Also, I’ve gotten messages asking where you can find the serial on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. It’s not available on these sites, but it is free here on my blog (emilysnowbooks.blogspot.com). There are currently 4 parts of the 9 part serial posted there, and there are more updates to come.
Thank you all again for being amazing.
Fury races through every vein in my body as I stare down at Sam. A tiny smile tilts the corners of her lips up, but I don't know whether she's mocking me or about to burst in tears in hopes that I’ll pity her. With Sam, either is possible, and right now, either will just piss me off even more. "Why?" I demand. "Why the fuck would you want or need to go to Sienna?"
It’s a dumb question, and I know she thinks so too because she blinks a few times. Visiting Sienna would give her more control. Give her something to use against me. It’s that simple.
Sam crosses her thin arms over her chest again and rocks back on her heels. She shakes her head in disbelief. "God, Lucas. Do you really think I'd--" she begins in a harsh whisper, but the kid behind us in line interrupts.
"Dude, are you riding?" he demands. Sam’s back straightens and she turns slowly, staring the kid down with a dark look that doesn’t seem to affect him. He’s, at the most, ten or eleven, and I start to pull her off before she can cuss him out and get herself arrested. She dodges my hand, stepping aside.
She sweeps her skinny arm out in the direction of the amusement park attendant. "Go for it." Once the kid has slipped between us, Sam refocuses her attention back to me, granting me a withering look. I break eye contact first by walking away. I'm done with her games, and that's all this is. More of Sam's bullshit. And like always, she’s not done yet. She catches up to me quickly, out of breath with strands of her hair blowing into her gray eyes.
"Don't you want to know if I'm planning on seeing her or not?" she demands, and I release a low laugh that sounds more like a growl.
"You're not.” And I feel like an ass for even letting what she said a few minutes ago affect me. “You wanted to meet me to play games. Fuck you."
She stops and grabs my wrist, digging her long fingernails into the star tattoos there. It doesn’t hurt—not the way she wants it to. "You love her." It's not a question, but a statement, and it automatically sends a warning siren blaring through my skull.
"About as much as I love you,” I tell her, enunciating each word to drive the point home.
She does a shitty job hiding the way she flinches. I watch her carefully—the way she brings her hand up to cover her mouth as if she's stifling a giggle, the way her chest rises and falls heavily—and I know I’ve given her the right answer. The type of answer that hurts. The type of answer that will keep her from Sienna.
"You make me sick," she finally says, and I cock my head to one side.
"You forgot to tell me you love me first. Isn't that how it usually goes? You tell me you still want me and then tell me to go eat a dick."
Grabbing the front of my shirt, she brings herself to her toes and gets her face as close to mine as she can. "I could ruin you."
I pull her off me, untangling her fingers from my shirt. I force a smile that nearly breaks my goddamn face. The last thing I need is to find my picture on the front of some tabloid for getting into it with her in public. "You already have.”
“Already what?” she demands.
When I turn to leave her standing in front of a family bathroom, she lets out a strangled noise from the back of her throat. "You're going?"
I turn around to face her, but continue to walk backwards towards the exit. Away from this woman who’s made the last few years of my life a bigger nightmare than I'd already made for myself. "There's not shit else to say to you."
"But you need me," she says, and though she doesn't say anything else, the rest of her words linger in the air.
You need me if you want to be happy. You need me to let you go before you do.
I turn my back to her in time to maneuver around a family that's making their way toward the park attractions. As I leave, I say in a quiet voice, "When you figure out how we'll make that happen, when you're done playing games—you fucking let me know."
I know she’s close enough to hear me.
Keeping with tradition, Sam doesn't call or text me for the next five days. By the weekend, I start the mental countdown because I know it's only a matter of days before I hear from her. I busy myself with music—mostly my solo project but stuff for the band, too.
Which is a disaster since Sinjin, our drummer, is in rehab the next couple of months.
"Can you at least pretend this isn’t a waste of your time?" Wyatt asks me. It's Saturday night, and we’ve been sampling material for our new album with Cal, our lead guitarist, since mid-afternoon inside the small studio in my house. Cal’s been outside for the last 30 minutes taking a call, leaving me in here with Wyatt who wants to talk about nothing but our tour that’s coming up this summer.
This is the first time since we formed the damn band that I don’t want to go on tour.
"I want to be here," I say, and he gives me a skeptical look. "Just upstairs in my bed."
"Pathetic." He shakes his head and opens his mouth to continue. I cut him off.
"This is coming from the same mother fucker who called me crying his ass off about my sister for two weeks." Which would still be the case if Kylie hadn't contacted him to work things out a few days ago. Being able to call her bullshit when she’s said she's done with him has always been an extra talent of mine, but this time when she said she was done, I believed her.
Guess my bullshit detection skills have gone to hell along with my ability to make music.
"There's no shame in picking up the phone and calling Sienna, Wolfe."
"Did Kylie put you up to this?"
There's a look of surprise on his face, but then he sets the guitar he’s been strumming to the side and stretches his arms out on the back of the couch. "We haven't had time to talk about your problems."
I don't know if he's implying that he's been too busy screwing my sister or fighting with her, but it's not something I want to hear. "I still want to fuck you up for what you did to her."
"We're working it out. But your problems . . ."
Again with that shit. I start to tell him to get the fuck out of my house but then my phone vibrates from the keyboard bench. I turn it over and scan the screen, reading the text Cal sent. “Cal already left. Something came up.”
Wyatt’s on his feet before I’m finished talking, heading toward the door. When he turns around to face me again, he releases a long breath and scratches his head. “Fuck, don’t look at me like that. Go out. Get her out of your system if you’re not going to see her. But don’t sit around doing this.”
I put my phone back down on the bench and pick up the half-empty beer that’s sitting on the corner. I’ve been “drinking” it for the past hour. “Tell Kylie to call me tomorrow.”
He leaves then, muttering something under his breath that I don’t manage to make out. For a long time, I stay in the music room, nursing the same Sam Adams. Fucking pathetic. Just like Wyatt said.
When I finally get up long after both Cal and Wyatt leave, I don’t go upstairs to my bed like I originally planned.
Parts 5 and 6 coming next week!