Aimee and the Heartthrob (20 page)

“She won’t be here. She’ll be gone.”

Miles froze and turned to Nick. “What do you mean? She’s here through next week.”

“No. She’s leaving tomorrow. Our aunt is picking her up and she’s staying in Dallas when the tour pulls out. It’s already planned with my parents.”

Pain ripped through his chest with each heartbeat. Unless he let the entire band down, he couldn’t take off to find her right now. He was stuck. And tomorrow was jam-packed with events, starting with a radio appearance at six a.m. By the time he had two seconds, she’d already be gone. And he’d be gone.

“Help me find her,” he said to Nick. “Is she in the bus? At the hotel?”

Nick stepped back. “No idea, and I’m staying the eff out of it. This is on you, bro.”

“You won’t even help me talk to her?”

Nick stared at him for a second, then blew out a breath. “I guess if your poetic voicemail doesn’t work, I can tell her to call you.”

Miles exhaled, feeling the tiniest bit of relief. “That’s all I ask.”

He thought about her all through the concert, sneaking peeks at the wings, but she was never there. The songs that reminded him of her—and singing them to a room full of screaming strangers instead of her—hurt worse than a kick in the balls. He thought of her during his guitar solo, and how he’d messed up at
Unplugged
and blamed it on being up all night. And then he’d winked at her, and she’d blushed, and he’d known right then that he was in love.

Whatever spare brain cells he had left, he used to focus on not botching up onstage. No reason to piss off the band even more. It might take a very long time to mend those fences; he’d done major damage.

Right before the finale, Miles spotted Nick backstage. He peered at his friend hopefully, but all Nick did was shake his head. Aimee wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t call back. Just when Miles thought he’d already hit his rock bottom of crap, he sunk another fifty feet.

Like at the end of every show, five soaking wet guys ran offstage, through the halls, and out to their waiting bus. Before he’d even changed clothes, Miles grabbed his phone and clicked on her number. It didn’t ring but went straight to voicemail—which probably meant it was turned off.

He left another craptasticly awkward message, asking if she’d please meet him when he got back to the hotel. After he hung up, he realized it was after midnight and his message sounded like the booty call of a seasoned player. Crap, he hated himself.

He sent her a text, asking to please call. If she didn’t reply by morning, he’d call again, he’d text again. He’d tweet her, he’d stalk her Tumblr and Instagram until she gave in and talked to him.

“Sorry about Aimee.”

Miles looked up from his seat to see Trevin. “You heard?”

“Pretty sure everyone on that side of the stadium heard. You and Nick were loud.” He sat beside him. “So, she’s leaving the tour early?”

“Tomorrow.” He looked at the time on his cell. “Today, I guess.”

“And she won’t talk to you?”

“I left loads of messages, but…” He raked his hands through his damp hair, remembering Aimee doing the same thing that night they were trapped in his bunk. His heart split apart.

“There’s so much I need to tell her, but tomorrow is the worst day in the history of crap days. We’re running from appearance to appearance right until the pre-show acoustic set. If she won’t return my calls, how am I supposed to talk to her?” He rubbed his chin and laughed under his breath. “Unless I do it
during
the show.” His dry, tired eyes went wide and he sat up straight. The plan was already forming in his mind, and it was epic. “Of course.”

“Miles,” Trevin said. “I see that look in your eyes. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

Miles felt himself smiling for the first time in days. “I can’t pull this off alone,” he said. “I have to make sure she’s there, but
I
can’t do it, she can’t know what’s happening or she won’t show up.”

“Dude, slow down.” Trevin stood over him. “You’re on incredibly thin ice right now. LJ’s been on the phone with the suits in Florida. They think you’re strung out. Don’t give him an excuse to cut you from S2J. He’ll do it. From day one, he said our group was fluid.”

“You think I care?” Miles said. “Some things are more important.”

“Aimee’s that important?”

Miles nodded. She was the
most
important.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Trevin said. “I’m not putting my ass on the line for you. Not for this.”

Miles exhaled, defeated. He was screwed again. Without
someone
willing to help, he’d be back at square one, lower than rock bottom with no way out.

“I’ll do it.”

Hearing the voice from behind him, Miles turned around to see Ryder.

Chapter Nineteen

Aimee tucked the last book into her backpack and dropped it next to her zipped-up suitcase. She’d meant to bring only ebooks along with her, but she’d had to pack so fast back at home that she hadn’t had time. Well, she’d have plenty of time now. She was supposed to meet Aunt Mary in the hotel lobby in a few hours.

She was still stiff from sleeping on Nick’s shoulder all night. Before conking out, it was probably the most awkward conversation they’d ever had when Nick told her he knew about Miles. Aimee didn’t want to talk about it, and Nick had said
he
didn’t want to talk about it either, but that he’d promised Miles he’d ask Aimee to call him. Instead, she’d shut off her phone. Talking to Miles wouldn’t help. She was still too hurt.

Besides Nick and Marsha, no one knew Aimee wasn’t continuing on tour after tonight. She didn’t want to make a big scene, and Miles definitely wouldn’t appreciate a scene. Hadn’t he said he was over the drama? But why did she care what he thought?

Because she cared about him. Despite the Miles-sized hole in her heart, she still cared. Maybe if she didn’t care so much, leaving would be easy. She could walk away and be done with it.

But her heart was so stupid, and it was her own fault he’d gotten in. She’d built that brick wall around her heart and made sure it was tall and strong before she’d stepped foot on the first tour bus.

Little by little, brick by brick, Miles had snuck his way in, until there was no foundation left. Just him. Just her. Together in his bunk. He’d made her feel things she didn’t know were possible. And then he’d taken it away.

Maybe she’d call Aunt Mary and see if she could pick her up sooner, or maybe she could just leave on her own now and take a cab to Mary’s place. Aimee didn’t think she could make it another three hours. Which reminded her that her phone was still off. She pulled it out of her backpack and watched as the face lit up with missed calls and messages and texts.

All from Miles.

Sinking down onto the bed, she played the first voicemail. She could barely understand it, his voice was so frantic. He’d wanted her to call last night. It must’ve been before the concert. The next voicemail began to play. Another request to call, though he sounded calmer. Just hearing his voice made her stupid heart speed up. This time, he also said he knew the truth, and he was sorry.

She knew his voice, and she knew he meant it. But after all they’d been through, it was going to take more than a few messages. Plus, he still wouldn’t be coming home in September. Even if she did forgive him now, after being hurt in the past, could she find a way to deal with that?

His texts all said the same thing: he really needed to talk to her. He was sorry. Please don’t leave. Oh, so
Miles
knew she was leaving the tour. Nick must’ve told him. Well, fab. Everyone’s problems were solved now.

If she had to keep staring at these four hotel walls, she’d go crazy. Aimee knew S2J’s schedule today; there’d be zero chance of running into Miles if she stayed away from Cowboys Stadium. Easy peasy. It was probably safe to venture out now, so she lugged her suitcase and backpack downstairs, ready to move on for good.

The second she got into the crowded lobby, she spotted a woman dressed in all black, wearing a chauffeur’s hat, holding a big sign with Aimee’s full name on it, like a limousine driver waiting at an airport.

Aimee walked over to her. At closer inspection, she was much younger, only a few years older than Aimee. Her outfit wasn’t like a normal chauffeur uniform, but like a
stripper
chauffeur costume. The shirt was lower-than-low-cut and the ends were tied in a knot, showing skin from the bottom of her push-up bra to the top of her black micro-mini skirt. Fishnet stockings under what could only be called stripper boots.

“Um, hi,” Aimee said. “Are you waiting for me?”

The girl lowered the sign. “You Aimee Bingham?”

“Yeah.” She gripped her backpack.

“That didn’t take long,” she said around the wad of gum in her mouth. “Grab your stuff and follow me.”

Huh. Weren’t chauffeurs supposed to carry your bags? It wasn’t a limo waiting at the curb, but a shiny Cadillac, which made Aimee instantly think of Miles behind the wheel of that little red Corvette. Stupid tears stung her eyes.

The windows were tinted black and the trunk was popped, so Aimee hefted her suitcase in and shut it closed.

“In back,” the stripper-chauffeur said, leaning one elbow on the roof of the car.

Aimee didn’t bother asking questions, but opened the door and slid onto the backseat, making a mental note to tell Aunt Mary that the driving service she hired might’ve been interesting, but probably not completely legit. Aimee’s back hit the seat when the car screeched away from the curb.

It wasn’t until she was fastening her seat belt that she noticed another person in the front seat. A guy in a leather jacket with dirty blond hair down to his shoulders. Well, if the driver was a stripper, why couldn’t the copilot be a Hell’s Angel? Though if she didn’t know any better, she’d say the guy looked exactly like…

“Ryder?”

The guy didn’t turn around but leaned over to the driver. “Nice work, babe,” he said, then they kissed, and he adjusted her driver’s cap.

“Anything for you when you
blow
into town,” the girl said, kissing him back…with her tongue. A lot of tongue. Gag.

“Um, please don’t do that while you’re driving. I’d like to live to see my seventeenth birthday.”

The driver looked back at her. “Sixteen.” She glanced at Ryder. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“That’s one word for it,” Ryder replied.

“I’m Candy Cane,” the driver said, her false-eyelashed eyes glancing at Aimee in the rearview mirror.

“Hi,” Aimee said, beyond confused. “Ryder, why are you here and where is she taking me?”

“No questions,” the back of his head answered.

“But my aunt is supposed to pick me up.”

“She’s been detained.”

“Oh.” Aimee blinked. “So, she got you—Ryder Brooks—to swing by the hotel and pick me up instead? In what universe does that make sense?”

“She’s chatty,” Candy said.

Ryder groaned an exhale. “Tell me about it.”

“Seriously, you better pull over and let me out. This is kidnapping.”

“Wanna call a cop?” Ryder said, finally turning around. Though he was broody and mean, Aimee couldn’t deny how good looking he was—in a broody, mean way. But she was obviously done with falling for musicians. Totally, totally done.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be doing an interview right now?” Aimee asked the back of his head.

“I skipped out.”

“Your pre-show set’s in twenty minutes.”

“We’ll make it.”

Coldness hit Aimee’s spine at what his words implied. “Wait. You’re taking me to the stadium?” The silence that followed was answer enough. “No, I won’t go.” She punched the back of his seat. “Turn around or stop or…just—no.”

“You’re not gonna wanna miss this,” Ryder said.

“I’m calling my brother.” Aimee pulled out her cell. “Right now.”

“Shit, I forgot.” Ryder turned all the way around and unfolded a piece of paper. “Nick says hi,” he read, “and says not to freak out, also says you’re right about…” He stopped to roll his eyes. “You’re right about Carlisle and…and I don’t know, he says
go for it
”—his fingers made air quotes—“or some shit. And that’s the last I’ll say.” He wadded up the paper and turned around. “Not supposed to be talking to you, anyway. Not supposed to talk or think or be within ten feet of you.”

“Why?” No reply. “Who said you’re not supposed to… Oh. Miles?”

Ryder shrugged.

“Then why am I in this car? I have nothing to say to Miles and he has nothing to say to me.”

This, for some reason, made Ryder laugh.

Aimee continued her protests and seat punching all the way until they pulled into the huge parking lot at Cowboys Stadium. With the dark tinted windows, Candy was able to cruise straight past all the people walking toward the arena with them never knowing who was inside the car. She rounded a corner and skidded to a quick stop.

Without a word, Ryder lobbed a cell phone over the seat—nearly clocking Aimee in the face—then he dove out of the car and disappeared. Before Aimee could ask if she was supposed to get out, too, Candy hit the gas and they pulled away from the building.

“Let me out here.”

“Can’t. I have my orders.”

Just then, she noticed that the cell on her lap had a Post-it note rubber banded to the face.
Push 1
, it read. Candy screeched to a stop so some pedestrians could cross, sending the phone skidding to the floor. Aimee grabbed it and pressed the number one button. It got through half a ring.

“Aimee?”

The sound of his voice, crystal clear, made her heart sputter.

“Aimee? Are you there? I’m so sorry.”

She closed her eyes, her throat growing tight and thick with tears.

“You were right, I was such a jerk. All that stuff I said to you, it’s unforgivable. Aimee?”

“I’m here,” she squeaked out.

Just then, the car squealed to a halt. “This is you,” Candy said.

Aimee looked around. They were at the very back of the ginormous parking lot. The arena was a good five hundred yards away. “Here?”

“Unless you wanna head back to the club with me,” Candy said with a smile.

Aimee scrambled out of her seat and onto the hot pavement, still clutching the phone to her ear.

“Don’t worry about your suitcase,” Candy added. “It’s taken care of.” Then she sped away.

“Aimee?” Miles said into the phone. “Are you in the stadium parking lot?”

“Yes,” she said, turning in a circle, scanning around. “Why am I here?”

“Please just listen. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I got it all wrong and I freaked out.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“No, you don’t know. It’s
my
stupid hang-ups that made me so crazy. I should’ve trusted you. I
do
trust you. I’m so sorry. And I swear I didn’t know about the tour extension. LJ totally blindsided me with it, but that was no excuse to blow you off. I was such an ass about it, I’m so sorry.”

“Miles…” A lump sat in her throat that she couldn’t swallow.

“Can you forgive me? Please forgive me, Aimee.”

His words, his voice, picturing his face… She didn’t have just a childhood crush on him anymore; she’d known that for days, felt it with each kiss they shared. Even after all the hurt and mistakes, Miles trusted her. She trusted him, too. More than that, she trusted their future. She had her own insecurity hang-ups, fears about being left behind when he had to travel. But Miles was worth the risk. He always was.

Admitting this, even to herself, made happy tears slip from her eyes.

“Ames? You mean the world to me. I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me.”

Her heart was pounding now, each beat singing the same note: he was the right boy for her to love. And the heart never lies. “I forgive you,” she said.

“You do?”

She laughed and hiccupped through her tears. “I do!”

“Thank you.” He was laughing, too. “Oh, baby. I’d do anything to hug you right now. To kiss your face. I just want to see you.”

“Me too—all of that.”

“Huh, wait. I think I
do
see you. No, it can’t be… You’re not wearing a dress. Is that you in jeans, a white shirt, carrying a red backpack?”

Breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped as she whipped around, but she only saw people parking their cars. “Where are you? Miles, you’re supposed to be at the pre-show set.”

“I am. Follow my voice.”

The next second, Aimee heard a loud cheer come from the phone, and a very real, though distant, cheer from the other side of the stadium.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes.” Her heart pounded; she had to find him. Right now. “Where are you?”

“I’m waiting for you, babe.
Everyone
!” His voice was muffled, away from the phone. “She needs another hint.” Again, an earsplitting cheer erupted. A rush of adrenaline hit Aimee’s blood, causing her heart to race almost painfully. She clutched her backpack and took off running toward the sound, following his voice like he asked. There was another cheer, closer.

“Aimee, I would come to you, but I can’t. You’ll have to come to me.”

“I’m coming, Miles.” Her heart beat fast, as she ran even faster, weaving through the crowd. Another cheer. She was closer, but she still couldn’t find him, and her pulse hammered behind her ears. Where was he?

“You can hang up the phone.”

“Why?” She panted, her gaze clouding over in confusion and panic. She couldn’t bear to lose the connection, not now.

“Because we don’t need it.”

His voice didn’t come from the phone this time, but through the air. Still running, she slid the phone in her back pocket and squinted into the sun. When she rounded the far corner of the stadium, she nearly ran into a makeshift barricade and two rows of cops. Behind them was a crowd of about two hundred, under a huge white tent. Tall, bright lights and cameras lined the perimeter. At the front was a stage with the Seconds to Juliet logo flashing on a big screen, and five guys onstage.

All two hundred people were looking at her, and she could tell by the shift of the lights that the cameras were pointed at her, too. Flashbulbs popped all around her like firecrackers. She was being photographed. Right now. She should’ve felt reluctant and nervous, but any thought of that was snubbed out when she saw him.

“Ames.” Miles’s smiling voice came through the speakers, warm and lovely and sounding as relieved as she felt. “Baby. You found me.” He waved at her and addressed the crowd. “This is Aimee Bingham. Before we go on with the show, I want you all to meet her, because she’s the most important person in the world to me, and everyone needs to know that.”

Aimee smiled so big that her cheeks hurt, and then she noticed Nick off to the side, standing with his arms folded, blocking LJ. Why or for how long? She didn’t know. Nick gave her a nod and the thumbs-up, then waved his hand, motioning her toward the stage. Toward his best friend.