The Rock Star’s Fake Fiancee - Kenzie Reed Page 0,11
aside that warm feeling. I have an overwhelming urge to grab a rag and start cleaning things. The counter is sticky, and my soles squelched on the floor when I walked in. Dirty glasses are scattered across the bar and nobody’s picking them up.
“Patty,” the guy next to me slurs.
I clutch my drink and slide a few inches farther away from him on my stool. “Uh, no, sorry, that’s not my name.” Of course, neither is Maureen.
“No, Patty’s why I’m drinking. Why you drinking?”
I’m not up for conversation at the moment. Instead of answering, I slide off the bar stool and walk across the room to lean against an empty stretch of wall.
Sebastian’s beautiful face drifts through my mind, and my throat swells with sorrow. That kiss we exchanged when I was eighteen, the one that kept me going through some of the darkest days of my life? It didn’t mean a thing to him.
I mean, it’s bad enough that he led me on back when I was young and naive. All the flowery words he fed me, about how he’d never met anyone like me and we were made for each other. I should have known better even then. He was a songwriter; words were his thing. Of course he knew exactly what to say to make me fall for him.
I’d been a total goody-two-shoes up until then. As for Sebastian, he lived in his van, worked construction, and hustled the band’s merchandise at their shows. Not only that, but his brother Magnus, who was his drummer, was serving a ninety-day jail sentence in Charlotte for some bar fight. My parents would never have let me date him.
But for Sebastian, I broke all the rules. I used to sneak out and meet him at the fairgrounds where he spent his days working on the new agricultural hall. He travelled around the state to play gigs on the weekends, and called me up after every show to assure me he’d gone straight home, by himself.
As summer came to a close, he asked me to go with him when he left to go on tour.
It was a crazy thing to ask a sheltered small-town girl like me, but my teenage brain was addled with infatuation. He had a voice like an angel, and beautiful sad eyes the color of amber, and cheekbones so sharp they could have cut glass. He towered over me like a tree shading me from the hot sun, his body so perfect it begged to be sculpted in marble and immortalized forever.
I said yes. Yes, I’d leave my family behind. Yes, I’d run away from home and travel the country with him. It was the only impulsive thing I’d ever done, but he was worth it, because our love was pre-destined, eternal, it was star-crossed and every other beautiful cliché ever written.
I showed up at the fairgrounds with my suitcase, fifteen minutes early. His van was gone. His boss said he hadn’t punched in to work that day.
I called him and called him. No answer. I actually called the local hospital emergency room to see if he’d been in an accident. I was that naive.
Like a fool, I waited for hours in the hot sun before I accepted the humiliating truth and slunk back home crying. I ripped down my Heat Lightning posters and loftily told everyone they’d just been a passing phase.
Two months later, I got a letter with a California postmark, no return address, and the words “I’m sorry” scrawled on a piece of notebook paper. In the history of lame apologies, that was pretty epic.
He always knew where I was. He could have found me and at least given me a proper apology at any time, and the fact that he chose not to tells me how little remorse he felt.
But not even to remember me? Even after I mentioned Swampy Bottom and took off my sunglasses and he saw my face?
And I don’t even want to think about how cowardly I was today. I let all those reporters push me around and shove me to the back of the room, when I should have fought my way up front and just told Sebastian who I was.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my purse and answer without thinking.
It’s my sister. “Hey, Callie. Just checking to see when you’re going to— What’s that noise? Are you at a bar?”
Oh, corn fritters. “Hold on a sec.” I gulp the rest of my drink.