After the disaster of a dinner she and I had back in February that Lucas crashed, she knows how much I loathe fondue, so I’m holding back a smile when my brother comes around to my side of the Jeep to help me down. “You look like you’re going to cry or laugh. Or vomit,” Lucas points out as he locks up the car. “You’re not pregnant are you?” The tone he’s using is one I’d expect from my father, and I don’t have to read between each word to know what his reaction would be to a Kylie/Wyatt baby.
“If I vomit, I’ll make sure to get your feet.” When he turns to face me, I give him a hard look. “And no, I’m not knocked up.”
“Come on,” he growls, splaying his hand out on the center of my back to urge me toward the entrance to the rehab center.
After we go through security, which in my opinion is more stringent than TSA at the LAX, we’re led to a waiting room while Sinjin is being checked out. Lucas sits across from me with his forearms on his knees, wringing his fingers together. My phone buzzes again, this time from inside of my pocket, and I drag my gaze away from my brother to look at my messages.
Sienna Jensen: Uh oh, you’re quiet. I’m guessing you don’t like Cheesecake Factory either? What the heck do you even eat?
I’m a few letters into letting her know that I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like cheesecake, when I hear a familiar voice drawl my name. “Kylie-Fucking Wolfe.” My gaze pops up to Sin who’s leaned against the door of the waiting room, scratching his head, tousling his light brown hair in the process. His lips pull up into a smirk. “What the f**k did you do to your hair?”
Instinctively, I lift my hand to my shock of red and blond hair, even as I jump to my feet and throw myself into Sin’s arms. He’s visibly gained weight since I last saw him, but it’s the most obvious when he hugs me tightly, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “I dyed it just for you,” I say when he loosens his grip.
Grasping me by the shoulders, he leans back to stare down at me, his gray eyes full of emotions that I haven’t seen from him in a long time. He drops his gaze to the tips of my hair and twists a few strands between his fingertips. “Then dye that shit back,” he teases. “I already miss the blue.”
I’m not even aware that Lucas has gotten up to stand beside me until Sin directs his stare over my shoulder. The look that he gives my brother rips at my chest. It’s apologetic and sincere—and I hope like hell that it’s these emotions that will keep him the hell out of places like this. “You let her go out like this, mother f**ker?”
Lucas’s laugh starts out forced, but by the time I glance back at him to offer him a pleading look, it’s genuine. “I can’t tell Kylie shit.”
I turn back to Sinjin. “I’ve got to use the bathroom, but it’ll only take a minute, okay?”
He nods, and as I head toward the restroom on the other side of the waiting room, I hear Sinjin speak to my brother in a hushed voice. “I’ve got to know if she left you because of me. Because of the shit I said.”
I’m all the way to the restroom door by the time Lucas responds, but I hear it loud and clear. “Not because of you. Because of me. But I’m going to get her back.”
And for the second time today, I find myself whispering, "Good for you."
Chapter Eleven
Lucas Wolfe
For the next couple of weeks, things are touch and go as the band readjusts to having Sinjin back around. He bitches and moans about leaving rehab just to go back to work—rehearsing is unavoidable since we our tour launches in a little over four months—but I haven’t seen him this relaxed and happy in years. I don’t realize what’s going on with him until one night during rehearsal at the studio. He gets a call in the middle of one of our songs. Though he quickly silences his phone and mutters an apology, the moment that Cal strums the final note of “Tumble’s Down”, Sinjin is on his way out. I catch the first part of his conversation as he leaves:
“God, where’ve you been? I’ve been thinking—” The door to the soundproof room thuds shut, cancelling out whatever the hell it is Sinjin is saying.
Cal sets his guitar to the side and sits backwards on one of the uncomfortable rolling chairs our label places around these rooms. The look on his face matches the one I’m sure is on my own—worry. “You don’t think he’s trying to get f**ked up do you?”
Wyatt’s digging around in the mini-fridge, but when his head comes up, he’s shaking it from side to side. Cal and I both look over at him, waiting impatiently for clarification. At last Wyatt shrugs. “He made a friend in rehab.”
“A friend?” I ask. Wyatt hurls a bottle of water at me, but I reach up and catch it. His aim is just as shitty as Kylie’s. Staring at him darkly, I unscrew the top from the water. I lean my shoulder against the wall. “I’m assuming a female friend.”
Wyatt nods and takes a swig of the Bud Light he found in the fridge. He makes a face at it, turning the bottle to the side to check the date. “That’s what I heard. Fuck, that’s all I know. Ky’ll be able to tell you her whole life story if you ask.”
Kylie. No shit she’ll be able to tell me about Sinjin’s mystery woman. Cal groans before I have a chance. “Goddamn, Kylie knows everything. She’s been all over my ass for months about Heidi, but I can’t—”
The door cracks open, and all three of us look like we’ve been caught in the act as Sinjin comes back into the studio. Wyatt downs the rest of his beer and Cal gets up from that lousy ass chair as Sin walks a little more aggressively than normal to his drums.