He held strong for the most part during the first few months of my sobriety, and always hounded the guys if they talked about whatever substance they had while we were on tour. But I know behind closed doors is a different story, a different side of him.
If he really is clean like he told Rylee, then I have nothing to worry about. I know firsthand how easy it can be to crack though, so I want to make sure he has my support the same way I had his.
When I realize the bathroom is clear and the entire downstairs is missing the James Dean drummer, I head outside to see a lone figure sitting on a lounger at the corner of patio furthest from the house.
I drop down in the lounger beside him, easing into the chair. “You didn’t want to come,” I state plainly.
It takes him a few seconds. “Do you blame me? You didn’t even want us here anyway.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”
We’re quiet, both looking out at the flower garden. In the dark, it’s hard to see the work Rylee and Yasmin have put into it. The lights don’t reach as far as the wooden beds they installed on their own, but I enjoy seeing the addition, nonetheless.
“Is it hard for you?” It’s a dangerous question to ask, not wanting to open old wounds but not wanting to ignore them either.
He stretches one of his legs out, drawing up the other and resting a beer bottle on top of his bent knee. His fingers twitch around it before he murmurs, “Being here isn’t. Seeing her isn’t. But watching you interact with her? Yeah. Especially doing it sober.”
My eyes go to the beer, which I realize isn’t even open. “She’s upstairs. You can come inside if you want to. The coast is clear if you’re out here to avoid us.”
He doesn’t address my offer. “Was it like that back then?” His eyes find mine, his question pinching my brows. “It’s ironic, I guess. I was too focused on getting high versus paying any attention, and you were busy paying attention, so you didn’t get high. I’ve tried thinking about that night, and I don’t remember anything. I have no clue if you two flirted, if you danced, if you made a move while I was getting fucked up. I gave you shit for not remembering her before marrying her, but I’m a fucking hypocrite.”
Fingers digging into the edges of the armrests on my chair, I shake my head. “You know me better than that. You were there with her, even if you weren’t with her all the time.”
“That answers my question.”
My jaw ticks.
He sighs. “You always did notice a pretty woman when they were around.”
I have nothing to say to that, so I stand and gesture toward the house. “We all had our issues back then. I wouldn’t call you a hypocrite for reacting the way you did because maybe I subconsciously knew exactly who she was when I saw her again.”
Zayne shakes his head, staring at his beer and dropping his head back. “She’s comfortable with you.”
I shrug. “I suppose.”
“She wasn’t with me.”
I don’t say anything other than, “You coming in?”
He contemplates it. “Nah. Think I’ll enjoy the peace for a while longer. Holler when you want help shutting this down.”
I reach a fist out that he bumps. “Will do.”
Walking back inside instantly makes my temples throb when music that I vaguely recognize as some 2000s hit blasts. I roll my eyes and make it through the crowd, trying to keep track of where my mates are and cringing when I see a blonde bobbing her head over Jax’s lap on my couch while another claims his lips.
“Fucking hell,” I grumble, turning my back on the asshole and scouring the room.
“You look lost.” The voice belongs to a soft-spoken woman who can’t be more than twenty when I look down at her short frame.
“Not lost,” is all I say, beginning to walk away before her hand catches my arm.
“Looking for your wife?”
I eye her carefully, the question not settling right.
She steps into me, rising on her tiptoes and whispering, “It’s okay with me if you have one. We can still have some fun if you’re bored.”
I know she isn’t referring to boredom over the party still in full swing. Before I can brush her off, she’s tugging on my shirt with impressive force and taking my lips as soon as I’m bent low enough for her to reach them.
And that’s when I see Rylee standing at the top of the stairs gaping at me. Even with everyone else around, it’s the hurt smacking me straight in the chest that I know belongs to her.
She quickly turns and disappears back down the hall, with me close on her heels after quickly yanking back from the stranger and taking three steps up the stairs at a time until I’m at her bedroom door. “Ry!” I call out, knocking and wiggling the locked knob. “It wasn’t what it looked like.” I cringe at the line, blowing out a breath. “Well, I suppose it was what it looked like, but I did not initiate it.”
Besides the noise from downstairs, I hear nothing else. It doesn’t stop me from knocking more, knowing where the key is to the lock if it comes to that. “Please don’t shut me out, love.”
That’s when I hear, “Don’t call me that.”
Her choppy voice tells me all I need to know without seeing her face. “I’m sorry for what happened. I wasn’t expecting her to do that, it took me by surprise.” My palm rests against the wood. “If you let me in, you can kick me. I bet that’d make you feel better.”
My eyes widen when the lock clicks and the knob starts to turn. I step back when she cracks the door open.
