The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (23 page)

“The only reason I told her anything was because I was so mad at you. Mad isn’t the right word. I was hurt. It was when I found out—”

“That I’d been hiding my true identity from you,” he says, cutting me off. “Call it even?”

I manage a smile, relieved that I hadn’t screwed all of this up somehow. For a minute there, I was worried I had. A sudden sick feeling washes over me as I realize we’re not “even” at all. I should tell him right now because I’m not quite sure the problem is resolved.

“There’s something I think you should know.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Evan

I listen as she tells me about her ex-boyfriend, Wyatt, who I despise from the moment she tells me how he treated her and what lead to their breakup.

“I didn’t realize he was so selfish,” she says. “I mean, he was never like that but his new life in Seattle must have changed something.”

“Or revealed something.”

She nods. “True.”

When Audrey tells me he’s been in town and she’s seen him a few times, my stomach tightens. What is this? Jealousy? Possessiveness? I’ve never felt either of those things before. No, it’s not either of those, both of which would scare me. Rather, it’s a feeling of protectiveness.

“The night Sophie and her friend were missing?” She starts this part with a statement that comes out as a question, and I open my eyes wider as if to say,
Go on…
“I was on the phone with Wyatt and he came over and helped me find the girls.”

Looking away, fixing my eyes on a picture on the wall, I wish it had been me instead of him. I have no idea what the details are, but I can imagine this prick acting like some kind of superhero. I look back at Audrey, trying my best not to let my facial expression and body language give away the fact that I don’t like any of this.

But I do understand why she hadn’t told me until just now. I had my reasons for keeping something from her early on; she had her reasons for keeping this under wraps until she was ready to tell me.

“Is that the guy in your prom picture?”

She coughs out a quick and forceful, “No! God no. That’s a guy I sort of dated in high school. My mom wouldn’t put up a picture of Wyatt, but if she did, she knows I’d do anything to remove it, including burning the house down.”

I manage a smile. She despises this Wyatt fucker. Good.

It ends with even better news—she hasn’t heard from him in over a week, which probably means he’s all the way on the other side of the country, back in Seattle, and unlikely to be back here anytime soon, at least until maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas, I guess.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say.

She takes my comment as sarcasm. She doesn’t say anything. I can just read her face.

“I’m serious.” I stand up, reaching down for her hands, and when she’s almost in a standing position, I lift her and swing us around, landing on the bed. I’m on top of her, pulling open the sheet she wrapped herself in, then tugging my boxers down my thighs just enough to free myself.

I have to have her. Right here. Right now. Just like this—intense and hard—and based on the way she grabs me and pulls me closer to her, digging her nails into my shoulders, she needs this too.

. . . . .

I wanted to spend the night with her, but we agreed it was too risky. We stayed up late, and if we had fallen asleep together, there’s a good chance we would have slept long enough to still be there when her mom arrived home after her overnight shift. Audrey said she hasn’t told her mom anything yet, and I didn’t want to meet her in the early morning hours emerging from her daughter’s bedroom. So I left around 4 a.m.

And now I’m up, having barely slept, it’s a little after 10 a.m. and I feel the need to write.

Sitting down on the couch with my guitar propped on my knee, I play a few chords, then some individual notes come naturally, and I start to hum a melody that’ll be replaced by words. A few lines of lyrics come to me, and I stop playing to write them down, then it’s back to the strings, building the rest of the song.

It’s at once exhilarating, freeing, but then slightly frustrating when I hit a point where I know I need to take a break from creating something new. I switch back to some old songs, and after playing for nearly an hour, then grabbing a quick bite to eat, I really need to get out of the house.

Traffic is light this time of day, as my GPS leads me to an address in downtown Charleston. I park a few blocks away, walk through the teeming crowd of tourists and people on their lunch breaks, and find myself standing outside my destination.

Cool air greets me when I enter. There’s a small room that’s more like the size of a walk-in closet, two cheap chairs and a fake plant that hasn’t been dusted in forever. There’s another door. I grab the knob but it’s locked, so I knock a few times until a guy comes and opens it.

“What’s up?” he asks. “What can I do for you?” He’s a good bit shorter than I am. Hair closely cropped to his head, tattoo sleeves on both arms, rings on nearly every finger, and he’s wearing a Ramone’s t-shirt. If that’s any indication of the music he likes, I’ve come to the right place.

“I’m here to check out the studio and see if you have any time I could book.”

He steps to the side, opening the door wider. “Sure, sure, come on in. When were you looking to start?”

“Couple of weeks,” I say.

Following him down a narrow hallway, I see there are two recording studios on the left side, both dark. There’s one on the right, and I can see into the small window. The “RECORDING” light is on above the door, there are two guys in there playing guitar, one is singing, but I hear nothing through the soundproof walls and glass.

We get to a small office that resembles the tiny waiting area, but this room contains a desk with a laptop on it. The guy apologizes for not introducing himself. “I’m Tim.” He extends his hand across the desk.

I reach up and shake his hand. “Evan.”

Tim looks at me harder, his eyebrows lower, then raise up. “Evan from Tuesday’s Fault?”

I just nod.

“Man, very cool. Shit, I almost didn’t recognize you. I love your band’s stuff. You guys recording a new album?” Before I can answer, he asks, “Why here? I mean, it’ll be an honor to have y’all. I’m just curious.”

I take a seat and lean back in the chair. “It’s just going to be me.”

“No shit. Going solo?”

I really don’t want to be talking about this, but there’s no way around it. It’ll be news before I know it, and I’ll have to explain it at some point. Plus, this guy seems cool and he means well. “Something like that. For now, anyway. Might just be me and my guitar.”

“I do session work all the time.” Tim laughs, a little nervously, and raises his hands from the desk. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to push myself on you or anything. I’m just saying, you need any session players, I’d love to help out and I know a lot of other guys who would too.”

“I’m not sure where I want to take this just yet, but I’ll let you know.”

“Excellent. I’m always around.” He turns his attention to the computer screen. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got coming up….”

“I’d like to keep this quiet as long as I can,” I tell him.

“Oh sure. No worries. And no questions asked. You got it.”

. . . . .

It’s mid-afternoon by the time I leave the studio, and the weather is perfect for a long drive. I used to do this out west, just get in the car and drive. That was out on open land, with little or no traffic and only the mountains or the flat horizon off in the distance. Sometimes I’d feel like I was on autopilot, having no idea how I’d driven from point A to B, but I got there, and I’d also cleared my head. Not as much as running did, but close.

Here in Charleston, there’s traffic. Lots of it, especially during the summer. So it takes me a while to get out of the city and back over to the islands, where there’s more room to explore.

I start at the near end of Sullivan’s Island and make my way to the other, driving over the bridge that connects to Isle of Palms. I stay on the street closest to the ocean, driving slowly, looking up at the huge beachfront mansions. It’s way more than I’d need if I decided to move here.

By the time I get back to the resort, it’s just after five o’clock. I haven’t talked to Audrey all day. She’s off work. I had intended on calling her to see if she if she wanted to get together tonight, but time got away from me as I was driving.

Sitting in the car, thinking maybe I’ll reach her and I can go pick her up, I dial her number.

She answers on the second ring. “How weird, I was just thinking about you.”

“What makes me think you would have said that if I’d called an hour ago?”

She laughs. “Are you suggesting I’ve been thinking about you all day? That’s kind of conceited, isn’t it?”

“No, just hoping you were doing what I was doing.”

“Ha ha,” she says, the sarcasm heavy in her tone. “Nice try. What have you been up to today?”

I’ve decided not to tell her that I’ve booked the studio a month from now. I want to tell her in person. Plus, I’ll need to extend my rental time at the resort, and I don’t want her to find out that way that I’m staying longer than planned. “I’ve been downtown, then took a drive. Want to grab dinner?”

She sighs. “I just made plans with Stacy.”

I briefly consider making a comment about it being a business meeting so she can discuss my future with her friend again, but decide that I’m better off not attempting that joke. I’d reacted negatively when she told me the first time that she’d talked with Stacy and Audrey had turned that right back around on me. Not going there again. I was fortunate to escape as it was.

“How about tomorrow?” I say, turning off the car. “This should be enough notice to fit me into your busy schedule.”

“Yeah, I think I could squeeze you in.”

I stop in my tracks, one foot on the sidewalk, the other one the first step to the bungalow. “Are you trying to tease me or was that a mistake?”

She laughs. “Oh, total mistake.”

“Right. Have a good time tonight. Call me if you want to stop by later.”

. . . . .

“Thanks for the fucking notice, Evan.”

“This is notice. And it’s final.”

“Jesus!” I can hear Bruce slam a door after he yells. “So this is it?”

“That’s what final means, yes.”

“Fuck you and fuck your sarcasm.”

“Nice doing business with you, too.” I hang up.

I’m calm. I’m not letting his anger get to me. I’m at peace with my decision and now it’s just a matter of letting everyone know so I can move on without this hanging over my head.

There’s no rush to call Jay and the other guys. I don’t have to beat Bruce to it. I’ve known him long enough to know that he’s freaking out right now and overthinking his next move. But I call Jay anyway and tell him the news.

“I’m not surprised,” he says. There’s a calmness in his voice that I wasn’t expecting.

“No?”

“Not at all.” There’s a lot of background noise behind him. It sounds like he’s driving. “You weren’t into it at all the other night. I could see it the whole time. I knew it was our last show.”

I walk outside on the deck to look at the ocean. It has become a calming point of reference for me, a lot like the open terrain used to be back in Denver. Now, when I need to get my bearings, the sand and the water and the waves guide me back to where I need to be. “Marcus and Scott know, too?”

“Oh, yeah. We talked about it.”

I had been expecting more of a conflict in this discussion. Hell, there’s none at all. Jay sounds as at peace about it as I feel.

“Sorry, man. It’s just where I am in my life right now.” I sit down in a lounge chair. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy.”

“The decision or talking to us?”

“The decision wasn’t easy,” I say.

He laughs. “Hey, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Thanks for making this part of it easy.”

Jay groans, relieving stress. “Shit, brother. I couldn’t be mad at you. I mean, I was frustrated when you were on the fence about this but over time it made sense.”

“Not to Bruce.”

“Fuck Bruce,” Jay says. “He’s good at getting us what we want and what we need, but let’s face it, the guy’s a prick and he knows it.”

“Yeah, well, I just talked to him so get ready for him to call. He’s just a little pissed off.”

“I’ll turn my ringer off. That’ll drive him nuts.” I can hear him going into his house. The door opening, the dogs barking. “We had a good run, huh?”

“The best.”

“So we move on. You do your thing, whatever it is, and we’ll go back in the studio. Rob’s ready to come on full-time.”

There’s an awkward silence between us. It lasts maybe five seconds, but seems more like five minutes.

Jay says, “You gonna call the guys? They won’t be surprised and, like I said, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, definitely. I owe it to them. I’ll call after we hang up.”

“Keep in touch, will ya?” he says.

“You got it.”

The calls to Marcus and Scott go just as easy as the one with Jay. In fact, it was easier because they were together and they put me on speakerphone.

We all agree that we’ll keep this quiet for a few weeks. There’s no reason for any kind of announcement, no need to make a spectacle out of it. A few in the music press tried already, so we’re going to let that die down and quietly move on.