We’d both dressed to the nines tonight—she wore a floor-length strapless emerald dress that matched her eyes, and I’d chosen an all-black suit, forgoing the tie and switching out the collared shirt for a black T-shirt so it didn’t look too overdone and formal. It also happened to match my mood.
Imogen took hold of my arm, and off we went, stopping every few feet to pose for the cameras, pretending to know what the hell we were doing. As one of the reporters approached, Imogen gave me a gentle squeeze of reassurance, but there were no tough, hard-hitting questions tonight. They wanted to know what to expect from the album, how I felt about joining the band, and who the “lovely lady on my arm” was. It didn’t escape me that once I introduced Imogen as my sister, the questions turned toward my personal life, if I was single, what my type was, and if I had a celebrity crush.
Yeah, I have a celebrity crush, all right, I thought, as another Mercedes stopped in front of the red carpet. When the door opened, I could see a dark head of hair, entirely too familiar, and the breath left my body.
Viper stepped out of the car, clearly not giving a fuck about the dress code, because he wore a pair of dark jeans and boots paired with a plain white tee and black leather jacket, and fuck, the memory of him paled to the real thing. It’d been days since I’d seen him—since I’d fucked him on the roof of my building—but it felt like years. God, seeing him in person now put me right back there, back to the way I’d sought to punish him the way he’d punished me. It’d clearly been a goodbye if ever there was one, which only became more apparent as the days passed and neither of us reached out to the other.
I hated it. I hated every second of hating him, because the truth was that I didn’t hate him at all. He’d been upfront from the get-go, and I was the one who’d turned it into more, and though that didn’t excuse his shitty behavior, the days apart had allowed me to see things a bit more clearly. So, no, it wasn’t anger I felt toward Viper. It was heartache over losing what I never really had in the first place.
As if he felt my gaze on him, Viper’s head turned in my direction, his eyes meeting mine, and my pulse sped up. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw the same longing in his expression that I felt, but he blinked and then it was gone.
Imogen tugged on my arm, her voice soft as she said, “Halo, we should probably go inside.”
After spilling my guts to my sister, she’d taken on the protective mama-bear role, even insisting on coming with me tonight so I wouldn’t have to face Viper alone. Thank God she’d seen through my protests that I was fine, because as I stood there with my legs feeling like they would go out any second, it helped to have her steady calm beside me.
When she tugged on me again, I tore my eyes away from Viper’s and gave her a tight smile.
“Ready?” I said, and when she nodded, I led us into the building without stopping to speak with anyone else, and as soon as we were through those doors, I let out the breath I’d apparently held the rest of the way down the red carpet.
“Halo? You okay?”
“Yeah.” My legs no longer wanted to collapse from underneath me, which was something, but I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to be in the same room with Viper tonight and not feel like someone was stabbing me in the chest. One day it would pass and then all would be fine, surely. We’d be simply band members and nothing more, but right now? I wished I were anywhere but here.
“Maybe we should get a drink before we head up there?” Imogen suggested, and when I nodded, she steered us toward the bar and ordered a couple of vodkas on the rocks. I sat with my back to the entrance and noticed she kept looking past me, keeping a check on who entered the building.
I finished my drink off in a couple of long swallows, ready for the alcohol to numb some of my anxiety, but when I went to stand, Imogen put her hand on my arm.
“Wait,” she said, her eyes focused over my shoulder, and she didn’t have to say more for me to know Viper had made his way inside. A minute later, she dropped her hand. “Okay. You’re good.”
“Thanks, Im.”
“Of course. Need another drink?” When I shook my head, she took a sip of hers. “PS, he looks like shit.”