Chapter 14

Axton

Hands shaking, blood rushing to the tips of my ears, and a red haze tinting my vision, I glare at Carson as I walk back to our table. He holds his hands up, keeping his mouth shut. I’m seething and he’s known me long enough to decipher that from a glance.

“I didn’t know she was going to be here,” he mutters, frantically looking around the bar as if planning his escape route.

Shrugging off some girl who’s touching me, I sit down beside him, grab the half empty bottle of whiskey from the low, circular table in front of me, and tip it to my lips. The fire blazing down my throat and racing its way into my gut is an unwelcome sensation. Usually, I revel in it, take comfort in the way alcohol dulls everything around me. However, knowing she’s been drinking tonight, imagining she cares enough that she’s acting differently than the girl I met on the side of the road, both turns me on and pisses me off at the same damn time.

“We posted online that we’d be here,” Carson says, breaking into my thoughts. “Maybe she’s here because she knew you would be.”

I shake my head, rejecting his assumption. “She didn’t.”

When she started singing, I thought the same, but by the look on her face when she got off stage, I knew she wasn’t performing for me. I was going to leave it alone, just hang out with my friends and drink away the urge to speak to her, but then the stage lights reflected off the tears on her cheeks, and it gutted me.

I had to go to her—had to let her know I didn’t really mean the awful things I said to her. I wanted to remind her it’s better for both of us that I keep my distance. Then I leaned in, smelled her skin, felt the heat of her body, and I was back to battling every impulse to drag her out of here and explain my fucked up reasoning. I fought the need to tell her I’d hurt her, but promise to make it worth it.

“Can I get you another beer?” I don’t register the woman’s hands on me until she tries to grip my soft cock through my jeans.

I’m either too drunk to pay attention, or women always touching me is such a big part of my normal, I don’t even notice it.

“Move,” I grunt, pushing her hand away.

“Sorry, baby.” She pouts like a petulant child, her hands clasped in her lap, but she doesn’t leave.

My teeth grind at the use of the pet name, which only irritates me further knowing now how Addi feels when I use them.

I’m being an asshole, but what kind of woman sticks around after being snapped at like that?

Addi wouldn’t.

She’d probably slap me in the face and chew me out. But, on the other hand, Addi wouldn’t climb all over me and grab my junk without an invitation. Hell, Addi wouldn’t grab my junk with an invitation.

“Looks like you could use another,” Carson says, handing me another shot as if he doesn’t see the bottle of whiskey in my other hand. I take it and slam it back. “You wanna get out of here?”

Shaking my head, I look over at the stage. I hadn’t had any intentions of climbing up there tonight—it’s not fair to everyone here drinking, having a good time, and getting on stage just for fun. But the pull to get my emotions off my chest through song is greater than it’s ever been.

I stand from my seat, knowing they won’t turn me away even though I haven’t scheduled a song. I’ve never needed a pager to get up there before, and tonight won’t be any different.

Losing my balance, I stumble forward, and Carson catches my arm, keeping my upright. “Probably not the best idea.”

I shake him off. “Just gonna sing a damn song.”

The guy manning the entrance to the stage smiles when he sees me walk up.

“Thank fuck, dude. We need someone to draw them back in. My ears are bleeding.”

Easing him out of the way, I scroll through his master list. I have no idea what song I want to sing, but I’ll know it when I see it.

“That one,” I tell him, hovering the mouse over the song.

“Feeling a little depressed tonight?” He chuckles, but it falls flat when he sees my face.

“Is it going to be a fucking problem?” I sneer, my forehead creasing in agitation.

He clears his throat, all traces of his previous smirk gone. “No.”

I’m just pissing them off left and right tonight. I stand, or more like lean, against the wall until the next two people are done singing. My body feels heavier, thicker, the weight of all my ambitions and goals smothering me more than they ever have before.

For the first time since I began this uphill battle, I don’t bother to smile at the crowd as I take the stage. I don’t woo them or try to draw them into me for motivation. I’m up here for me this time. For her. Not them.

“I love you, Axton,” some drunk girl screams out, and a few people chuckle at the outburst, but I just close my eyes, blocking out the noise. The intro tangles its way around me. When the first verse is over, I’m lost to it, a servant to the words, a victim to the emotion as the truth spills from my lips. Before tonight, “Better as a Memory” by Kenny Chesney was just a song, but when I climb off this stage, it’s a mantra I’m forced to live even though I no longer want to embody that man.

I’m an asshole for wanting her even though I know I’ll only hurt her. Before her, I never even considered the destruction I was leaving in my wake. The women I’ve spent time with over the last several years were out prowling for me, just like I was. They knew their miniscule chances of it turning into more than a couple hours of fun.

Adelaide Rose Hatfield.

Different.

I hunted her, repeatedly tracked her down. She was the first woman I’d ever put that kind of effort into, the only woman I felt was worth the chase. My bastard ways want me to continue the pursuit, tell me not to stop until I conquer her, until I prove pushing me away only fuels my fire, drives me to try harder.

The ache in my chest when I see her, the purity in her words, and the innocence in her eyes is what stops me. I don’t deserve what she has to give. I doubt there’s a man in this town who does.

The good parts of me—the man I want to be for her—know I have to keep my distance. That man wants to occupy her heart, her every waking thought, and the soft smile on her lips when she dreams about me.

It’s the compulsive side of me—the lustful appetite—I fight every time I see her, think of her, that will destroy her. That demon I fight regularly.

“I know I said it was a bad idea,” Carson begins as I walk up to the booth and swipe the bottle of whiskey from his hand, “but that was damned impressive. I’m beginning to wonder what you need me for.”

I don’t even have the energy to give him a hard time—and that speaks volumes.

He reaches out, trying to take the bottle from my hands before it’s empty, and I growl.

“I’d rather not have to take you to have your stomach pumped,” he mumbles as he sits back on the half-moon sofa.

“I know my limits,” I slur.

“False,” he counters. “If the girl is fucking with your head this much, you just need to fuck her out of your system.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “Not even a fucking option.”

“Well, there are half a dozen girls looking this way who are more than willing to make an attempt at getting her off your mind. I have no idea how this girl got you so tied up, but your ratings are through the roof. The emotions you’ve been putting into your covers are out of this world awesome. I’m an asshole for thinking you should start writing about it. You would probably write a chart topper with all this woe-is-me, depressed as fuck energy you have rolling off you.”

I don’t bother responding to him. He wouldn’t understand. Fuck if I even understand how this one chick has affected me as much as she has—especially after hanging out less than a handful of times. I feel like a psycho, obsessed and consumed. One kiss was all it took. One taste of her lips, and I was drunk on her—addicted.

“We need to get out of here,” I urge, not even bothering to sit back down.

He’s on his feet instantly, willing to end his night to give me what I need.

I don’t deserve him either.

“Alone?” I nod, and he doesn’t question me further.

The trek to the truck is slow and arduous. Carson practically drags me, the weight of the world so heavy on my shoulders, he struggles to handle it all.