Broken Little Melodies(41)
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
I stumble away, seriously considering Reggie’s idea. Although I could never purposely use Belle after everything we went through, a small part of me knows his idea might be the only solution to end my stuttering. And maybe it’s time I give her the apology she deserves.
Nothing has ever been handed to me, nothing has ever come easy. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am today. I clawed my way through asshole critics and shitty managers to become a success. Broken Euphoria is the product of my relentless determination to make a career of the thing I love most in this world—making music. After the first two bands tanked, I burned through dozens of guitarists and drummers until I came across the perfect combination of talent and dedication.
My asshole of a father may have drug me through hell and back, doing everything in his power to separate me from the girl I loved, but I still managed to come out on top and make a name for myself.
So yeah, luck was never something I believed in until I find myself returning to the bar run by Reggie’s second cousin, having discovered the night of the party that Belle works there too, and hear the one voice I’d know anywhere.
My Belle.
The sound enchants me like a siren’s spell as I quietly make my way past the late afternoon crowd. I’m unable to fucking breathe when I find her on the small stage tucked away in the back, standing among a moderately talented drummer and guitarist. Beautiful lips pressed to the microphone, eyes closed, she croons to an empty dance floor as her slender hands accentuate the lyrics. My rock-hard dick strains inside my jeans with the sight of all her beautiful curves in tight leather pants, peaked nipples poking out against her cropped top. She’s even more remarkable than her seventeen-year-old version, when I already thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world.
The tempo of the song accelerates, and all at once she’s shrieking lyrics from her diaphragm like her life depends on it. She sings of heartache and broken promises in a voice that’s harsh, unapologetic. The raven-haired beauty standing in front of me carries herself in a way that would’ve made the once shy Isabelle I knew proud as fuck.
You-can-TAKE-my-heart-and-steal-my-fucking-soul
But you can’t. break. me.
You-can-fucking-end-my-world-and-leave-a-gaping-hole
But you can’t. end. me.
Wincing with the angry tone fueling the spiteful words, I look beyond her to watch the skinny kid expertly welding the sticks, and catch the band’s name on his drum kit. The Mad Haters. The name seems appropriately paired with the way Belle’s nostrils are flared and her icy stare burns a hole right through me. There isn’t a single glimpse of longing or regret to be seen in her expression.
Suddenly uncomfortable in my own skin, I cross my arms over my chest and shift my weight from one foot to the other as I attempt to clear the thick ball of fear forming in my throat. What the fuck was I thinking coming here? How can I possibly ask her for a favor? Even though she’s the one who left without any explanation, she still has every right to be angry after seeing me with Brooke.
As the melody winds down and her voice once again becomes soft, my eyes shift over to the tatt’d dude on guitar at her side. The way he watches her with total admiration has me grinding my teeth. Are they together? Bile fills my throat when I imagine him touching her, kissing her smooth skin. But wouldn’t it be okay, as long as she’s happy? Isn’t that what I want for her? A rush of rage fills my veins as I work out an answer. Hell no. I still think of her as mine. What I want is for her to be with me.
Before the song’s completely over, she’s stomping toward me, eyes hard as diamonds, mouth set in a tight line. I’ve never seen her so pissed. If my brain wasn’t connected to my dick, I’d split before she chews me a new one. But she’s so goddamned gorgeous and I’m too fucking turned on to move a muscle. I try swallowing several times before giving up. I’m a fly caught in a spider’s web, about to be devoured. Only instead of trying to break free, I welcome whatever pain her wrath delivers. I’ll welcome anything with open arms that will make me feel something real again. I’d even let her beat the shit out of me if it helped her move on.
“That was…” I start in a hoarse voice, but the rest of my thoughts disappear the second she’s close enough to touch. My cock’s ready to burst through my jeans when her taunting scent fills my lungs, even though I’m beginning to worry she’s literally prepared to throttle me.
She’s smaller than I remember—nearly half my width—but I suppose I’ve just gotten that much bigger since high school. Fucking hell. My arms burn with the need to cling to her body like when we were kids making love under the stars and I promised I’d love her forever.