I pounded another shot of tequila, then raised my empty glass to get the server’s attention.

“Thanks,” I said, waving off the lime when she rushed over. “You can leave the bottle.”

As soon as she left, Sean reached over and covered my glass with his palm. “Are you trying to piss Tori off the first night?”

Shoving his hand away, I poured my shot. “One—show’s over. I’m off the clock. Two—Tori’s not my keeper. And three—do you see her anywhere around?”

I motioned around the room without taking my eyes off Sean.

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the fucking point. If the girl wants me to follow her rules, then she should be here to enforce them.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I’m confused. Do you want Tori here?” Rather than answer his question, I tipped back my glass, glaring at him over the rim. He smiled smugly. “I know that look. You do want her here.”

“Don’t be stupid. If I wanted her here, I wouldn’t have set up a date with …” Sitting up straighter, I glanced around for the cute little brunette I’d left by the bar. When I didn’t spot her right away, I pushed out of my chair to scan the crowd.

Sean snickered into his next sip of beer. “If you’re looking for that chick you serenaded, she took off with Justin twenty minutes ago.”

The fuck? I left the girl at the bar for a few minutes and Justin swooped in? My gaze darted to the table where the guys from Drafthouse were sitting, minus their guitarist.

Sean’s smile withered, and he jumped to his feet, grabbing my arm when I took a step in their direction. “Dude, what are you doing?”

Prying off his hand, I growled, “That girl was here for me. And Dylan can’t have her.”

Sean looked as surprised as I did at the name that popped out of my mouth. “Don’t you mean Justin?”

When I tried to push out a response, all I could picture was Dylan’s arm wrapped around Tori’s shoulder.

“You’re either drunker than you look or something’s going on with you,” he grumbled, nudging me toward the door. “Either way, you need to get back to the hotel and sleep it off.”

With traffic, it took two hours to travel the thirty or so miles from the venue to the hotel. Long enough for my buzz to wear off. But not the headache that followed. Fucking tequila.

I stepped off the elevator with Sean on my heels.

“You gonna tuck me in?” I asked, giving him the side-eye.

The question was rhetorical, since I knew damn well what he was doing. There were at least five “after” after-parties taking place on our floor. Not to mention the high-stakes poker game the roadies always threw together.

“Just making sure you don’t take any detours,” he said, confirming my suspicions.

I was too fucking tired to argue. That is, until I turned the corner and spotted the security guard propping up the wall in front of my door. Red painted my vision, and for the second time tonight, Sean grabbed my arm.

“Be cool.”

But I wasn’t cool. With any of this. Posting a rent-a-cop outside my door was never part of the agreement.

Yanking free of Sean’s hold, I spun around, shoving him back into the hall. “Did you know about this? Is that why you brought me back here?”

When he used all his strength to push me away, I knew he was as surprised as I was. “Fuck no. How could you even think that?” Without waiting for me to answer, he sighed. “Look, dude, this is messed up. You can stay with Anna and me tonight. We’ve got a two-room suite.”

My pride had taken enough of a pounding for one night, so I shook my head. “Nah. I’ll take care of it. Go get some sleep.” Sean moved in front of me, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to clobber the guy for doing his job. But I might lay you flat if you don’t get out of the way.”

Undeterred by my threat, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me your word.”

After twenty years of friendship, Sean knew what he was asking. I didn’t make promises—or give my word. Not lightly, anyway.

Reserve the right to change your mind, boy. That’s power right there. What you did? You just look weak.

That’s what my old man had told me the night I swore I’d never return to his shitty trailer. Even though he was flat on his back at the time, bleeding on the gravel, he still managed to make me feel like I’d lost.

Banishing Jake from my thoughts, I sighed. “Fine. I give you my word. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

After we bumped fists, I turned and strolled toward my room.

Rent-a-cop pushed off the wall as I approached. “Are you Cage?”

“Who else?” He was on me a second later, so close I detected a hint of cigarette smoke on his clothes. I held up my key. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to go to bed.” He watched with narrowed eyes as I slid the plastic card into the slot. Once I got the door open, I shot him a smile. “If one of the girls from the party down the hall comes calling, make sure you let her in.”

I was only half kidding, but the guy obviously had no sense of humor. Reclaiming his spot against the wall, he continued to glare at me until the door slid shut.

Shaking my head, I flipped the lock and then headed for the bathroom to shower so I could put this day behind me.

Soft music floated to my ears as I passed the door separating Tori’s suite from mine. The voice was spot on, but the accompanying guitar was a little choppy. Curious, I peeked inside. The TV was on with no sound, casting the room in a blue haze. And on the floor, with my Martin wedged under her arm, sat Tori, her fingers fumbling over the frets.

An irritated sigh parted her lips when she tripped over an intricate chord change.

“You might want to try something simpler,” I said. “That’s pretty intense.”

Sucking in a startled breath, she scrambled to her feet. “Shit …I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it without asking. I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

Swallowing hard as I closed the distance between us, she held out the guitar.

I dropped onto my ass on the carpet. “Where else would I be?”

She sank to her knees, still clutching the guitar. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you.”

“You already said that.” I tipped my chin to the Martin. “What’s that you were playing.”

I knew every Damaged song by heart. And even the stuff she’d done with the Austin Dolls. Whatever she was playing, I’d never heard it before.

Color flooded her cheeks. “Oh … It was nothing.”

“Sounded like something to me. Is it new?”

“Not really. I found some sheet music at home in Rhenn’s …” Pain flashed in her eyes, and just as quickly it was gone. “In my studio. I jotted down the notes, but I don’t remember the chords or the key.”

“If you sing it, I can probably figure it out.”

Her brows scrunched. “How’s that?”

I took the guitar from her hands. “I don’t read music. But I can figure just about anything out.” Setting the Martin on my knee, my thumb slotted the groove on the back of the neck, and I began to strum the opening riff for “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” the old Guns N’ Roses standard. “It took weeks to get this one down.”

Her eyes lit up as she watched my fingers fly over the frets. I stopped short of singing the opening stanza, and held out the guitar. She took it, confused. “Why did you stop?”

Don’t.

But it was too late. The words were there, on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn’t help myself. “I figured if you wanted to hear me sing, you would’ve stuck around for my performance.”

There was no way to mask the bitterness in my tone. And if I were honest, I didn’t want to. I braced myself for her snappy comeback, but there was only a smile.

“I was there.” Shifting her focus to the frets, she ran through some chords without strumming. “I didn’t stay because …” She peered over at me, raven hair curtaining her face. “That was a really decent thing you did for me yesterday. So I thought the best way to repay you was to leave you alone. As much as I can, I mean.”

“What about the guy in the hallway. Is he going to leave me alone too?”

She wrinkled her nose at the door. “Taryn hired him.”

Then she went back to her chords like that explained everything.

“I’m not down for that, princess. You never said anything about hiring a rent-a-cop to stand guard.”

Her head snapped up, and she blinked at me. “He’s not here for you. He’s here for me. Taryn’s a little freaky about my safety, so she always hires a bodyguard.” The light seeped from her eyes. “I still get threats every now and then.”

Threats?

A million questions flooded in, but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to push out the words. Or enough room in my chest to contain my pounding heart.

After setting the guitar aside, Tori traced the smooth lines of the body with her index finger. And she looked so small. Not frail. Just delicate.

When she caught me staring, she tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. But there wasn’t enough fabric to cover the rough patch of skin peeking from the bottom of her tiny sleep shorts.

“I need to stretch,” she announced, her tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t yesterday. And after that car ride, I really should have.”

I rose to my feet and then took her hand, helping her up. “Are you saying my car is uncomfortable?” My fingers inched toward her wrist. “’Cause those are fightin’ words.”

“No. I just have a lot of … um …” She pressed her lips together and looked down. “I can’t sit in one place too long. It’s uncomfortable.”

Had she been in pain?

I swept my thumb over her wrist, felt her strong and steady pulse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sliding her hand free, she lifted a shoulder. “You already witnessed the epic breakdown. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle a day trip. I’m not, you know, damaged.” She brushed her fingertips over the faded Damaged logo on my T-shirt, and I felt it everywhere. “Or maybe I am. But it’s nothing I can’t fix.”

Brutal honesty colored her tone, and without thinking, I tucked a fallen lock behind her ear.

“Can I help?”

The question had no target. And no limit. Just an open ended, utterly inappropriate invitation. I expected her to laugh. Because it sounded ridiculous. But her eyes shone with nothing but curiosity.

“How?”

I shrugged. “We can start with the stretches. Don’t you need a partner for that?”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating. And then nodded, but it was more to herself than me. “Okay. Let me get my mat and a pillow.”

I peeked at Logan through a crack in the bedroom door. What was I thinking, agreeing to let him help me stretch? I wasn’t exactly nimble. Shit. He was taking off his boots. He really wanted to do this.

When he turned my way, I jumped back, wincing when pain shot through my hip.

“You all right?”

Hearing his footfalls, soft against the plush carpet, I limped over to the nightstand to grab a band for my hair.

“Fine,” I called, hoping that would be enough to get him to reverse his course.

It wasn’t.

“You want to just do it in here?” he asked, and my attention shifted to the bed for a good twenty seconds. Long enough that he nudged the door open. He didn’t come in though, just leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “I don’t bite. And I won’t try anything.”

My face went up in flames I could feel to the tips of my ears. “I know that.”

I wasn’t Logan’s type. He preferred them brainless. Or maybe just … free-spirited? Like Paige. I smiled at that, because she would’ve been right up Logan’s alley. Paige was all about the love, as long as it didn’t include any strings.

He took my smile as an invitation and stepped inside. “What are you grinning at?”

I went to work arranging my hair in a top knot. “Paige.” His brow twisted, and I cringed. Not everyone was comfortable talking about the dead. When would I learn that?

“What about her?”

His gaze dropped to my legs, and I jerked the hem of my T-shirt down. But there wasn’t enough of it to cover the scar on my thigh. “Um … you would’ve been her type, that’s all.”

Easing onto the bench at the foot of the bed, he crossed his legs at the ankles, holding me effortlessly with pale blue eyes. “And what’s your type?”

My breath caught in my throat. Rhenn was my type. Since the day I’d met him, there was no other type. Except, now when I saw rich brown hair and eyes the color of the finest chocolate, the combination gutted me.

He cocked his head to the side, concern furrowing his brow. “Is that too personal?”

It was a struggle, but I forced my lips to bend. “No,” I lied. “I just … I don’t have a type. Anymore.”

Logan nodded, though his eyes weren’t in agreement. After a beat of awkward silence, I stopped stalling and tossed a pillow onto the floor next to the rolled up mat.

“You don’t have to help me with this,” I said, and then as gracefully as possible, I sank to my knees. “I’m used to doing it by myself.”

One effortless move, and Logan was on the floor next to me. “No need to go solo when I’m around, princess.” He stared at me for a long moment, his lips flatlining. “It was a joke. You don’t have to do that thing with your nose.”

“What thing?”

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he went about unfurling the mat. “You look like you smelled garbage.” Sinking back on his haunches, he gave me a tight-lipped smile. “You ready?”

Still reeling from his comment, I crawled over.

Once I was flat on my back, Logan slid his hand to my calf. “What are we doing?”

His tone no longer held a playful quality, and even though I couldn’t see him, I heard the seriousness in his voice.

Resisting the urge to call the whole thing off, I willed my muscles to relax. “So, first take my right leg.” His hand moved north to my thigh, and I froze. “No … uh … my ankle. Put it on your shoulder. And then …” Before I’d even finished with the instructions, my leg was elevated, and my foot rested an inch from his ear. He tipped forward slightly, and I felt the first tug at the back of my leg. Panicked, my fingers dug into the carpet. “Easy.”

It came out in a strangled gasp.

Curving his hand around my calf, Logan inched forward at a snail’s pace. “Don’t worry. I’ll go slow.” A few seconds later, and he was above me, tranquil blue eyes roaming over my face. “Is this too much?”

When I shook my head, he bent my knee, his palm sliding over the top of my thigh as he pushed forward.

“Hold it there for a second,” I said, breathing through the pain as I willed my hamstrings to give. Please give. Something about the heat from Logan’s body made it more bearable.

As if he knew exactly what to do next, his hand moved to the inside of my thigh and he exerted a tiny bit of pressure.

“It wasn’t the joke,” I blurted through a labored breath. “Before, when I made the face? It wasn’t the joke.”

Slowly, he lowered my leg, releasing his hold when my foot touched the carpet. My lids fluttered closed in relief, only to fly open a second later when his hands came to rest on either side of my shoulders. Even though our bodies weren’t touching, he had me trapped, one knee slotted between my legs, and those eyes boring into mine.

“What was it then?”

“It was the name.”

He smiled, almost wickedly. “You don’t like princess?”

“I don’t like Belle.” The truth slipped over my tongue, surprising us both. “I know it’s not the same. It’s just … I don’t know. I’m a little too old to be any kind of Disney character, don’t you think?”

His gaze dipped to my mouth, then lower to the column of my throat before making the slow trek back to my face. “I don’t know. You look like a princess to me.”

Before I could reply, he rose to his knees. Panic seized me when his hand coiled around my left ankle.

“Wait,” I croaked, struggling to my elbows.

“What is it? What did I do?”

My injuries were the worst kept secret on the planet. But since I never spoke about them publicly, it was mostly just speculation. Only a select few people knew the truth.

Was I really about to let Logan into the club?

Resting my heel on his thigh, he waited. One beat. Two. Five.

I licked my lips. “I don’t have good range of motion in this leg. My hip … the joint was replaced. I have pins holding it in place. My pelvis was shattered, and the femur was broken as well.”

I don’t know what I was expecting. Shock. Pity. Revulsion. But Logan simply held my gaze, his palm gliding back and forth over the top of my foot.

“Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Swallowing any lingering embarrassment, I lowered myself back onto the mat. “Same. Just, you know … less. A lot less.”

Clenching my jaw tight when he lifted my leg, I traveled to another place in my head as he went through each maneuver. When sweat soaked through my T-shirt, and I couldn’t take a breath without wincing, I knew I’d had enough.

“No more,” I managed.

Once both legs were flat on the ground, I melted into the mat, my lids fluttering closed in sweet relief. As the searing pain receded, the tension in my hamstrings and quads faded too.

“Thank you,” I whispered hoarsely. To Logan, or the universe, I wasn’t sure.

I nearly groaned when he began to knead the muscles in my calves.

“Does that feel good?”

So good. Since I was a pile of goo, I couldn’t find the words, so I hummed my approval. His hands traveled north, long fingers digging into the tiny knots. I sucked in a breath when he grazed the skin graft on my upper thigh.

“What?” He froze, alarm etching his tone. “Did I hurt you?”

It was the absence of pain or any sensation that startled me. Meeting his gaze, I forced a smile. “No. It’s …” Dead, was the accurate term. “There’s no feeling there. I had a skin graft.”

Or five.

Expecting Logan to sneak a peek, I stayed perfectly still and prepared myself, but his eyes never left my face.

“I guess we’re done with that, then,” he finally said, leaving sparks in his wake when he pulled his hands away. “What’s next?”

With more agility than I thought possible, I hauled myself to sitting. “Nothing. Thanks. I’m good.”

Smiling, he jumped to his feet and then offered his hand. When he pulled me up, I rocked on wobbly legs, and his palms molded to my hips to steady me. Warmth spread to my limbs, and with nowhere to go, the heat settled in my belly. It was an odd feeling. Light, and heavy, and foreign. But good.

After a long moment, his arms dropped to his sides. “You should get some sleep. We’re headed out early tomorrow.”

I didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Not the bus ride or the next venue. Or even what I was having for breakfast.

Following him into the living room, I rubbed my arms to ward off the sudden chill when the air-conditioning met my damp skin. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He didn’t look at me, just grabbed his boots and strode to his room, leaving the door wide open. I thought about closing it, but instead, I wandered over to the small dining room table by the window.

Picking up the plate of half eaten pasta I had left over from dinner, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned and found Logan standing behind me.

“Jesus … you scared—”

“I’m not taking the bus to St. Louis. I’m driving.”

Sinking onto the brocade covered chair, I gaped at him. “What?”

“You should come with me.” The invitation flew out in a rush. Hasty. Almost like he didn’t mean to offer it. Grabbing his guitar, he headed for the door. “I’m outta here at seven on the dot. Be ready if you want a ride, princess.”