To pass the time, probably. I’m wide awake despite my body feeling utterly and completely exhausted. I can’t sleep, and there’s still hours to go on this flight.
I don’t know what waits for me when I land in LA, or what type of trouble I’ll find myself in once I get home. I very well could no longer be a member of Wicked Hearts. I could be jobless. My entire world could be turned upside down.
But I can’t find it in me to care.
About anything.
I once read this quote, I don’t know who it’s by, that said:
“The songs all speak of the rage of Achilles.
But what about his love?
It was not his rage that brought Hector to his death.
But his love.
It was not his wounded pride that fueled his fire.
It was his broken heart.”
That quote has stuck with me for years, and I never understood it. Until now.
I think I get it now.
My mind keeps replaying earlier, when Rowan was in my room, trying to get me to talk to him. The last fucking time I’ll ever see him.
Part of me feels like I should’ve talked to him. Heard him out because I’ll probably always regret not knowing what he wanted to say.
But the other part of me… the larger, enraged part of me, wants to forget every single moment we spent together. It wants to erase all the memories—all the times we hung out, everything we talked about, every kiss, every touch. I want to forget I ever knew him, because his existence in my life fucked me up even more.
I want to go home, and forget Rowan Davies touched me in more ways than one. Living in solitude is safer and better than living with these cracked and wide open wounds I’m left with because of him.
It was all a mistake. I should’ve known better. Nothing good ever comes from opening yourself up, letting people in.
I should’ve fucking known, and you know what? Shame on me for that.
But it’ll never happen again.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Caspian
“Caspian Gray, where are you?”
I’m startled awake, the room blanketed in darkness as I try to grip my bearings for a moment, remembering where I’m at. A quick glance around the room clears up a little bit of the fog. I’m at my house. In my own fucking bed for the first time in months.
By the time I landed back in L.A. last night—well, this morning—it was already nearly sunrise. I didn’t catch a wink of fucking sleep on the plane, and exhaustion had set in strong. A driver hired by my fucking manager picked me up at the airport. I would’ve rather taken an Uber than accept any help from that tool, but I didn’t have any of my cards on me, since they were all taken prior to being sent to Black Diamond.
Thankfully, Sebastian wasn’t in the car when I was picked up.
But he’s here now,I think, as he shouts my name from the front of the house once more. It’s like he expects me to run up to him like some sort of fucking dog. Has he forgotten I’m not that obedient?
Glancing around my bed, I find my phone plugged in by my pillow. I spent almost the entire flight back here going through and deleting all the notifications I missed while being on the island with no fucking cell service or internet. Unplugging it, the screen lights up, damn near blinding me. Notifications are piled back up, several of them from Sebastian.
I roll my eyes, tossing the phone off to the side as I move onto my side, pulling the covers up to my chin, and burying my face in the pillow. The last thing I want to do right now is deal with whatever bullshit Seb has waiting for me, but I don’t have much of a choice as he kicks open the door, filling up the space with his tall, wide frame.
His hardened gaze falls to where I’m at on the bed. “I’ve been calling your name.”
