Finding a pen and a pad of paper in the nightstand drawer, I write her a quick note:
Sound check at the venue. Order anything you want. I love you.
Then, kissing her shoulder, I force myself to leave her there. As I take the elevator down to the lobby, I make a vow to spend as much of this afternoon as possible in that bed before I have to go back on the road and she has to fly home to Nashville.
To my surprise, I’m the last one to make it to the venue. My band mates give me knowing looks as I come onto the stage, and I duck my head. “If you say a goddamn word, I’ll throw you into the pit,” I threaten, causing Wyatt to snort.
“Looks like your night wasn’t shit,” he mutters as he slings his blue Kramer around the front of him. His nostrils flare. “Getting your sister to give me a break is like talking to a brick f**king wall.”
I throw my head back and laugh. He doesn’t know it yet, but Kylie’s already decided to meet up with us in a few stops. I’d talked to her at the end of last week, right before the Dallas show, and had managed to convince her to come. She claimed it was mainly because she wants to see our parents when we play in Atlanta, but she’s not fooling me with any of that bullshit. She can see our mom and dad at any time.
She’s drawn to everything about being on tour—the venues, the crowded bus, Wyatt McCrae.
Fear of coming on this tour just to see Wyatt stepping out on her is what held her back in New Orleans in the first place. And now that word has gotten back to her from her friends on the crew that McCrae is succeeding in keeping his dick in his pants, she wants to be around again.
Sinjin stalks between Wyatt and me, whipping a set of his drumsticks out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s do this shit so I can get back to my room.”
“Rough night, mother f**ker?” I ask, and he twists in a complete circle, shrugging.
“Spent too much money on booze and ended up kicking two drunk bitches out of my room.” He slams down behind the drums and scratches one of the sticks across his temple. It draws my attention to his bloodshot eyes. “So, I’d say it was shit.”
Since we’re all tired and desperate to get back to our hotels, this is the first time since the start of the tour that one of our sound checks goes down without a single hitch. As soon as we’re done and I’ve let Tyler know I’ll be around backstage for Sin’s party tonight, I leave the building with David trailing a few steps behind me. Just before I reach my rental car in the parking lot, Wyatt yells for me to slow the hell down.
He’s never been one to beat around the bush, so when he starts off the conversation hesitantly, I know it’s going nowhere good. Finally, he says, “Cal and me were talking about stopping in Louisville before we go to—”
“Louisville’s not on the tour schedule,” I say. “Last minute shit never works out.”
He sits down on the front of the black BMW. “Are you f**king with me? Tyler could call any venue in this country right this goddamn minute, and we’d be booked before he finished the pitch.”
I’ve got no doubt in my mind about that. Still, I’m not going to Louisville. I had stayed the f**k away from that place the last time we went on tour two years ago, and I have no intention of making an effort this time. “Then you, Cal and Tyler go. I won’t.”
“Cilla was all for it.”
Hearing that doesn’t do anything but make me see even more red. She spent most of her time drunk so why the hell would she remember anything that happened the last time we were in Louisville. Which to me, is pathetic, considering there’s a video of her online from four years ago, bitching at the audience at the venue we played in that night. Wyatt moves his head expectantly, and I give a tight smile.
“Then, let me rephrase that: You, Cal, and Tyler go and take Wicked Lambs with you.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he and Cal took off to do shit with another band, and I’m sure as hell it won’t be the last.
Wyatt holds up his hands defensively. “It’s not a big deal so pipe the f**k down.”
But it is. And I need to get out of here because I can feel my head starting to pound. This entire conversation is about to rip apart the rest of my day. Without another word, I stalk around to the driver’s door of the BMW.
Wyatt has the good sense to jump off the front of the rental and he backs away, hooking his hands behind his head. I don’t spare him a second glance as I speed out of the parking lot.
I don’t know St. Louis as well as I do some of the other cities I’ve toured in, but that doesn’t stop me from driving around with the GPS turned off. I don’t want to go back to The Avery just yet because I refuse to treat Sienna like shit just because I’m pissed off, so I drive through the city until I’m as relaxed as I’ll ever be today. Because of a traffic jam, I get back to The Avery later than I planned.
Concierge stops me in the lobby to inform me that I’ve missed checkout, so I sign the paperwork to authorize another night’s stay on my credit card (and sign an autograph for the attendant’s son) before taking the penthouse elevator up to the top floor.
“I’m back,” I yell out when I walk to the room, but she doesn’t respond. Dragging my tee shirt over my head, I toss it on the top of the bar along with the keys to my rental car. “Sienna?” When she still doesn’t say anything, I figure she’s still asleep. I make my way across the penthouse quietly, hoping I won’t disturb her.
As I pass the door to the bedroom, I freeze up because of the noise coming from inside.