she was exhausted, completely worn out from the emotional roller coaster she’d ridden all day. Settling back against her seat, she closed her eyes and prepared to zone out for the length of the trip. She’d spent the last six hours locked in her head— not a pretty place at the best of times, let alone after everything that had happened that day—and it was more than time for a break.
Except the driver didn’t seem to understand how tired she was. He’d barely pulled into traffic before he started fiddling with the radio, moving through a bunch of stations and a lot of static before settling on one that declared it was the home of rock in Houston.
Her stomach pitched and rolled. “Please,” she said in a voice little above a whisper. “Can you turn that off?” With her luck, they’d play a Shaken Dirty song, and she just wasn’t up to hearing Ryder’s voice right now. Not if she wanted to get to the hotel without having a complete and total emotional breakdown.
“Sure, sure,” the man said in heavily accented English. He tossed a nervous glance over his shoulder at her. “But this is a good station. Good music.”
“I’m sure it is. But I have a headache. I don’t want to listen right now.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He stopped at a red light, reached for the dial. But instead of turning the radio off, he just played with it for a minute, before tuning it back to the exact same station.
She started to ask again, but before she could get the words out, the song ended and the DJ came back on. “That was ‘Take Me’ by Darkness. Now, we have a special treat for you—an in-studio performance of a brand new song by one of your favorite bands. Earlier tonight, Ryder Matthews, lead singer of Shaken Dirty, stopped by and did a quick interview with us, which we’ll be playing in its entirety tomorrow morning at eight a.m.
“But he also sang a brand new song for us, one that’s not on any of Shaken Dirty’s albums. In fact, it’s never been recorded before. So, with no further discussion, here’s Ryder Matthews singing, ‘Pieces of You.’”
Confused, Jamison froze as the opening chords of a song played on acoustic guitar filled the cab. She knew it was Ryder playing—she’d heard him often enough to recognize his style—but the idea that he’d stopped by a radio station today made absolutely no sense. Not when Wyatt was in the hospital. And not after everything that had happened.
Unless he’d been trying to do damage control, to get the word out that Shaken Dirty was just fine, despite the disasters that were recorded in that damn dressing room. But then, why the song? Surely a quick interview would have been enough to at least start on the damage control.
She was still trying to figure out what was going on—while feeling like she’d fallen down a rabbit hole— when Ryder’s dark, husky tones filled the car. Only it was a Ryder that few people ever got to hear, one even she and the other band members didn’t see very often. Somber, languid, heartbroken, the gravelly roughness of his voice worked its way down her spine before arrowing straight to her heart.
Silent tears slipped down her face as the wounds she’d spent all evening cauterizing tore wide open.
“Please,” she choked out. “Please turn it off.”
“Listen,” the driver told her. “Listen.”
She didn’t want to listen. Only she didn’t have a choice, because he was making no move to turn off the radio and she was in no shape to do it herself.
Though she did her best to block Ryder out, it was only a matter of seconds before the words he sang sunk into her consciousness.
By the time the song drew to a close, Jamison was a mess. She didn’t understand, didn’t know what it meant. How could he say things like that, how could he sing that song, mere hours after ripping her heart out of her chest?
“It’s okay, miss. It’s okay.” The driver handed her a box of tissues. She grabbed a few, used them to wipe from her cheeks tears she hadn’t even been aware of crying. So much for putting herself back together again.
Of course, the driver chose that moment to pull up to the curb. She reached into her purse to pay him, when she glanced out the window and realized her hotel was nowhere in sight.
She glanced down the street, in case she’d just gotten the address wrong and he’d dropped her further up the block. But nothing looked familiar—this was definitely not the right street.
“This isn’t my hotel.”
“It’s okay,” the driver repeated.
“No. It’s not okay. I need to get to—”
“Here. You need to get here.” The driver nodded encouragingly, pointed to the door. “You need to get out now.”
“No. I need to get to the Marriott. It’s on—”
She broke off as the cab door swung open to reveal Ryder standing there. “Come with me,” he told her. “Please.”
For long seconds, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. A million questions clamored in her head, but she couldn’t ask any of them. Her tongue was tied into too many knots.
He reached for her hand and like a moron, she gave it to him. How could she not when the lyrics of that
