger. “No one touch this cake until the stage is broken down.”
There are groans all around as the crew goes back to work.
A frown mars George’s face. “I can’t believe we’re midway through the tour.”
Thank God.
“What is the matter with you?” Skylar screeches.
“Save some for the crew,” Storm grunts.
Memphis—who’s parked a chair in front of the cake—shrugs as he shoves another forkful into his mouth. “You snooze, you lose. Shit’s good.”
I’ll take his word for it, because I won’t be having any of it now.
George turns to me. “Can we talk for a second?”
I place my cup of sparkling cider down on the table. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I meant in private.”
Grabbing my elbow, he steers me into the empty greenroom and closes the door.
Oh boy.
“So,” he begins. “I’ve been thinking about us.”
Shit. I’m so not ready for where this conversation sounds like it’s going.
“Uh-huh.”
Reaching down, he takes both my hands in his. “I really, really, really like you.”
I swallow. “Really?”
“Yes.” He blows out a breath. “A lot.”
I stop him right there. “George, I told you. I’m not ready for anything serious.”
“How do you know?” he exclaims. “Every time I try to kiss you, something gets in the way.”
Not something. Someone.
“Bad timing?” I squeak.
His brows draw together. “Bad timing…or reluctance?”