Across the Miles (The Not So Bad Boys of Rock #1) (37 page)

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, showing the first sign of insecurity since entering the room. I didn’t want her to be insecure or submissive, in fact, I loved the confidence she usually exuded. But seeing her fidget like that, knowing she was nervous, gave me the hope, it told me that she still loved me.

“I’ve known since my last day in London.” She admitted, and I cursed loudly under my breath. “I wanted to tell you, truly I did. I’ve just been scared of losing you.”

“You wouldn’t lose me, Brooke,” I answered through gritted teeth.

“Then why won’t you let me touch you?” I looked into her eyes, watching as tears began to form. While my heart wanted me to go to her, and hold her tight against my chest, my brain told me it needed some time.

“Believe me, it’s killing me not to touch you, I ache for your touch every damn day. It hurts that you didn’t include me in a decision that affects both of our lives. Whether you want to admit it or not, Brooke, when you moved in with me I took that as a commitment. In fact,” I pulled out the ring, holding it out in front of me so that she could get a good look. “I was planning to propose to you tonight, in front of all our friends and family. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, beside me, not clear across the globe. I know you say it’s only for nine months, but that feels like forever to me. I’m sorry, but right now I’m not sure how to feel about all of this.” I placed the ring on the bedside table before walking out of the room. I didn’t stop until I made it past all of the
staring faces, and out the door, leaving a trail of skid marks behind me as I peeled out of the drive. Where I planned on going, I had no idea.

Brooke~

He never came home. Not that night, or the next. The only communication we shared had been in the form of a text, and aside from the words it contained, the statement it made came through loud and clear. I had hurt him. No matter how many times I apologized, or whatever I did to prove that I had been wrong, what I did had divided us. I could only pray that the crack could somehow be mended, over time.

I finished packing my bags. Three large suitcases now lay behind me on the bed, but I remained on the floor, my back pressed against the side of the bed, legs tucked beneath me. I hadn’t slept in two nights, afraid that I would miss him coming home or calling. He hadn’t done either one. If he had been with his family, or any of the guys, no one would tell me, but I guess that was to be expected, their loyalty was to him. I had caused this pain.

After he walked out, I couldn’t bring myself to face anyone. Jade had come looking for me, and after my brief synopsis of what had happened, she somehow managed to get everyone to go home. The guys had stopped in to say goodbye, as had Tracy and Thomas before they left. Natalie and Nikki remained behind to help Jade clean up, while I lay curled up on the bed, crying until I didn’t have anything left to give.

Natalie tried to comfort me, telling me that he just needed some time to think things over and clear his head. She promised me that if he stopped by she would somehow let me know that he was safe. No such message
ever came.

I opened my phone to re-read the last words he had sent, and once again, a lump formed in the back of my throat.

Sebastian: I can’t come home, not until you leave. Watching you pack again, seeing you walk out that door one more time, it’s just too much for me. I thought that once you moved in I would never have to say goodbye again. I know that I’m supposed to be the strong one here Brooke, but I’m not. I’m sorry, but when it comes to you, I am weak.

Brooke: But this isn’t a final goodbye. I’m coming back home. To our home. That is, if it will still be my home. We can visit one another when you’re in Europe. You can come stay with me when the tour is over. We can make this work. I love you Sebastian. I’ve loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you. I’m sorry that I caused you this pain. I’m so very sorry.

Sebastian: Love isn’t the issue, Brooke. I love you too. Maybe too much.

That was it. Nothing else had been said. I tried calling, but it always went to voicemail. I left so many messages that it finally told me that his mailbox was full. So now, I’m sitting here waiting for my ride to the airport. Sitting here in this massive house alone. I have no more tears, not now anyway, I have to be strong. Max was counting on me to do a good job, and I intended to not let him down, no matter how much I hurt. This was my dream, and I needed to see it through to completion.

The driver called, letting me know he was out front. I gathered my bags and made my way down the long hallway, down the stairs, turning left and dropping my bags as I entered the man cave. I ran my hand along the
back of the sofa where we had spent so many nights, shared so many intimate moments. Would we ever share that again? The ache I felt deep within my chest burned with an intensity the likes I had never experienced before. I slipped the ring off my finger, the one he had left behind, the one meant for me, and placed it on the table. I made my way back out, grabbing my bags, and heading out the door, locking up as I left. Natalie had taken Gibson when she left two nights ago; after I told her that I couldn’t bear to look at him as long as Sebastian wasn’t there.

As we pulled away, I turned around, watching as the house grew smaller in the distance.

“Goodbye,” I whispered, suddenly realizing that the dream that I had spent so much time striving for had somehow turned into a nightmare, and I wished like hell that someone would wake me up.

EPILOGUE

Three Months Later

Sebastian~

Everything inside screamed at me, begging me to wake up from the nightmare I had fallen so unexpectedly into. I slowly sat up in bed, taking a moment for my eyes to sweep across the surrounding room, another room that wasn’t my own. My legs moved slowly toward the edge of the bed, sore from overdoing it yesterday, pushing myself too hard again. It’s been that way since she left me, or I left her, I can’t remember anymore. I look around the room for my clothes; even the thought of dressing seems like too much. I pick up my phone, swiping across it to unlock it, and open up my photos, all too aware that it will only cause me further pain, but still unable to stop myself. This was how I started every morning. Every morning since the night I walked out of our house three months ago, right after I found out that she had lied to me, after I told her that I had wanted to marry her. Some
days it seemed like only yesterday, other days it felt like a lifetime. I scrolled through the photos in the album labeled
Honey
, and found the one I had been looking for, the one that called to me, beckoning me to her, the one that had been so ingrained in my memory that I didn’t even need to see it physically, but still I looked at it. Stared at it. Touched it. Absorbed it. Loved it.

It was a photo of us, taken on our last night together on the beach, back when she first visited. She was on my back, and we were laughing, her chin tucked closely into my neck, love in her eyes. She was beautiful. We were in love then and didn’t even fully realize how to pursue a long distance relationship, or if it would even work, but we had somehow made it happen. The ache in my chest returned, I ground the heel of my hand deep against it, trying like hell to rub it away, but it was no use. It wasn’t the kind of pain that could be physically touched or wiped away. This pain stemmed from a loss that had cut so deep I wasn’t even sure it could be removed, or if I even wanted it gone. This pain may have hurt, but it was the only physical reminder I had of her, the only tangible thing I had left to prove that our love had even existed.

After telling her that I needed some time, we kept in touch, sometimes talking or just texting. I knew that continuing to communicate only prolonged the heartache, but I was convinced that she would change her mind, that somehow she would see that time apart only proved we belonged together, and that she would come home. The longer she stayed away seemed to only make her despise me more for asking her to choose. She may have kept something from me, but I deserted her. She had told me last month that she needed to move on, that the pain was too much to endure. So I let her go, or at least that’s what I told her, but that’s not what happened. I never moved
on. I still loved her, possibly even more now that I knew she didn’t want me, which is why I kept up this painful ritual. I was afraid that if I stopped I would forget her, a thought that haunted me daily. My heart ached with a deep and unyielding need to see her, to touch her, to kiss her. I went to bed each night wondering if she thought about me the way I did her. Did she wonder what I was doing? Did she even care anymore? Did she know that every day I spent without her was killing me inside, destroying the man that she had once claimed to love?

From the moment I met her I had been drawn to her, like a powerful magnet, unable to pull away, not that I wanted to. She consumed me. My thoughts. My dreams. My hopes. My music. My entire world belonged to her. And without her next to me, it felt pointless to keep going. I threw my phone, letting it hit the wall and leaving a dent before it fell to the floor. My gaze shifted over to the table in the corner of the room, more specifically, to the bottle that sat in the middle of it, unopened and beckoning me over. An empty glass sat beside it, waiting. I had placed them both there last night, intending to give myself over to the emptiness. Without Brooke, I had nothing left to live for.

I cracked open the bottle, the smell permeated my nostrils immediately, reminding me how long it had been since my last drink. I poured off a shot and held it out in front of me, swirling it around and watching as the light reflected off the amber liquid within the heavy tumbler. I held the glass to my lips, staring into the bottom for a few moments, trying to remember the taste of its contents and the burn that followed. I closed my eyes, prepared myself to throw back my head, and saw her face, saw the way her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled, saw the way the color flushed her cheeks when she got embarrassed,
saw the way her lips parted right before she kissed me. I squeezed them tighter, trying to shut out the happiest memories of my life before I gave in and made it disappear, if only for tonight. If I couldn’t have her in my life, then I didn’t want to keep living.

RING! RING! RING! The sound of the phone startled me, causing me to drop the glass, contents gushed out over the table before me. I ignored it, not ready to allow anyone else into my world of misery. For a moment it stops, silence returns to the space around me, and I’m faced with a decision. Do I pour another glass? Just then, the phone rings again, and I slowly rise out of the chair and make my way over to where it lies on the floor. I pick it up and turn it over, half expecting it to be Travis or Dek reminding me of our rehearsal time, but it’s neither of them. In fact, it’s the last person I would have expected, but the only one I want to talk to right now. The only voice I ever long to hear. I swipe a finger across the screen and hold the phone to my ear, unaware that I have stopped breathing.

“Sebastian…”

TO BE CONTINUED…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rhonda James has dreamed of this moment for more than thirty years. She wrote her first novella at the age of fifteen, never publishing it, instead setting it aside for safe keeping. She has written two novels since that haven’t been submitted for publishing. Across the Miles was the first work that she felt compelled to share with the rest of the book loving world. While her first two novels were adult romance, this is her first attempt at reaching out to the New Adult genre.

She lives in Dexter, Michigan, with Dan, her husband of twenty-two years, and her two adult children, Taylor and David. They share their home with dog, Baily, two cats named Molly and Walter, a rabbit named Charlie, a crested gecko named Izzy, and a yard full of chickens.

When she’s not writing or reading, you will find her in the kitchen, where she loves to prepare homemade soups, marinara sauce, and meatballs, just to name a few. Her love of bacon is unnatural, and her obsession with technology borders on the insane. She is a natural-born hugger, and if you meet her you will most likely be the latest recipient of a bone crushing hug (don’t worry, no bones are actually crushed during this process).