I sighed and put out my blunt before stuffing it in the plastic tube I kept it in. Kalin held out a hand to me, and I slapped my palm against his, allowing him to pull me up from the concrete. “You okay, bro?” Kalin asked, concern washing through his eyes as he took me in. I knew I looked like shit—bags under my eyes, loose-fitting clothes, fucked-up hair.
I grimaced. “I’m fine,” I muttered, yanking my hand out of his. I headed into the house, my eyes immediately falling on Salem, who was standing by the front door in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, scuffed-up black combat boots, and a black hoodie. He was twirling the keys around his finger, looking directly at me. Then, he grabbed a to-go mug of coffee from the small foyer table beside him, holding it out to me.
What the fuck had gotten into him? And why did his sudden acts of care make my heart flutter in my chest?
I didn’t want to feel shit that pertained to him.
I reached forward and took it from him, being extra careful that our fingers didn’t brush. But again, just like this morning, I didn’t say a fucking word to him. I kept my lips firmly shut as Spike opened the front door. And then, I walked past Salem, giving him a wide berth so I wouldn’t accidentally brush against him.
All the while, my heart stayed behind with Salem, bleeding all over the floor, pleading for Salem to love it as much as it loved him.
That was just wishful thinking though. And honestly, I was so fucking tired of hoping for Salem to change back into the guy I used to love.
Delia handed all of us information packets as if we were mere middle school kids who needed everything outlined for them. “Nightwork Records is a sponsor of a festival happening in Spring Harbor,” she began to explain, her heels clicking across the tile of the floor as she began to pace. I flipped through the packet, screwing my nose up at all the information. Sighing, I tossed it down, not giving it another bit of my attention. I’d never manage to remember all that information.
The guys would let me know what was important.
She shot me a dark look, but I just let a fake, sweet smile tilt my lips. She scoffed, seeing right through me. Delia was a bitch, but she was a damn good manager.
“You’ll be playing there to represent us. You’ll spend the day before the festival begins participating in community service, and Giselle will be there to photograph all of you for publicity.” I clenched my jaw. I hated it when they used the good deeds we did as fucking good publicity. I’d voiced my distaste of it numerous times before, but I was always ignored.
I was here to write, sing the music, and make money. Not a damn thing more. They’d made that abundantly clear.
“On the days of the festival—July fifth, sixth, and seventh—you’re expected to mingle. Take pictures. Sign autographs. Be friendly and show that you’re still human despite your fame.”
Salem grunted. He hated interacting with people. This was going to be pure torture for him.
I almost smiled. He wouldn’t be damn near as uncomfortable as I’d been for the past year and a half, but it would be something. And right then, I’d take anything I could fucking get.
“Read through those packets,” Delia ordered. “If you call me asking a question that’s answered in that packet, I’ll hang up on you. Are we clear?”
We all nodded. She flounced from the room without a backward glance, her annoying heels clicking along the tiles. I sighed and reached up, rubbing my temples before pushing back from the table. I snatched the packet of papers up and rolled it before shoving it into my back pocket.
“I’m going out,” I announced, heading for the door so I could get the fuck out of here and away from Salem.
“No, you’re not,” Salem growled, standing up as well.
I glared at him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I demanded, my temper spiking. He had no right anymore to tell me what I could and couldn’t do. He’d lost that privilege.
“Not here,” Spike snapped, stepping between us when Salem rounded the table, narrowing his eyes at us. “Finish this shit at home.”
I clenched my jaw. “I said I’m fucking going out,” I snarled.
“And I said you’re not,” Salem said with just as much heat in his words as I had. “Try me, and I’ll carry you out to the car over my fucking shoulder, Tor.”
I tightened my hand into a fist before storming out of the room. I gritted my teeth when I felt Salem’s hand wrap around my bicep—knew it was him without even having to look because I knew the callouses on his fingers, knew his heat. My body knew him as if he were a part of me.
“Salem…” I snarled, glaring at him, ready to fucking explode. He needed to let me the fuck go.
“Not. Fucking. Here,” Jesse hissed this time, glaring at both of us.
I rolled my lips into my mouth to keep from lashing out, feeling like I was crawling out of my fucking skin. And it didn’t help that Salem still refused to let me go, even when I tried yanking my arm out of his grip. He only tightened his hold, marching me toward the doors where our car was waiting.
“I fucking hate you,” I seethed.
He smirked without even looking at me, his eyes aimed straight ahead on the exit in front of us.
I hated even fucking more that he didn’t even bother to fucking respond.
