She pulled her hand from his and leaned toward her bedside table. “Dammit.”
“What’s wrong?”
She picked up the phone and turned away from him. “Hello? Yeah . . . no, I’m just about to go to sleep . . . Did you have fun?”
Kaden’s teeth clenched when he heard the male voice on the other end.
“Um, right, sure, we can still do that. You can pick me up here. Can we figure out the rest in the morning? I’m really wiped out.”
Tessa exchanged her good-byes with Doug, which involved a “you, too” that meant that prick had said love you or miss you or some bullshit to her. All when he’d probably spent the night fooling around on her. Guy’s night out, his ass. He’d overheard enough of Doug’s and his friend’s locker room chats to know what happened on guy’s night.
When Tess hung up the phone and turned back to him, all the light had gone from her eyes. Fat, ugly guilt sat there instead. And the bitch of it was that he didn’t know what the guilt was over. He hoped it stemmed from what she was going to have to tell Doug when she broke it off with him. But Kaden had a feeling it was directed toward him. He could feel the hammer about to fall.
When she didn’t say anything, his hope plummeted further. “Are you going to t-tell him what happened? End things?”
She looked down at her hands, her shoulders slumped. “Kaden, I, I don’t know what to say. It’s just confusing and there’s so much . . . you know I can’t . . .”
Icy cold moved through him. “No, you’re wrong. It’s not confusing. It’s about as c-c-clear as it gets.”
She shook her head, a tear moving across her formerly flushed cheeks. “Maybe if things were different . . .”
Maybe if things were different, maybe if things were different . . . The thought circled his head like an ugly buzzard. Crazy ideas brewed. “You really mean that, Tess?”
She peeked up at him, blue eyes shiny with tears. “Yes.”
He gave a terse nod and stood. “I’m going to sleep on the couch downstairs so you won’t be alone. I’ll make sure and be out before Doug gets here to p-p-pick you up for whatever.”
She looked stricken. “Kaden—”
“Get some rest. And don’t make any plans for tomorrow night. We’re going to t-t-talk.”
And hopefully by tomorrow night, he could show her how things could be different.
When he told her good night, he didn’t stutter at all.
TWENTY-ONE
“But you can’t cancel,” Tessa said. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and tried to keep her voice from sounding as desperate as she felt. “Most of the people coming to the event signed up to see Third Sky perform.”
“Look, dollface, I hear ya and I’m sorry,” said Third Sky’s manager, not sounding very sorry at all. “But the guys landed a gig on Jimmy Kimmel that night. Can’t miss that opportunity. I’m sure you understand.”
No, she didn’t. A commitment was supposed to be a commitment. And Billy, her friend and Third Sky’s guitarist, had given her his word. But she’d forgotten to send the contract last week and now she didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. Verbal agreements meant nothing. Neither did integrity, apparently. “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind. Did Billy agree to this?”
“I’m sure Billy’s real sorry, but it’s a band decision. Hit us up next year and we’ll give you a discount off the booking fee.”
You’re all fucking heart. That’s what she wanted to say, but she managed a polite response and good-bye. When she set the phone in its cradle, she lowered her head to the desk and attempted to talk herself out of crying and/or throwing things.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
She took a deep breath and raised her head to find Kade standing in her doorway, wearing a three-piece suit and a sympathetic smile. Her shoulders sagged. “Have you looked outside lately? Is there a dark swirling cloud of doom hovering over the city? I’m waiting for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to trundle through at any moment.”
“That bad?” he asked, stepping inside.
Hello, failure, my old friend. God, she didn’t want to tell Kade this. “The band just cancelled.”
“They can’t. We have a contract.”
She glanced away. “I sent it late. It wasn’t