Life On Stage: Beat Part 27

I lower my head and nod.

"He's a snake. Slithering in and giving you attention when I'm too busy running a f.u.c.king tour."

"It's not his fault."

"Don't give me that s.h.i.t. I saw the way he followed you around. He wanted in your pants. That's why I sent him packing."

"I'm sorry."

"Let's just move past this. He's gone. We both have baggage. It's time for a fresh start. To build our future on a clean slate."

I don't respond. With two fingers under my chin, Dylan gently lifts until our eyes meet again. "I love you, Lucky."

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"You're sorry? What the f.u.c.k does that mean?"

I remain silent, but words aren't necessary.

"You have got to be f.u.c.king s.h.i.tting me." He stands. "Think long and hard about what you're doing, Lucky. You can walk away from me if you want. But just try to walk to Flynn f.u.c.king Beckham, and not only will his band not be opening for Easy Ryder, but I'll be d.a.m.n sure he doesn't play anywhere for a long, long time."

Seething, he slams the door behind him so hard, the walls of the bus shake from the force.

I stay in the back after the bus pulls into California. It's so quiet without the hum of the engine and radio blaring, it makes me wonder if I'm the only one left on board.

Wheeling my bag out into the lounge, I discover I'm not the last one on the bus. Dylan lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Give me tonight?" There's a vulnerable tone to his voice that I've never heard before. "I have to do an interview this afternoon, but let's have dinner afterward. Let's talk."

As much as I'd rather get on a plane this afternoon, run away from my guilt, the right thing to do is to end things like adults. I nod.

The car ride is uncomfortably quiet on the way to the restaurant. Dylan stares out the window, tugging at the collar of his shirt, seemingly as lost in thought as I am. It surprised me when he told me to dress for dinner, surprised me even more when he slipped on a jacket and tie.

The driver pulls up outside Chateau La Roque and Dylan tells him not to get out. Instead, he opens the door at the curb and offers me his hand.

"Thank you."

"You look beautiful." Lacing our fingers together, he walks us into the trendy French restaurant. I'm shocked he picked such a public place for us to talk, knowing the topic we will be ultimately discussing.

"Mr. Ryder," a man with a thick French accent says. "Right this way."

After we're seated, the first ten minutes are filled with awkward small talk. It reminds me of a bad blind date.

"Dylan," I say at the same moment he says, "Lucky."

"You go first," he offers with an appeasing smile.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm not sure what happened along the way, but I'm sorry. You've never been anything but kind to me." I truly mean it. I hate myself for what I've done.

He takes my hand into his. "Me too. I'm sorry for a lot of things. First and foremost, for not giving you the attention you deserve. But that's going to change. This afternoon, the thought of losing you made me realize how stupid I've been-"

"You didn't-"

"Let me finish, I need to get this out. I waited too long already." He stands. And I must be the most clueless person on the planet...because I'm watching the entire thing unfold right before me, and yet I still don't see it coming.

He takes something from his pocket.

The next thing I know...he's bending down on one knee.

Oh my G.o.d. No. This cannot be happening.

I hear gasps around the crowded restaurant, and then his words through a fog. "Lucky." He clears his throat. "I've written hundreds of songs, yet I don't know the right words to tell you how much you mean to me. I was planning on doing this once we got down to LA, but today I realized I've already waited too long. I know you aren't ready for marriage and kids tomorrow, but I'm willing to wait. Until then, I want you to have my ring on your finger to remind you every day how much I love you."

I don't even notice tears are falling from my cheek until his thumb wipes them away. "Don't cry." He smiles at me, mistaking my angst for tears of joy. "I know what I want. Be my wife, Lucky. Not today or tomorrow. But promise me, someday?"

"Dylan." My wary voice cracks as I pull him up from his knee to stand. I can't do this to him publicly. Two minutes later, the entire restaurant is clapping and snapping pictures.

Chapter Thirty-Three.

Flynn

"Arghh," I groan. Cracking one eye open, I scan the room, grateful when I realize I'm at Becca's and not in an alley somewhere. How the h.e.l.l did I get here? I try to recall the last twelve hours: Nolan's apartment for a few beers, Molly's Irish Pub for a few more, then over to the Royal in Union Square when people started to recognize me. That's where things start to get fuzzy. I remember the long bar, a cute bartender named Alexa...and wall-to-wall TVs.

s.h.i.t. The TVs. There must have been forty of the d.a.m.n things. Every single one of them flashing the same news story. A picture of douchebag Dylan Ryder down on one knee, then of Lucky hugging him.

I moved to hard liquor after that. Tequila. Plenty of it, too.

It takes a few minutes before I piece together the bits and pieces that followed. Nolan. And the redhead. She had a deep voice. I vaguely remember teasing Nolan to check for an Adam's apple before taking her home with him. What came next?

The redhead's friend.

s.h.i.t.

Bella? Belinda? Beth? Something with a B. I think.

I remember the four of us stumbling out the door at closing time. What the h.e.l.l did we do after that? Betsy? Bianca? Bailee?

Dragging my a.s.s out of bed, I answer Mother Nature's call and splash some cold water on my face. My head feels like I ran into a Mack truck last night. It's a distinct possibility, for all I know. Headed back to my sister's guest room, I abruptly halt when I hear her voice.

Barbara? Brooke? Bridget?

Skittishly, I head to the kitchen in search of the women's voices.

"Good morning, sunshine." My sister arches a brow. "How you feeling?"

"Like I look."

The woman from the bar last night smiles like it's normal for her to be sitting at my sister's kitchen table.

"Hey," I tentatively offer.

"I'm glad you woke up, sleepyhead." She gets up from the table, pushes up on her toes and kisses me on the cheek. "I have to get to work, but I didn't want to leave without saying good-bye."

"Umm...I'll walk you out." In the hallway, I try to fill in some more blanks. "Where did we go after the Royal?"

"You don't remember?" She looks surprised. I must have faked sobriety pretty d.a.m.n good.

I shake my head.

"Some karaoke bar, across town."

s.h.i.t. "Lucky's?"

"Yeah. That was the name of it."

"I'm sorry." I drag my fingers through my hair. "I don't remember a thing after leaving the Royal."

She smiles. "You were pretty lit. But nothing much happened. Except you sang."

"I sang at Lucky's?"

She nods.

"Do you remember what I sang?"

A few things. "An old Tom Petty song, a Springsteen song and a Dave Matthews one I never heard of."

I don't have to ask the songs. "You Got Lucky," "My Lucky Day" and "So d.a.m.n Lucky."

"Did we...?" I motion between us.

"Nope. Not for my lack of trying either." Her cheeks pink up. "You weren't interested."

"I'm sorry...it's not you...I..."

She holds up a hand, motioning for me to stop. "It's okay. You told me all about her."

"I did?"

She nods.

"She's a lucky woman. You were a perfect gentleman, even in your state. I slept on your sister's couch because I was worried about you getting home, but then you didn't want me traveling by myself at night."

"Well, thank you."

She takes the phone I'm holding in my hand, punches a bunch of b.u.t.tons and offers it back to me with a sweet smile before turning to leave. "In case you ever want help getting over her."

Walking back into my sister's apartment, I look down at the name she's typed into contacts. "Zoe." I was close.

A long shower, even longer nap and a half gallon of water later, I feel halfway normal. Becca's getting dinner ready. "Sorry about bringing Zoe here last night." My sister's never laid down any house rules, I just don't want Laney to get the wrong impression.

"I'm pretty sure she brought you home, not the other way around."

"Yeah. Guess I got carried away with myself."

"I thought you were going to be gone a few weeks more."

I rub a hand over the three days of stubble on my chin. "So did I."

"I saw Lucky on the news last night. That have anything to do with it?" she asks cautiously.

"I did something I'm not proud of."

"You fell in love. I saw that when I was there."

"Yeah. That still doesn't make it right."

"Neither of you were married. Don't compare yourself to him. I know what you're doing."

"Thanks. But looks like that's about to change."

"I saw the picture in this morning's paper. I don't care what the news prints, that woman's as in love with you as you are with her. Did you speak to her yet?"

"Douchebag Dylan threatened to get her fired from her new job if I spoke to her."

"Douchebag Dylan? Is he related to Professor Douchebag?" Becca b.u.mps her shoulder into mine.

"They're like long-lost brothers."

"You need to talk to her. Something isn't right."

Chapter Thirty-Four.