“Because I don’t know what happened,” he yelled, exasperation leaking through every word.
“I was here, Maxon. I was here just like I’ve been here . . . and you were in California getting some groupie pregnant.”
He went still, his face falling into a hardened mask. When he spoke, his tone was low and grave. “This better be a fucking joke.”
“Funny. That’s what I said.”
He ran his tattooed hands over his face, his light eyes burning when he looked at me. “From the beginning of all this, what’s the one thing I’ve told you?” When I didn’t respond, he yelled, “What’s the one fucking thing, Libby?”
The media lies.
I didn’t respond. I kept my head high and held his furious stare.
Because he had told me that. He’d told me that repeatedly over the last nine years.
It’d been easy to believe him in the beginning. Even easier because the news had been flooded with reports of the Henley boys, each more outrageous than the last. Because Maxon had spent so many nights talking to me until I’d fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, I knew each new story was just that. A story.
But as the years passed, more of the reports went from outrageous to factual.
Like when the guys had spiraled into a life of destruction a few years after they hit big. The drummer, Ledger, smashed his car into a concrete divider . . . and he really had been three times over the legal alcohol limit with drugs in both his pockets and his car.
Or when Maxon and Lincoln were arrested for a bar fight . . . and he refused to tell me why, only saying, “Don’t listen to anything. The media lies.”
With each news article that held more fact than fiction, it became harder to ignore the media. Easier to believe that Maxon simply liked knowing I would always be there.
I hated thinking I was that girl. The girl waiting for the rock star.
I’d refused from the beginning to be her. It’s why I’d always told him I wouldn’t be waiting when he came back. It’s why I found guys to occupy my time when Maxon was gone.
But it didn’t change what we had.
It didn’t change the swarm of butterflies in my stomach on the nights my phone lit up with his name. Or the rush of emotion when I finally saw him after months. The way my body responded to his touch or the way my soul cried out when we separated.
Then everything came crashing down around me six months ago.
Not twelve hours after he’d told me about the tour—told me he was coming back for me—it was everywhere:
“Maxon James Has Been Rocking More Than Just The Stage. Henley’s Mysterious Bad Boy To Be a Dad!”
“Women Everywhere Are Crying. Maxon James Officially Off The Market.”
“Henley’s Mystery Boy a Mystery No More! Maxon James Revealed.”
“See The Glowing Parents-To-Be! First Photo of The Lady Who Snagged Maxon James.”
That’s when I knew I’d become that girl. It didn’t matter what I’d always claimed . . . I was that naïve girl waiting for the rock star to come home and spend forever with her.
The butterflies and the rush and the connection—everything that got me through to the next phone call or visit—they were nothing more than a fantasy I’d desperately clung to.
Because like the article said . . . women everywhere were crying.
I was simply one of many.
Maxon held up a finger, indicating one. “I’ve never touched a groupie. You know that.”
Before he could lift a second finger, a bitter laugh touched my lips. “I don’t know you at all anymore. You’re just the guy I gave my virginity to a long time ago and made even more mistakes with after.”
The hurt and shock that tore across his face echoed in the recesses of my chest, but I refused to back down.
When he stood like a statue of heartache, I folded my arms around my stomach, as if that might hold me together, and spoke through the knot in my throat as I took a step away. “Goodbye, Maxon.”
“Rebel.”
I faltered, my legs unsteady when I prided myself on standing strong.
I always had until he’d broken me.
“You don’t get to call me that anymore,” I whispered through my pain.
“And you don’t get to call us a mistake because of something you clearly don’t understand. I’ve called and texted you every fucking day, and I never heard a word from you.”
“Why would I want to talk to you?” I asked with a disbelieving laugh.
“Libby . . .”
I jerked away from him when he tried to grab my hand. “No, let me go, Maxon,” I nearly shouted. “Don’t you get it? It’s over. We’re done. Let me walk away and let me move on from you.”
“We’re never gonna be done. You’re mine.”
Always. I’ll always be yours.
“I’ve never been yours.” The lie was thick on my tongue, tears filled my eyes. When he started talking over me, I cried out, “I’m getting married.”
The words hung in the air like the tiniest devastation.
Maxon stared at me, unseeing, his face void of any emotion as seconds dragged with a slowness I knew well.
His chest heaved, and he swayed slightly before steadying himself. His stare drifted to where my left hand was hidden from his sight. Denial filled his eyes and was quickly replaced with rage.
Because this was never part of our agreement.
Sleep with other people? Fine.
Date them? No. Never.
Marry them? Hell no.
Pregnancies? Fuck no.
It was always supposed to be Maxon and me in the end.
“Does it feel like the ground was just ripped out from beneath you? Does it feel like you’re hollow?” I asked through my tears. “Imagine being me and seeing it everywhere. Seeing pictures of you with her.”
“Who is he?” he asked, his words gruff.
“I couldn’t escape it,” I continued. “I couldn’t tell myself they were all lies when the headlines and words and pictures were shouting so loudly.” My hands moved sluggishly toward my head as a cry sounded from deep in my soul. “It got in my head and twisted my gut. Laid brick after brick in the empty space where my heart used to be.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Because the media lies?” I mocked with a huff. “Yeah, well . . . not all photos do. Some of those pictures are hard to dispute.”
Maxon didn’t stop me when I turned and walked to my car. And I didn’t bother asking for my heart back.
He could keep it.
No one else would ever come close to deserving it.
Maxon
I WALKED THROUGH DOWNTOWN WAKE Forest without paying attention to where I was headed or how long I’d been walking. I was stopped a few times for pictures and autographs, but for the most part, I was able to blend into the people still lingering on the streets and spilling out of restaurants.
Blending in was something I’d always been good at. It’s why paparazzi rarely got pictures of me unless I was out with the guys. Because the guys . . . they were another story. It was as if constant spotlights followed them around, begging for people to see them.
I didn’t like that part of this life—being seen. Being noticed. Being followed and picked apart until there was nothing left. Until the entire world felt like they knew you.
There was only one girl who had known me. Only one girl I’d ever let really see me. And she was fucking engaged.
The feeling of loss and emptiness crawled through me, slow and agonizing and consuming.
I groaned and raked my hands over my face. I wanted to go back in time and try to prevent her from meeting whoever this guy was. To go back when her wants for the future shifted and be here to remind her that I had always wanted to be her forever.
“Hey, rock star.”
My steps slowed, and I glanced over the tips of my fingers to find the owner of that voice.
I dropped my hand
s, my arms falling heavily to my sides when I saw Libby’s brother and friends sitting at a table outside a coffee shop.
“Glad I got to see this look,” Einstein continued. “Told you I rooted for you from the beginning.”
“What look?” I asked, exhaustion weighing down my words.
“The I-fucked-up-so-hard look.”
I lifted my hands, only to let them fall again. A breath of a laugh escaped me, but there was no humor behind it. “I’ve told her forever that I wanted to marry her. I’ve told her that I was going to. She told me she didn’t want that. How the hell is any of this my fault?”
“Never mind. He still doesn’t get it,” she muttered and quickly drummed her fingers on the table. Each drum bringing her hand closer to the pile of cell phones in the middle.
“Apparently not,” I mumbled.
“Leave it,” Dare barked at her, then looked to me. “You talked to her?”
I looked at him, letting my expression answer for me.
“You fucked up the minute you got someone pregnant.”
“Jesus,” I said on a groan.
Einstein laughed, then looked at Dare with surprise. “Wait . . . you’re serious? You’re all mad because you think he got someone pregnant?” When no one responded, she said, “Sometimes I hate being the only smart one.”
“Again . . . the media lies.”
“That’s not Maxon’s baby. It was never a question of if it was his baby.” Einstein’s revelation was said with a hint of annoyance as she kicked a chair out in my direction. She waited until I dropped into it before grumbling, “It really didn’t take being a genius to figure that out.”
Everyone except Einstein was staring at me, their expressions ranging from shame to confusion.
I ran my hands through my hair. “Libby knows that. I called her and left messages explaining what was happening—who that girl is.”
Dare’s head snapped to Einstein. “Why the hell have you been mad? Why did you think we were?”
“Because Libby shut Maxon out and he let her. And like I’ve been saying, I rooted for him.” She glanced at me with a careful expression. “And I doubt Libby knows. She ignored every call and deleted every message without reading or listening to them. She hasn’t let anyone talk about you—including me. I was sure you’d show up, but you never did. Six months?” She scoffed. “Figured you were too stupid to realize you’d lost her or you didn’t care.”
What the hell?
She doesn’t know? She really thinks . . . fuck, Libby.
Those months of silence had been torture. Impossible to get through.
It had been hard to breathe earlier when Libby wasn’t there before the show and then flipped me off. Turned from me.
But nothing compared to the excruciating pain I felt now.
Nothing compared to the weight on my chest, making every breath a struggle, knowing I might’ve been able to prevent this.
And now she’s engaged.
“I thought she knew . . . she should have known.” I shook my head and rubbed at my empty, aching chest. “But Libby and I went days without talking—sometimes even a week. And we’d been so slammed prepping for the tour that I hadn’t realized she was ghosting me until the tour started. I couldn’t just leave. But I called and texted her every fucking day we were on the road. Kept telling myself I’d see her at the end and . . .” I swallowed thickly and choked out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Idiot,” Einstein mumbled.
“She’s engaged, so how the hell do I compete with that?”
From the utter silence and stunned looks from every person at that table with me, it was clear I was missing something.
“The fuck did you just say?” Dare asked, his tone low and threatening.
“She’s engaged . . .”
Once again, Dare’s head whipped in Einstein’s direction, but she just burst out laughing and dug through her bag before tossing a set of keys at me. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that Libby hasn’t so much as looked at another man that way since your supposed daddy status made headlines, and she sure as shit isn’t engaged. I’m also positive she won’t let you in the door, but I’m still rooting for you, so”—cupping a hand around her mouth, she mock-whispered—“my car’s the red one behind you.”
My hand fisted around the keys and my chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “She’s not engaged?” I asked slowly.
“She better not be,” Dare bit out.
Einstein rolled her eyes and ignored him. “You tell us. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s only ever mentioned marrying one guy . . . and he’s sitting at this table instead of fixing things with her.”
“She better not be,” Dare repeated through clenched teeth, earning a smack on his arm from his wife.
I was going to shake that damn girl.
I was going to shake her and yell at her. Then I’d kiss her and spend the next few days buried inside her. And yeah, I was going to fucking marry her.
I looked at Dare, my head shaking subtly. “You know me. You’ve known me forever. No one can or will take better care of her than me.” I stood from the chair and took a few steps back. “She might not be engaged now, but one day she will be. And it’ll be to me.”
Libby
I LISTENED FOR THE SOUNDS of Einstein’s talking when our apartment door opened and shut. She had a habit of walking in, already mumbling about things she needed me to know.
Or just mumbling to herself.
But it was silent.
I twisted on my bed and placed my feet on the floor, my movements halting and stomach dropping when the voice that sounded in the hall wasn’t Einstein’s.
“Why’d you say it?”
I sat there, frozen, watching in horror as Maxon rounded the corner to my doorway.
His whiskey eyes locked on mine, his expression a mixture of frustration and need. “Why, Rebel?”
Air rushed from my lungs like I’d been punched. “How are you here?” I asked, the words barely more than a wheeze.
He held up Einstein’s keys only to drop them on my dresser as he moved deeper into my room. “I heard you didn’t read or listen to any of my messages, so you’re going to listen to me now.”
My head was already shaking, my eyes filling with tears.
I didn’t want to do this with Maxon. Not now, not six months ago, not ever.
“That’s not my baby,” he said slowly, like he wanted to make sure I heard and understood every word. “That girl? Jesus Christ, Libby, did you ever look at her face?”
I jerked at the frustration in his tone but didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was so tight I could barely breathe.
I’d seen pictures of them. They’d been everywhere.
Pictures of them walking with Maxon’s arm hooked around her neck. Pictures of them hugging. Another of him kissing her cheek. In every one, she had a very clear baby bump and a diamond on her ring finger.
But I couldn’t recall her face.
Maxon dropped to a crouch before me so his face was directly in front of mine. When he spoke again, his tone was soft. “The media lies, Libby,” he whispered, echoing words I’d heard thousands of times from him. “That was Ava.”
“What?” I choked out, my head shaking and mind racing.
I knew Ava. Knew who she was to Maxon. She was in the foster home with him and Lincoln.
“She lives just outside LA now with her husband . . . remember? Lincoln and I see her sometimes.”
I already knew that . . .
My stomach ached and twisted with guilt.
I tried again to remember the girl in the pictures with Maxon, but there was nothing.
I never looked at her face. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the woman he’d chosen over me. Just as I couldn’t stand to hear his words.
There’d been too many photos over too many years, and I hadn’t been able to go through it again.
I felt like the worst ki
nd of idiot.
“Those pictures were taken when we met up to have lunch with them. Her husband and Lincoln were right next to us, but just out of the shot, in every picture. Her husband called me laughing when he saw them, and . . . God, I was positive you would’ve recognized her and done the same. I had no clue you actually thought the girl and the baby were mine. None, Libby.”
I blinked quickly in a vain attempt to stop the tears that were steadily slipping down my cheeks, then dropped my head into my hands when a sob broke free. “Oh God.”
I’d been sure he’d thrown our life away without a single thought. It had slayed me. Wrecked me. Because nothing in my life had ever felt as right, as perfect, as Maxon.
To know I was the one who ruined us . . .
He grabbed my hands and pulled them down so he could look into my eyes. “Why’d you tell me you were engaged?”
“I wanted you to know what I’d been going through. To feel what I’d felt.” I laughed weakly. “It’s the same reason I always left before you woke up. I wanted you to have a taste of what it felt like when you left me.”
“Fuck, Libby.” He curled his hands around my neck and pressed his mouth to mine in a slow, passionate, claim.
And it was just like it always had been between us . . .
Right.
Perfect.
My body buzzed beneath his touch and my soul sang. I was finally whole. It was a feeling I didn’t think I’d ever get enough of.
“What about the rest?” he whispered before raking his teeth across my bottom lip. “Was everything else you said a lie?”
I pressed my forehead against his and released a stuttered breath. “I said a lot to you tonight that I didn’t mean.” When he only looked at me, prompting me to go on, I said, “That we were a mistake. That I wasn’t yours.”
“Settling down . . . the family?” he asked as he slowly pushed me back on the bed.
My face pinched with grief.
Because I wanted that, but I knew I would never find someone I wanted to give my life to. Not like the man currently kneeling above me, reaching for the band of my sleep shorts.
“I do want that,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t change the reality of our situation. That doesn’t change that you’re on the other side of the United States or that I want a family here.”