Page 66 of Wounded


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“Damn. It’s ten at night here. This time difference is wild.”

If I learned one thing from Dr. Weaver, it’s that I need to be better about letting people in. Especially those who love me. She made me realize just how much I kept Brielle and Brynn at an arm’s length. I always knew I closed myself off, even to them, but it wasn’t until those therapy sessions that I realized just how much.

They’re my best friends and have been my entire life. I promised myself before coming home, I’d make more of an effort to let them in. Which is why I told them all about Caspian and my plan to get him to talk to me, and I’m glad I did. They’ve been nothing but supportive.

Another big thing I promised myself was that I would stop trying to beg for my parents’ affection. Because even though I didn’t realize I was doing it, I was. In the form of partying and drugs and being rowdy. I was acting out with the subconscious hope of getting their attention and care. Their love. Well, fuck that. I’ve seen them once since coming home. My father had the audacity to look shocked that I actually finished the program, but didn’t even congratulate me or anything.

Fuck them. I’ll get my act together and succeed without them.

“How did it go?” The question comes from Brielle, pulling me from my stray thoughts.

Leaning my back against the hard wall, I slide down into a sitting position, my knees bent, arms rested on them. “Ugh, horribly. The stupid fucking security guard wouldn’t even let me step foot backstage.”

“Why didn’t you just buy the VIP tickets?”

My eyes roll so hard, I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Don’t you fucking think I thought of that already? They’re sold out.”

“Wow, someone’s in a bad mood now,” Brielle murmurs as she props her phone on the kitchen counter before reaching into the cupboard in front of her and pulling out a coffee mug. “What about their Instagram or Twitter pages? Surely, you can figure out what their after-show plans are that way.”

“That’s… a really good idea, Bri.”

She laughs softly. “Like I don’t always have good ideas.”

A text message comes through our group chat, at the same time Brynn says, “Found them. Sent you their location. They’re at some dive bar about twenty minutes away. You’re welcome.”

I gawk at her for a moment. “How the hell did you find that so fast?”

With a sugary-sweet grin, she says, “A woman never tells her secrets. Go get your man, Row. I’m going back to bed.”

She drops from the call without another word, causing me and Bri to bust out laughing. “Alright, guess I’ll go try to find him, and let you know how it goes.”

“Good luck, Row,” Brielle says sincerely, before we end the call.

Calling my driver, Reggie, to find where he’s at, he meets me in front of the stadium, which is now basically empty. I give him the address to the bar, and sit anxiously in the backseat, nerves swimming rampantly.

This has to go well. It just fucking has to.

The last thing I want is to fly across the fucking world—quite literally—only for him to turn me down. How fucking embarrassing would that be. Reggie drops me off in front of the entrance to the building. No shocker, it’s fucking packed. I have to wait in line for close to a half an hour and pay an absurd entry fee, but alas, I’m in.

The scent of liquor and body sweat fills the small space, bodies lining almost every inch of this place. I have to squeeze and push my way through the crowd to get to the center of the room, where I can finally see the band.

Well, the band, minus one member.

Climbing onto the chair beside me, I scan the room—twice—not seeing Cas anywhere.

What the fuck?What if he left with someone? A brick drops in my gut, a wave of nausea washing over me at that thought. It’s a very real possibility—one I’m not sure why I didn’t consider when I made this dumb fucking plan to come here unannounced like a stalker.

This was a horrible fucking idea. I should go back to my fucking hotel and book a flight back—

“Looking for someone?”

The voice startles me so much, I nearly fall off the chair I’m standing on. A firm hand wraps around my forearm, steadying me as I climb down, feeling much safer on the ground than up there. My gaze slides up to the body standing in front of me, a few inches taller than me, black, curly, unruly hair and piercing blue eyes.Atticus St. Browne,guitarist for Wicked Hearts and Caspian’s best friend.

“Oh, uh, hi,” I fumble, running my sweaty palms down the front of my thighs.

He grins, the deep grooves of his dimples popping as he drags his lip between his teeth, probably to avoid laughing at me. “You’re Rowan Davies, right?” He holds out his hand for me to shake.

How does he know who I am? Oh my gosh, did Caspian tell him about me?That has to mean something, right?