Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,27
your talent. You’re an amazing artist.”
My chest heaves. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. I think the same of you. Your voice gives me goosebumps. When you hit those high notes, I literally get a tear in my eye.”
She exhales a slow, long breath, like her heart is beating a mile a minute, and electricity crackles between us.
“He’s a douchebag, Laila,” I say, my eyes locked with hers, skin on fire. “Don’t send him another dime.”
“I probably will,” she admits. “Because sending it is my way of controlling him—keeping him away from me and my family, for good.”
The full extent of my assholery toward Laila hits me like a tsunami. “I’m so sorry for all the times I was a flaming dickhead to you during the tour, Laila. I’m sorry for any time I yelled at you or made you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry for that time I said you didn’t belong on the tour. You did. You’re a genius with incredible talent and star quality and I was an asshole to suggest otherwise. I’m sorry for the times I’ve smoked around you, especially the times I’ve purposely blown smoke in your face, solely to piss you off. Please, forgive me for all of it. There were times during the tour when I felt irrationally rejected by you, or maybe I thought I couldn’t make a play for you because Kendrick had a crush on you, and my solution to all of it was to lash out and/or push you away, with all my might. It was stupid of me. And I’m so sorry.”
Her chest visibly rises and falls for a moment. Her blue eyes are practically glowing. “I accept your apology,” she says. “I wasn’t all that nice to you, on many occasions.”
“It doesn’t matter. There’s something wrong with me, Laila. The same way there’s something wrong with my father. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t have a complete soul.”
“That’s not true, Adrian. I saw you with Mimi. I saw you with your bandmates for three months. I saw how respectful and sweet you are with Ruby. Trust me, you’ve got a complete soul.”
“But what if I don’t?” I say, admitting my worst fear, out loud, for the first time, ever. “What if I’m my father’s son, in ways I don’t want to be?”
Laila gets up and strides to me at my end of the table. “Stop. You’re nothing like him.” She stands over me and clutches me to her, and I lay my cheek on her belly, while she runs her fingers through my hair. She whispers, “You’ve got a beautiful soul, Adrian. You’re just scarred by the stuff that happened to you as a kid, as anyone in your shoes would be.” She kisses the top of my head and takes the seat next to me at the table. “Can I ask you something? That lyric in ‘Hate Sex High’ about punching a hole in the wall. Was that true?”
I nod. “After my run-in with Malik at the restaurant, followed by that argument we had outside on the sidewalk, I was angry and shitfaced. Feeling rejected and confused. So, I went back to my hotel room and punched a hole in the wall.”
Laila presses her lips together. “I’m going to need you to promise not to do that sort of thing while we’re living here together, no matter how much I might annoy or anger you.”
“Of course, I won’t. Ask Mimi or Sasha or Ruby. I’m not violent.” I grab her hand. “I’d never hurt you. I’d protect you, yes. But I’d never hurt you.”
“I don’t think you’d hurt me. I’m just telling you that holes punched in walls and plates being smashed . . . those are the kinds of things that are triggering for me.”
“I understand. You have my word.”
Laila squeezes my hand. “How did you wind up living with Mimi at age twelve, given that you hardly ever saw your asshole father?”
I pause to gather my thoughts. To steady my racing heart. “When I lived with my mom, she used to run off with different guys for days at a time. She’d leave me with a few basic groceries and say, ‘I’ll be back soon.’ So, this one time, right after I’d turned twelve, she was gone on one of her trips, and I wanted to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich on the stove. I don’t know how it happened, since I’d made the same thing before, lots of times,