Rockstar Romeo - Abbie Zanders Page 0,68
explained that they were on tour with their father for the summer, how it was a chance for them to finally get to know one another. My father had much to say about that, too, but when I quietly explained why I’d allowed it, he grew silent once again.
We talked well into the night, and when they asked me to stick around for a few days, I accepted. We still had much to catch up on, and I was in no hurry to return to LA.
It had been an emotional day all around. We’d laughed, we’d cried, we’d raised our voices. Yet, all in all, it had been a good day. Cathartic even.
Sitting in the family room that hadn’t changed in twenty years with a hand-crocheted afghan over my lap and a tiny cup of espresso laced with anise, I realized that I wasn’t the only one altered by my long absence. My parents had changed too. Either that or they were far more open-minded than I’d given them credit for.
By the time I said my good nights, I felt emotionally drained but pleased with how things had gone. I’d grown so used to having the weight of guilt on my shoulders that I hadn’t realized just how heavy it had become. The hardest part at least was over. We’d taken the first steps, and I couldn’t help but think it would only get easier from here.
And speaking of facing my demons, I knew I had a few more to deal with before calling it a night. I retrieved my phone from the bottom of my purse, knowing a bunch of messages had probably accumulated.
It was out of charge, granting me a temporary reprieve. I plugged it in and then went downstairs to make some tea and indulge in my mother’s chocolate pistachio biscotti. I figured I’d earned it.
My parents had already retired for the night, so I had the kitchen to myself. Not much had changed. I sat there for a while, sipping my tea, letting the memories wash over me.
When I went back upstairs, I checked my phone. I had to blink several times when I saw the number of unread messages and missed calls.
“One hundred and forty-two?” I murmured in disbelief.
I tapped the icon and scrolled through the list. There were the usual check-ins from Ross, Brian, and Tommy as well as some from an unknown number, probably Ian. My heart pounded when I saw how many were from Jace.
My finger hovered over his name, but I didn’t open any of them.
Cowardly? Yeah, maybe. But I was the equivalent of an emotional dishrag at that point. It would have to wait.
I quickly thumbed through the ones from Brian, Tommy, and Ross, answering each individually. Then, I turned my phone off and went to bed.
Chapter 20
Dear Ida,
I screwed up, big time. I let the woman I love walk away believing she wasn’t the most important thing in the world to me. I’ve got to make this right, but I don’t know how. Please help. – Devastated Rocker
* * *
Dear Devastated,
Maybe she just needs some space. Give it to her. Use the time to figure out a way to FIX THIS, and remember, actions speak louder than words.
~ * ~
Jace
Eva wasn’t answering my calls, texts, or emails. My sanity was hanging by a thread. The only reason I retained any presence of mind at all was because I knew she was ignoring me and not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
I knew that because I’d tracked down Ross O’Farrell and harassed him until he talked to me. He didn’t appreciate that. Nor did he appreciate that I straight-up threatened to walk away from our multimillion-dollar contract if he didn’t return my call.
Well, that was tough shit. Perhaps it was wrong to speak for the band like that, but I was desperate. Dark Wing had made a lot of money for him and his company, and if it came right down to it, I knew my guys would have my back on this one.
Unfortunately, Ross said he didn’t know where she was either. I believed him, simply because I knew Eva hadn’t told him about our trip to New York together. I supposed she had her reasons, but I’d admit, it rankled me. I hadn’t made a big deal out of it, figuring he’d find out soon enough.
Now, I realized that had been wishful thinking. Eva didn’t want Ross to know about us because she didn’t think it would last